"Procesul", lui Kafka.

Apropo, referirea lui MinRep la el, din "Cele mai bune începuturi de filme", mi-a dat ideea sä caut pe net varianta englezä a povestirii "In fata legii". Am gäsit-o, într-o traducere mizerabilä, si am mai aranjat-o.
Pentru cine n-a citit-o încä, iat-o:


Franz Kafka

In front of the Law



(The revising translator took the freedom to divide the text into paragraphs, for a better effect of the reading.)

In front of the Law stands a gatekeeper.
To this gatekeeper comes a country man who asks to gain entry to the Law.
But the gatekeeper replies that he cannot grant him this permission at the moment.
The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to get in later on.
“Anything is possible,” answers the gatekeeper, “but not right now.”
The Law’s gate stands open as always, and the gatekeeper keeps to the side, so the man bends over to see inside, through the gate. Noticing this, the gatekeeper laughs and says:
“If it does tempt you so sorely, try to get in, in spite of my forbiddance. But take note: I am powerful. And I’m only the lowest gatekeeper. From room to room, however, stand other and other gatekeepers, and each is stronger than the previous one. Me, I can’t even dare to look at the third of them.”
The country man had not expected such difficulties: the Law should always be available for everyone, he thinks - but now, as he looks more closely to the gatekeeper in his fur coat, with his large pointed nose and the long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be wiser to wait until he’ll be allowed to go inside.
The gatekeeper gives him a stool and permits him to sit down beside the gate.
There he sits for days… weeks… months and years. He makes many attempts to be received in, and he wears out the gatekeeper with his requests. Sometimes, the gatekeeper questions him briefly, asking about his home and family, and many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great people use to ask, and at the end he always tells him again and again that he cannot let him inside yet
The man has brought along many things for his journey and, gradually, all his assets pass into the gatekeeper’s possession: the man spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win him over - and the latter takes every bribe but, as doing so, he replies each time:
“I’m accepting this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything in your power.”
During the countless years, the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets about the other gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only hurdle against entering to the Law. He curses the unlucky happening when he took the fateful decision, at first shouting out loud and thoughtlessly - and later, as he grows old, just by mumbling to himself.
Advancing into age, he breaks down to the children’s mind and, since in the long years of studying the gatekeeper he came to know even the fleas in his fur collar, he now asks the fleas also to help him persuade the ruthless guardian.
At long last, his eyesight weakens, and he doesn’t know whether the surroundings really got darker, or are his eyes merely deceiving him. However, now he recognizes in the gloom a peculiar enlightening which breaks out of the gateway to the Law.
But his time grew short and, before his death, all his experiences of that entire time gather up in his mind into one question that he didn’t ask yet to the gatekeeper. He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body. The gatekeeper has to bend way down to hear, for the great height difference has changed even worse to the man’s disadvantage.
“What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You really are insatiable.”
“Everyone strives after the Law,” says the man, “so how comes that in all these innumerable years no one except me has requested entry?”
The gatekeeper sees that the man’s end is close – and, in order to reach his dying eardrum, he shouts at him:
“No one else could gain access by here, since this entrance was assigned only to you. Now, I’m going to close it.”


Revised by Mihnea Columbeanu,
May 4, 2005, Bucharest, Romania
(After a translation by Ian Johnston)



* * *


…“No one else could gain access by here, since this entrance was assigned only to you. Now, I’m going to close it.”

“…this entrance was assigned only to you. Now, I’m going to close it.”

“…Now, I’m going to close it.”

Vladimir Nabokov - "Apararea Luzhin"
Alain Robbe-Grillet - "In Labirint"
F. Kafka - "Procesul"
S. Beckett - "Molloy", "Calmantul", "Expulzatul"

citit
1 berberova- astasev la paris
2 ian mcewan- ispasire

Cartile mele preferate sunt Harry Potter 1,2,3,4,5 si 6 si 7 cand vor aparea. :P

Dupa o munca de o luna cu o carticica de Haruki Murakami (Padurea Norvegiana, super plictiseala, dar totusi m-am chinuit s-o duc la capat), am zis, hai sa trec si la celalalt Murakami (Ryu), alt mare scriitor japonez contemporan (Polirom dixit)... 'Albastru nemarginit, aproape transparent', o carte care suna cam asa: "ploaia incetase de dimineata.. razele soarelui se oglindeau in stropii rotunzi de apa... ochii ei de un albastru intens..."... pe pagina urmatoare: "negresa ma apuca de fese cu ambele maini si isi introduse degetul in.... p**** meu se intar... cind il lua in ... etc etc".. Textele nu erau asa, dar intelegeti voi idea. Nu prea inteleg de ce a fost comparat cu Bukowski, Buck chiar avea mult umor si un stil misto de a povesti, pe cind tipul asta e trist si greu de inghitit, as zice ca seamana mai degraba cu Burroughs... :hmm:

