A Meeting with His Majesty,
I am watching Mihai Eminescu's face. The real man seems to be really breathing.
All my childhood I have watched this poet's pensive forehead. Reflection
and sensibility. And sometimes, when it is quiet, it seems that from the
mirror of his forehead, the spirit of the serious
thoughts flows like a river of letters and grows up to "the star that has
What did the hand that worked hard for the poem "The Evening Star" look
like ? The hand that taught us to copy each verse at least ten times and
to strike it out at least twenty times, until we consider it worth sharing
with the entire world. And if I close my eyes, although I have never heard
him, I seem to distinguish his voice "from hundreds of masts..." preserved
in the syntax of his poems, in the flavour of his words - harmony and precision
"I DID NOT THINK I WAS EVER GOING TO
LEARN HOW TO DIE".
I have seen Eminescu framed by the Carpathians Mountains in my classroom.
And he himself looks like a
mountain born in the field of the Romanian poetry.
And once, without anybody seeing me, as I stood up on tiptoe, I
touched, with the palm of my hand, the forehead
"like the white cherry-tree flower" of the lonesome and young master of
the Romanian language. It was just one moment in its uniqueness, in it
s stillness, "when the swan flows on the lake" and the oxen gather up there.
Do you know that every year, as I wait for the first snow, I prepare myself
for the meeting with his majesty
Eminescu as if for a painfully dear celebration
? And if he came, I would greet him in Alba Iulia's Cathedral of the
Reunion of the Nation, with all the candles burning,
accompanied by the ample sound of the organ, on a white winter day. We
would light torches and celebrate with clear wine from ancient times. The
clocks would cease for one moment their ticking, the hourglasses would
be petrified, forgetting to pour dark rings like the signet rings on the
I am waiting for him and I have searched for him everywhere, in all seasons,
in the old poplars, in the taste of the
strawberry after the rain, and especially in
the acacia flower. My eye - witnesses are both the moon and the linden
tree in blossom. As years pass by, it is my destiny to look for him in
centuries of immortality in Iasi, Chisinau, Bucharest , Botosani or in
Vienna or Berlin or for away from the light of the big cities in the "forest
at the spring which is shaking on the gravel". But w e carry him within
us and I carry him in my name with vegetal resonance: "forest, little forest"
("forest" is the English word for the Roumain "codru"). It is snowing as
the holidays are approaching.
seem to be preparing ourselves to welcome Eminescu. It is the time of our
people's customs when the soul
"Stirbei- Voda" Highschool Calarasi, Romania
Teacher coordinator: Marinela Dinca
clears itself of its roughness. On the eave of
the houses the icicles are shining. The moon is sot and the Magi come
to the gate of the night. I am leaving the door
open to God.