While men are haunted by the memory of paradise,
angels are tormented by longing for this world.
 | |
| امیل چیوران، فیلسوف رومانیایی است که در ۱۹۱۱ متولد شد , و در ۱۹۹۵ درگذشت . آنچه که در نوشته او را ببینم یک ذهن روشن است که از طریق یک زبان شخصی شاعرانه و گاهی اوقات خنده دار و طنزیتصویر از جهان ما را توصیف که مانند تعداد کمی از ما، می توانیم دیدن بدون حجاب که چشم و ذهن ما را پوشش می دهد |
Reading him was unlike anything else prior to that because I found in his books many of the same thoughts and feelings that made me prefer being alone and contemplating. Cioran's style is very personal, poetic and witty if compared with his contemporaries which makes it a much more organic reading experience, where thoughts and images flow like streams through valleys, cutting through mountains.
| Ceea ce văd în scrierile sale este o minte limpede care printr-un limbaj personal, poetic și ocazional glumeț și ironic ne descrie o imagine a acestei lumi cum puțini dintre noi mai putem să o vedem, spulberând voalul ce ne acoperă ochii și mintea. |
I started my series of "People" with Emil Cioran because he made me question the way in which I look at things, and in the same time gave me confidence when I needed it the most. What I admire in him is that he opened his heart, not only his mind and his questions regarding our existence and our struggle here have an origin deep inside himself, maybe in the soul.
Apocalypse
دلم می‌خواهد یک روز مردم را ببینم، پیر و جوان، خوشحال یا غمگین، زن و مرد، متأهل یا مجرد، جدی یا سبک‌سر، [روزی که مردم] خانه‌ها و کارهای‌شان را رها کنند، از وظایف و مسئولیت‌هایشان چشم‌پوشند، در خیابان‌ها جمع شوند و دیگر از انجام هر کاری سر باز زنند. آن وقت بگذاریم اسیرانِ کارهای پوچ که زیر لوای وهمِ شومِ محض رضای بشیریت حضور داشته‌اند و برای نسل‌های بعدی رنج کشیده‌اند، انتقام خود را از میان‌مایگی پوچ و عقیم زندگی، و از زوائد عظیمی که هرگز جواز تغییر شکل معنوی را نداده‌‌اند، بگیرند. آن وقت، زمانی که تمامی ایمان و تسلیم از دست می‌رود، بگذاریم زرق و برق زندگی میان‌مایه یک بار و برای همیشه فروپاشد. بگذاریم آنهایی که بی‌صدا رنج می‌برند، و حتی به شکایت ناله‌ای نمی‌کنند، با تمام توان‌شان فریاد برکشند، غریوی ناآشنا و رعب‌انگیز و بدآهنگ برسازند تا خاک را برآشوبد. بگذاریم آب‌ها سریع‌تر جاری شوند و کوه‌ها هراس‌انگیزتر بجنبند، درختان ریشه‌های‌شان را همچون یک رسوایی ابدی و وقیح، عریان سازند، مرغان همچون کلاغان قار قار سردهند و جانوارن از ترس و خستگی متفرق شوند. بگذاریم آرمان‌ها بی‌اعتبار، باورها کم‌بهاء، هنر ناراست و فلسفه یک شوخی اعلام شود. بگذاریم همه‌چیزی در اوج و قهقرا باشد. بگذاریم کلوخ‌های خاک به هوا پرتاب شوند و در باد فروپاشند. بگذاریم گیاهان در آسمان، اسلیمی‌های غیرمتعارف و هراس‌انگیز و بد ترکیب برسازند. بگذاریم لهیب آتش به سرعت بپراکند و همهمه‌ای هراس‌انگیز همه چیز را دربر گیرد تا حتی کوچک‌ترین حیوان نیز دریابد که پایان نزدیک است. بگذاریم هر ترکیبی، بی‌شکل شود و آشوب، بنیاد جهان را در گردابی عظیم فرو بلعد. بگذاریم دهشت و تخریب و همهمه و هیاهویی مهیب باشد و بعد بگذاریم سکوتی ابدی و فراموشی مطلق باشد. و در این واپسین لحظه، بگذاریم تمامی بشریت که تاکنون امید، افسوس، عشق، یأس و کینه را احساس کرده است، با چنین نیرویی که چیزی از پی‌اش باقی نمی‌ماند، نابود شود. آیا چنین لحظه‌ای پیروزی فنا و واپسین عروج به نیستی نخواهد بود؟
