Everything’s happening so fast that we can’t even realize
it, as if I’m a new train passing through an old wooden station, settled by the
war veterans, our classics. We’re loosing the magic that once lived with so
much warmth, turning some people’sminds and souls young again.
Everything disappears from our minds once fashion settles in. Like a raging
storm sweeping through the world, Eminescu, Caragiale, Sadoveanu have all
disappeared now in a fog of forgetfulness. A poem, an essay,
a story, that we’re once the heart of literature, are no longer
important. Grigorescu, Stefan Luchianhave disappeared, and their paintings are no longer
sold as often as before. Fashion and anything that’s fashionable now dominate
everything. For example: children, instead of reading
a book, play on the computer. Nothing reminds us anymore of an adventure book,
a love poem or a fragment of Romanian history. Nobody can do anything, but
let’s hope we’ll find a cure that could bring back to life all that has died
until now.
