The Words

heavy-rain

The words never cry

Though, corolla, gather in them

All the pain of the world.

 

The words never laugh

Though in them enjoy

All the gladness of the earth.

 

Dutiful and wise words

Never laugh and cry

Though in them

Happiness and sadness of the world

Are intertwined.

Mircea M. Pop, Cuvintele

translated from Romanian by Marcel Rus

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Cogito

But who am I ? A thing that thinks. What’s this ? One who inquires himself, understands, says, denies, wants, doesn’t want, always imagines and feels.

cogito)Therefore, from the simple fact that I know about my existence, besides the fact I am a being who thinks, I rightly conclude that my essence lies in the fact that I am only a being who thinks.

And yet… I have a body that I’m very tied to… And on the one hand I have a distinct and clear idea that is mine as the being that thinks; and on the other hand I have a distinct idea of my body… and I’m sure I’m different from my body and I can exist without it…

But best nature teaches me that I have a body that feels pain and that’s unpleasant to it, that it needs food or drink when I suffer from hunger or thirst; so I don’t have to doubt that there is something real in this matter.

cogito-egg

Nature shows us through our senses of pain, hunger, thirst, etc., that I’m not only present, in relation to my body, as the sailor is present on his ship, but I’m tightly tied up to the fusion of my body that I make a single thing with it.

Otherwise, when the body is hurt I  – who are only a being that thinks –  would not feel pain, but I perceive that pain only through my intellect as the sailor realizes by seeing that something cracked on the ship; and when my body needs food and drink I would understand clearly, and my senses wouldn’t be troubled by hunger and thirst.

from R. Descartes, Meditationes de prima philosophia

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Memento

amazing-winter_night

When the snow falls…

During the times brokes out

Pain for dead souls,

Although… these are past events !

 

When the snow falls…

Again, love that disappeared

Awakens lonly poets,

Although… these are past events !

 

When the snow falls…

 As on an unknown shore…

Again, I think she’s beautiful,

Although… these are past events !

George Bacovia, Memento

translated from Romanian by Marcel Rus

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