Edith Wharton, Sufletul omului (Piatra de încercare)

Glennard nu gândise nici un plan de acţiune – avea de gând să se lase pur şi simplu purtat de ape. Şi amândoi se lăsară purtaţi fără grabă de cursul domol al amintirilor; ea părea că nu participă, lăsându-l pe el să-şi croiască drum prin cărările întortocheate ale trecutului. În cele din urmă îi aduse aminte că trebuie să pună capăt acestei incursiuni. Glennard se ridică în picioare şi rămase uitându-se la ea cu aceeaşi nesiguranţă în suflet. Îl obosise deja – întotdeauna îl obosea – şi totuşi nu era convins că dorea s-o vadă plecând.
-S-ar putea să nu te mai văd niciodată – îndrăzni el să apeleze la compasiunea ei.
Privirea ei îl învălui.
-Iar eu te voi vedea mereu… mereu.
-Atunci de ce pleci…? rosti el fără să vrea.
-Ca să fiu mai aproape de tine – răspunse ea; şi cuvintele ei îl concediară asemeni unei uşi care se închide.
Uşa nu avea să se mai deschidă niciodată; dar cu timpul, Glennard reuşi să zărească printr-o crăpătură lumina mereu vie a unei raze ce-şi croia drum către trecutul care consumase atât de puţin din resursele memoriei sale. [...]

trad. Ioana Rotaru

2nd Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, 1950-1971

Among the tasks set for the 47th Brigade was to establish a bridgehead across the River Basantar. By 2100hr of 15 December, the brigade had captured its objectives. However, the place was extensively mined, which prevented the deployment of the tanks of the Poona Horse, and the engineers clearing the mines were halfway through their tasks when Indian troops at the bridge-head reported alarming activity of the enemy armour, asking for immediate armour support. It was at this critical juncture that the 17 Poona Horse decided to push through the mine-field. The regiment was able to establishe a link-up between the armour and the infantry at the bridge-head by first light the next day.

At 0800hr on 16 December, Pakistani armour launched the first of their counter-attacks under the cover of a smokescreen at the pivot of the 17th Poona Horse at Jarpal. Heavily outnumbered against Pakistani armour and infantry, the commander of the “B” Squadron called for urgent reinforcements. This call was taken up by , stationed close to the squadron, with his detachment of two tanks and troops.

Khetarpal wheeled to meet the Pakistani armour and launched right into the Pakistani attack. With his troop he was able to run over the enemy advance with his tanks and even captured some of the enemy infantry and weapon crews at gunpoint. However, the commander of the second tank was killed in this attack. Alone in charge, Khetarpal continued his attack on the enemy strongholds until he had overwhelmed the Pakistani positions Emboldened by the success he pursued the retreating Pakistani troops and artillery gunning down a Pakistani tank in the process. However Pakistani forces regrouped and counterattacked. In the ensuing tank battle ten enemy tanks were hit and destroyed of which Khetarpal accounted for four.

The skirmish however took its toll on the Lieutenant as he was hit by enemy fire, but instead of abandoning the tank he fought on destroying one final tank before he was finally overwhelmed by Capt. Khwaja Mohamad Naser. However, his actions had denied a vital breakthrough for Pakistani forces and instead put the Indians in a stronger position in the Shakargarh bulge. His final words over the radio to a superior officer who had ordered him to abandon his burning tank were, “No Sir, I will not abandon my tank. My gun is still working and I will get these bastards.” Then he set about destroying the remaining enemy tanks. The last enemy tank, which he shot, was barely 100 metres from his position. At this stage his tank received a second hit and he was mortally injured. The officer met his death denying the Pakistani Army the intended breakthrough.

Petronius din lectică coboară,
În purpură cu ciucuri auriţi.
E cel mai strălucit dintre Quiriţi,
Din câţi văzuse Roma quiritară.

Un murmur lung prin forum se strecoară.
Şi-n toate-răsfăţatul de zeiţi,
Urmat de curtea lui de sateliţi,
Spre templu suie cea din urmă scară.

Dar iată-un cerşetor schilod, din plebe,
O rugă prinde tremurând să-njghebe.
Petronius îi vâră-n piept cuţitul.