| How I would love one day to see all people, young and old, sad or happy, men and women, married or not, serious or superficial leave their homes and their work places, relinquish their duties and responsibilities, gather in the streets and refuse to do anything anymore. At that moment, let slaves to senseless work, who have been toiling for future generations under the dire delusion that they contribute to the good of humanity, avenge themselves on the mediocrity of a sterile and insignificant life, on the tremendous waste that never permitted spiritual transfiguration. At that moment, when all faith and resignation are lost, let the trappings of ordinary life burst once and for all. Let those who suffer silently, not even uttering a sigh of complaint, yell with all their might, making a strange, menacing, dissonant clamor that would shake the earth. Let the waters flow faster and the mountains sway threateningly, the trees show their roots like an eternal and hideous reproach, the birds croak like ravens, and the animals scatter in fright and fall from exhaustion. Let ideals be declared void; beliefs, trifles; art, a lie; and philosophy, a joke. Let everything be climax and anticlimax. Let lumps of earth leap into the air and crumble in the wind; let plants make strange arabesques, frightful and distorted shapes, in the sky Let wildfires spread rapidly and a terrifying noise drown out everything so that even the smallest animal would know that the end is near. Let all form become formless, and chaos swallow the structure of the world in a gigantic maelstrom. Let there be tremendous commotion and noise, terror, and explosion, and then let there be eternal silence and total forgetfulness. And in those final moments, let all that humanity has felt until now, hope, regret, love, despair, and hatred, explode with such force that nothing is left behind. Would not such moments be the triumph of nothingness and the final apotheosis of nonbeing |
Marturisiri și Anateme
fragmente
- 1987 -
Omul nu este mulțumit că este om. Dar nu știe la ce
să revină și nici cum să reintegreze o stare ce nu i-a lăsat vreo
amintire distinctă. Nostalgia acelei stări constituie fondul
ființei sale și este puntea dintre el și ceea ce, în el,
rămâne din vârsta lui străveche.
Să devorezi biografie după biografie ca să te convingi și
mai bine de zădărnicia oricărei făptuiri, a oricărui destin.
Cea mai bună dovadă că individa este universală - faptul
că ea răbufnește chiar și la nebuni în scurtele lor
răstimpuri de luciditate.
De fiecare dată când văd un vagabond beat, murdar,
cu privirile rătăcite, împuțit, prăvălit cu sticla lui la
marginea trotuarului, parcă-l văd pe omul de mâine
încercând să-și atingă țelul și reușind.
The Trouble (disadvantage of) With Being Born
- 1973 -
DURING the centuries, man tried his best to believe, he passed
from dogma to dogma, from one delusion to another and reserved
very little time for doubts, short respites between his periods of
blindness. Properly speaking, those were not doubts, but
interruptions, moments of rest, that followed the weariness
of belief, of any belief.
YOU don't envy the ones that have the power to pray, while
you are filled with malice against property owners, against
those that know wealth and glory. It is strange that you live
with the redemption of another, but not with the passing
advantages that he can enjoy.
All my life, I have lived with the feeling that I have been kept
from my true place. If the expression "metaphysical exile" had
no meaning, my existence alone would afford it one.
As art sinks into paralysis, artists multiply. This anomaly ceases
to be one if we realize that art, on its way to exhaustion, has
become both impossible and easy.