la burroughs nu e cu negrese, e cu baietei, cel mult ;). si daca la bukowski se mai gasesc epigoni clovni, la burroughs ma cam indoiesc.

stiu despre ce scrie Burroughs, eu ma refeream la tonul amar/ amarit in care scrie Murakami... eu am vazut ceva asemanari intre cei doi, nu e B. chiar inimitabil..

Marele Gatsby // Preludiul Fundatiei // Robocop . 8)

Fitzgerald place si la mine... mai ales Tender is the Night :love:

10 dec 2003

Lucrurile se mai schimba :)....acum citesc "Viata e in alta parte" a lui Milan Kundera..."Si-mi place, pe bune-mi place, din ce in ce mai mult"...mea culpa.

nici Camillo Jose Cela nu e rau. Singer, egipteanul si cu memorialul dureros de plictisitor sunt de rahat, de acord.

cartile preferate sint cele la care te intorci mereu
 

Citeva titluri preferate:
Lao-Tze - Tao te Ching (The Way of Life)
Sun Tzu - Arta razboiului
Macchiavelli - Printul
Platon - Phaedrus
Thomas Mann - Moartea la Venetia
Alexandre Dumas - Contele de Monte Cristo
Kafka - America, Castelul, Procesul, Colonia penitenciara
Musil - Omul fara calitati
Robert Greene - The 48 Laws of Power
Cioran - Tentatia de a exista
Alan Watts - Out fo the trap, The way of Zen, Cloud Hidden
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Un veac de singuratate, Erendira, Cronica unei morti anuntate
Mircea Eliade - Maytreyi
Camus - Mitul lui Sisif
Johan Huizinga - Homo Ludens
Suzuki - What is Zen?
Krishnamurti - The Flight of the Eagle
Dostoievski - Idiotul
Ayn Rand - The Fountainhead
Marcus Aurelius - Meditatii

pavilionul cancerosilor
coelho ii o putoare

apropo de Anais Nin si jurnalele ei, are cineva filmul 'Henry si June'? as vrea sa-l vad..

Nabokov - "Ada sau ardoarea"
- povestea unui incest inceput de la varsta frageda, doi wunderkinderi cu apetit sexual si livresc enorm; plictisitoare pe alocuri, un mecanism ermetic, greu de patruns..tot felul de aluzii, parodieri, delicte intertextuale, pastisari si elogii la adresa lui Gogol, Puskin, Cehov, Dostoievski, Lermontov, Tolstoi, Proust, Flaubert, Henry James, Kafka, Dickens si multi altii a caror prezenta nu am sesizat-o (omul asta e nebun)
- partea preferata: vara la Ardis cu inceputul relatiei, "Cousinage, dangereux voisinage", Rostovi si Rudini, cuibusor de nobili, Anna Arkadievici si Vronski, atmosfera de Otradnoe.
totusi, mai interesant Demon decat Van

Kundera - "Lentoarea"
doar 100 de pagini, o lectura usoara, rapida

pai ai asimilat o biblioteca. mai multi nici nu-ti trebuie...
ai o lista de rusi care se cam contrazic artistic, dar, ma rog, asa-i spiritu' rus - torential in devalmasie...

pt bogie

mda, 'ada'... sint multi literati rafinati (cartarescu etc) care nu jura decit pe ac. titlu al lui nabokov... in ce ma priveste, prefer 'pale fire', 'pnin' & 'bend sinister'.