Pompeia, mângâindu-şi mult iubitul,
Îşi potriveşte salba de la gât:
- “De ce la-i omorât?”
- “Era urât!”

(Al. O. Teodoreanu)

 

” Basij is the academy of devotion, and the school of witnesses and unknown martyrs that the followers of it have recited the call for prayer of martyrdom and bravery above its high Minarets. Basij is a stated place of deprived people and the ascension of pure Islamic thoughts which the graduates of it have found their dignity and name in being selfless and humble…I always regret the purity and sincerity of Basijis, and I ask God to associate me with my Basijis in the hereafter . Because I’m honored to be a Basiji myself in this world.”

Imam Khomeini
(Peace Be upon Him)

-Ti-aduci aminte, prietene, ca am venit la Tostes odata, cand ai pierdut-o pe prima raposata? Pe-atunci puteam sa te mangai! Gaseam ce sa spun; dar acum… Apoi, cu un geamat prelung, care-i zgudui tot cosul pieptului: Ah, vedeti dumneavoastra, s-a ispravit cu mine! Am vazut cum mi s-a dus nevasta… dupa aceea fecioru-meu… si azi, uite. fiica-mea! [...] Cu bine!… Esti un baiat cumsecade! si apoi, n-am sa uit niciodata asta. cum ii zice, adauga el batandu-se pe coapsa. Nu te teme, o sa primesti si de-aci inainte curca dumitale! Dar cand ajunse pe creasta dealului, intoarse capul si privi in urma, asa cum il intoarse si altadata pe drumul Saint-Victor, cand se despartise de ea. Ferestrele din sat erau toate rosii ca focul in razele piezise ale soarelui care apunea pe camp. Isi puse mana streasina la ochi si zari la orizont un loc imprejmuit de ziduri, unde copacii, ici si colo, erau ca niste pete negre printre pietre albe, apoi isi urma drumul, in trap marunt, caci calutul schiopata. [...] Dupa ce totul fu vandut, ramasera doisprezece franci si saptezeci si cinci de banii, cu care s-a platit drumul domnisoarei Bovary pana la bunica-sa; batrana muri chiar in anul acela; mos Rouault fiind paralizat, pe fetita o lua o matusa. Matusa e saraca, si, ca sa-si castige existenta, o trimite la o filatura de bumbac. De la moartea lui Bovary, trei medici s-au perindat prin Yonville, fara sa poata reusi vreunul, asa de tare i-a lucrat dintru inceput domnul Homais. Are o clientela strasnica; autoritatile il cruta, iar opinia publica il protejeaza. Acum, de curand, a primit Legiunea de Onoare.

trad. Demostene Botez

Ruben Dario (1867-1916)

LUI ROOSEVELT

Cu glasul vechii Biblii, cu versul lui Walt Whitman

aş vrea să-ţi spun acestea, cumplite Vânător!

Modern şi primitiv eşti, şi complicat şi simplu,

şi ai ceva din Washington şi mult ai din Nemrod!

Eşti Statele Unite,

cotropitor de  mâine

al gingaşei Americi de baştină ce incă

se-nchină si vorbeşte în graiul spaniol.

Eşti un superb şi falnic vlăstar al rasei tale;

eşti cult, îndemânatic; potrivnic lui Tolstoi.

Domesticind sirepii, vînând în junglă tigrii,

eşti ca un Alexandru-Nabucodonosor.

(Un dascăl eşti, de energie,

Cum spun smintiţii azi la noi.)

Crezi că viaţa e o văpaie,

şi vezi progresu-n erupţii de foc;

unde aşterni tu glonţul

aşterni şi viitorul?

De loc!

Puternice, uriaşe sunt Statele Unite,

Când se urnesc, se simte cum trece un fior

prin Anzi, şi le străbate vertebrele-ascuţite,

Când strigă, scoate răget un leu majestuos.

Hugo lui Grant i-a spus-o: „Stelele-s ale voastre”.

(Soarele Argentinei abia iese din nor,

iar steaua chileana-abia răsare…) Sunteţi

bogaţi. Slăvind pe Hercul, slăviţi şi pe Mamon,

şi luminând cărarea spre cuceriri uşoare

îşi nalţă Libertatea făclia spre New York.

