[Pitbull]

Fior liric autentic, sinceritate, frumusete a expresiei.
Un exercitiu de versificatie relevant - prilejuieste câteva observatii clare si utile.
In linii mari: e o formulä e versuri clasice, arhicunoscutä, destul de bine stäpânitä. Personal, sustin compusul cu ritm si rimä, ca o etapä obligatorie a drumului spre poezia modernä, în vers alb - dar cu conditia ca rigorile clasice sä fie stäpânite perfect. Aici avem câteva stângäcii - iatä-le:

"stele / mistere" = nu rimeazä
"stingher / gen" = nu rimeazä
"usor / nori" = semi-rimä (datoritä i-ului neaccentuat).
Intrucât toate aceste perechi de cuvinte sunä asemänätor, iar "lat / uitat" e chiar o rimä perfectä, e de presupus cä ai urmärit rime constante între versurile 2 si 4 ale fiecärui catren. Dacä asa e, TOATE rimele trebuie sä fie perfecte. Dacä nu, evitä similitudinile, ca sä ai versuri albe oneste.

"...a lor mistere" = incorect; de ce n-ai scris "Ascund ale lor mistere?"
(E drept cä asemenea greseli gramaticale, sau "licente poetice", sunt destul de frecvente la multi dintre marii clasici - dar, cum noi nu suntem ei, e mai bine sä le evitäm.)

"Ploaia-ncepe-ncet sã vinã
Încet-încet, de sus din nori."
De trei ori "încet", când era necesar cel mult unul singur.
Iar ultimul vers iese din ritm (are o silabä în plus).

* * *

Dincolo de toate astea, îti multumesc cä ai reactivat topicul de poezie, e unul dintre cele la care tin cel mai mult.
Ca sä nu zicä nimeni cä "musc si fug", pun si eu un esantion:


Answers

It came afore from dark, vibrating in its shine,
It filled the empty stark with flawour rich as wine,
Embalmed the live raw scars with a sweet smelling dope,
And like as many stars, it sparkled full of hope.

An angel's wing it seemed, a Holy Spirit's kiss,
My outlook it redeemed, enfolding it in bliss,
A human to be yet, reborn from the cold ghost,
The right I thought to get, when taking this saint host.

Behold! I told them all. There's justice still around!
This man, who once did fall, rose up from frozen ground,
No doom eternal is, no sentence is too hard,
Ordeal that was his, came now to fair reward.

Beware, they did reply. Delusions are so rife,
You better wonder why, you better get a life,
There's no such thing as fairness, this world is meant to suck,
Keep faithful to your harness, don't be a sitting duck.

Words of caution, knowing, that I'd have better heed,
There was no angel, no wing - there was only my greed,
Only my hunger, ghoulish, to be alive again,
Only my empty, fool wish, a short reprieve to gain.

A dream that seemed so pure, so real and so sweet,
All ailments apt to cure - and it was just a cheat,
How could I know or guess that it was all a lie,
Perfidious, no less - and so I wonder: why?

For certain, the dark lord is in full omnipotent,
For sure, his power's word is immune to all repent,
His ways are ever cunning, his tricks don't ever cease
To always catch those running, their vigilance appease.

And once his net he so cast, entrapping me once more,
The outcome, never too fast, has opened the old sore,
So unawares attacking, once bringing down my guards,
To left and right all hacking, all breaking into shards.

We warned you, didn't we? said the voices all anew,
There's now no use to be sad, better confess we knew,
You better do forget it, your feet bring back to ground,
About fake hopes don't fret it, they're never true and sound.

I pity you, poor skeptics, replied I with a laugh,
For you there are no kept tricks, the way is always rough,
No prizes ever gotten, no breath of springtime breeze,
You see the world as rotten and putrid as it is.

To crawl forever, trampled, all strung along one chain,
To gallows on the ramp led, the verdict's all so plain,
The haven so awaited reveals only a chasm.
What use to have it stated? It's all a pleonasm.

Instead of truth so cruel, I keep to my sweet lie,
Believeing in my jewel, I save more than one cry,
If doomed to live in dungeon, no window for us all,
Before to humbly trudge on, I paint it on the wall.

I know it's immaterial, and yet I still believe,
My words now better hear y'all, that's all that means to live:
Condemned before birth even to an ongoing scream,
The way to make it even is keeping to the dream.


Mihnea Columbeanu - Pitbull
April 20, 2005, h. 22:35-23:50
Bucharest, Romania