citeva lecturi de capatii:

dna sei shonagon: 'insemnari de capatii' (sic!)
laclos: 'legaturile primejdioase'
gogol: 'suflete moarte'
xavier de maistre: 'voyage autour de ma chambre'
poe: povestirile
dumas: 'cei trei muschetari'
jules verne: 'calatorie spre centrul pamintului'
henry james: 'ambasadorii' si 'potirul de aur'
cehov: povestiri
flaubert: 'l'education sentimentale'
lewis carroll: 'alice' & 'through the looking-glass'
proust: 'a la recherche...' (in special 'du cote de chez swann'!)
joyce: 'portretul artistului in tinerete' & 'finnegans wake' (da, stiu...)
kafka: 'castelul'
hesse: 'narziss & goldmund' & 'jocul cu margele de sticla'
celine: 'mort a credit' & 'calatorie la capatul noptii'
nabokov (vezi mai sus)
borges: tot!
beckett: 'molloy', 'malone moare', 'nenumitul'
georges perec: 'lucrurile'
thomas bernhardt: 'korrektur'
agatha christie: 'crima lui roger ackroyd'
marguerite duras: tot!
marguerite yourcenar: 'povestiri orientale'
virginia woolf: 'mrs dalloway' & 'a room of one's own'
elfriede jelinek: 'pianista'
don delillo: 'white noise' & 'mao II'
jonathan franzen: 'the corrections'
jeffrey eugenides: 'middlesex'
houellebecq: 'platforma'

voila!

"capataiul" e cam shubred fara - intre altii -
Dostoievski (Idiotul s.cl.)
Camus (Stainul, Ciuma, Mitul lui Sisif, Omul revoltat)
Bulgakov (Maestrul si Margarita)
Gombrowicz (Jurnal, Titanic, Pornografie...)
Faulkner (Zgomotul si furia, Absalom, Absalom s. cl)
Thomas Mann (Der Zauberberg - Muntele vrajit, Doctor Faustus)
Stendhal (Rosu si negru, un roman formator, produce orgoliosi... )
Eco (Il nome dela rosa - Numele Trandafirului)
Gellu Naum (tot, sa te desprinzi si sa visezi...)
M. V Llosa (Matusa Iulia si condeierul, Razboiul sfarsitului lumii)
Gabriel Garsia Marquez (Un veac de singuratate, Toamna patriarhului)
Dino Buzzati (Desertul tatarilor - capodopera!)
Malcom Lowry (Sub vulcan)
Boris Pasternak (Doctor Jivago)
Ernesto Sabato (Despre eroi si morminte)
Patrick Suskind (Parfumul)
Boris Vian (Spuma zilelor)
Ernst Junger (Pe falezele de marmura)
Longos (Dafnis si Cloe - de citit pe la 12-16 ani, in cadru rustic, sa te masturbezi la timp si inspirat...)
Milan Kundera (Insuportabila usuratate a fiintei)
Lev Tolstoi (Razboi si pace – sa plasezi un citat, o referinta culturala impresionanta la timpul potrivit, sa arati ca poti sa impaci contrariile, adica iti place si Dostoievski si Tolstoi)
Thomas Pynchon (V – sa citesti ce a citit si Cartarescu si... poate scrii ca M. Cartarescu)
Salinger (De veghe in lanul de secara)
Philip Roth (Complexul lui Portnoy – scrie bine)
Saul Bellow (Herzog, Traieste-ti clipa, Darul lui Humboldt si Ravelstein - pentru a afla si a te revolta)
George Orwell (1984)
Herman Melville (Moby Dick - ehei!)
Daniel Defoe (Robinson Crusoe)
Augusto Roa Bastos (Eu, Supremul – il bate uneori pe Marquez)
Andrei Makine (Testamentul francez)

si altele...
din Joyce aleg – of course - Ulise ( e clar)

Ce trist ai fost tu. In primul rind ca eu am citit Dafnis si Chloe pe la vreo opt ani si, in al doilea rind, ca tu faceai laba dupa carti. Lol. Bine, si acu' futi tot din carti. Si mai am o curiozitate meschina: laba o faceai tot cu mina si cu pula? Cartile erau de joc? Cind erai mic erai tot atit de trist ca acum? Se juca lumea cu tine? Iti lega o bucata de carne de picioare si te trimitea la joaca, Pravale Baba, sa se joace ciinii cu tine?

este clar ca tu vrei sa pleci de pe Cinemagia si delirezi ca un nebun, sa tragi cat mai multi dupa tine...
te inteleg, vrei sa spui ca ai citit si "Idiotul" in placenta si de-acolo ti se trage.
hai in PM.