Dar America noastră, ai cărei brazi coboară

pînă-n străvechiul timp al lui Netzahualcoyotl,

care păstrează urma picioarelor lui Bachus,

care-a deprins în grabă graiul lui Pan, focos,

care-a citit în stele, cunoaşte Atlantida,

al cărei nume vine din Platon pîn-la noi,

şi care din adîncul vieţii ei trecute

trăieşte din lumină, parfum, iubire, foc,

America incaşă, şi a lui Moctezuma,

tărâmul de miresme-al lui Cristobal Colon,

catolica Americă, America spaniolă,

America în care grăit-a Guatemoc:

„Nu stau pe pat de roze”; America aceasta

străpunsă de-uragane şi de-al iubirii foc,

cu oameni tari la suflet şi ochi frumoşi, e vie.

Visează. Şi iubeşte; e-al soarelui odor.

Aminte luaţi. Trăiască America Spaniolă!

Sunt mii de pui, pui liberi, ai Leului Spaniol.

Iar daca e nevoie, fii, chiar si pentru Domnul,

Puşcaşul fără milă, cumplitul Vînător,

pentru-a ne ţine-n lanţuri cu braţele de fier.

Pe toate tu te bizui. Pe Dumnezeu – de loc!

(1904)

trad. Ştefan Augustin Doinaş

Viktor E. Frankl

Între stimuli şi răspuns există un spaţiu. În acel spaţiu stă puterea noastră de a alege răspunsul. În răspunsul nostru stă creşterea şi libertatea noastră.

North Korean way :)

It is the imperialist‘s old trick to carry out ideological and cultural infiltration prior to their launching of an aggression openly. Their bourgeois ideology and culture are reactionary toxins to paralyze people‘s ideological consciousness. Through such infiltration, they try to paralyze the independent consciousness of other nations and make them spineless. At the same time, they work to create illusions about capitalism and promote lifestyles among them based on the law of the jungle, in an attempt to induce the collapse of socialist and progressive nations. The ideological and cultural infiltration is their silent, crafty and villainous method of aggression, intervention and domination…. Through ―economic exchange‖ and personnel interchange programs too, the imperialists are pushing their infiltration… Exchange and cooperation activities in the economic and cultural fields have been on the rise since the beginning of the new century. The imperialists are making use of these activities as an important lever to push the infiltration of bourgeois ideology and culture…. The imperialists‘ ideological and cultural infiltration, if tolerated, will lead to the collapse and degeneration of society, to disorder and chaos, and even to the loss of the gains of the revolution. The collapse of socialism in the 20th Century—and the revival of capitalism in its place—in some countries gave us the serious lesson that social deterioration begins with ideological degeneration and confusion on the ideological front throws every other front of society into chaos and, consequently, all the gains of the revolution go down the drain eventually.

Rodong Sinmun (Ziarul muncitorilor), Phenian, April 20, 2003.

Soviet Military Doctrine

Although the Soviet military writers argued that they could only be understood as a science, they were writing semiotically. They were using an artificial language whose reference was  a code. [...] To interpret this language, a whole generation of scholars emerged who engaged in Talmudic-like studies of texts and signs. For instance Harriet Fast Scott, Casandra-like, developed a method of forecasting from secret Soviet codes. She discovered that there were hidden messages about disasters and upheavals in official obituaries. (Her method was as old as Homer who, in the 23d Canto of The Iliad, foretold the inevitability of the fall of  Troy when he gave the names of those gods and heroes who attended the funeral games for Patroclus.) Robert Herrick discovered, during his research into Soviet naval doctrine, its infernal Dantesque structure. He identified those who said the word “aircraft carrier” at the wrong time and died, those who proposed it and lived, and those who suffered the lack of courage to say it at all.  James McConnell, like a Shakespearean scholar meticulously comparing folios, deduced a new system of interpretation by observing  which concepts and words in Soviet military texts were changed, which were missing, which ritual was intoned, which authority was praised. From this divinations he could conjecture how close we were to war.”

ed. Willard C. Frank, Jr., ed. Philip S. Gillette, Soviet Military Doctrine from Lenin to Gorbachev, 1915-1991,