Grandfather's clock

I don’t remember when a pendulum clock appeared in our room. It was located in a wooden box with the door and the sides covered in glass. Dad hung it on the wall, believing that we will be tempted to check it out. We couldn’t reach it, but we curiously watched it from afar. 

 

Once a week, dad used to open the little door and „pull” the watch. It had a small key like those of mechanical toys and with it he turned the clock spring. 

 

The pendulum moved alternatively towards left and right „saying”: tic, tac... 

 

I liked that clock, because I was „reading” it from afar and, besides that, it had a pleasant sound that announced, like the clock from the tower of the Catholic Church, one hour with a bang, two with two bangs, and so on. Even in the dark I knew what time it was. At half an hour, it had a single bang. 

 

After many years, I still think of that clock as a friend left in the town of my childhood and it’s like I can almost hear its „song”.

Safely -

the pendulum movement

unruffled

(tr. Bianca Alexandra Lala)

Pendula

Nu ştiu când a apărut în camera noastră un ceas cu pendulă. Se afla într-o cutie de lemn cu uşa şi lateralele prevăzute cu sticlă. Tata o agăţase pe perete, bănuind că vom fi tentaţi să-l cercetăm. Nu ajungeam la el, dar îl priveam cu interes de la distanţă. 

 

O dată pe săptămână, tata deschidea uşita şi „trăgea” ceasul. Avea o cheiţă ca pentru jucăriile mecanice şi cu ea întorcea arcul ceasului. 

 

Pendula se mişca alternativ spre dreapta şi spre stânga „spunând”: tic, tac... 

 

Îmi plăcea acel ceas, pentru că îl „citeam” de la distanţă şi, în plus, avea un sunet plăcut care anunţa, asemeni ceasului din turnul bisericii catolice, ora unu cu un bang, ora două cu două sunete, şi aşa mai departe. Chiar pe întuneric puteam şti ce oră e. La jumătatea orei, avea un singur „bang”. 

 

După mulţi ani, încă mă gândesc la acel ceas ca la un prieten rămas în oraşul copilăriei mele şi parcă-i aud „cântecul”.

În siguranţă -

mişcarea pendulei

netulburată

Statue of Ovid

Sometimes I look at old photographs. Today I came across a photo in which I am together with my grandmother from Constanţa. 

I close my eyes. Year 1954. I'm with my grandmother in the Sfatului square. Smells like freshly baked bagels. We take our seats. I look around. My eyes are drawn to a statue. Grandma tells me that it's the statue of Ovid, a famous Roman poet, exiled to Tomis, that the locals welcomed him with open arms. Here, the poet wrote a lot in Latin, but also in the locals' language. He had hoped, until his dying breath, that he will get to see his natal land once again, but was burried in Tomis. 

Flocks of pigeons-

on a statue's face pass

time's shadows

I see myself again in Vișeu, my town, in 1961, reading "Myths and legends of the Ancient Greek".

Years go by. My father got me the book "Metamorphoses" by Ovid. I remember the statue from Constanţa, what I read about Romans and take the book, curious. It was a hardback edition, the book is written in verses and has drawings. Dafne amazes me. It's like I once again see a girl who, instead of hair has foliage, instead of arms has two bloomed branches, instead of feet has roots.

Looking at drawings

with nymphs and Roman gods -

snow over the city

My dad tells me about Ovid, about the life and work of the poet, about "Sorrows" and "Letters from the Black Sea" in which he wrote about getae, our ancestors, and about "Metamorphoses".

Clouds above the sea -

on the poet's face

same sadness

Last photo. In colors. Taken during my last trip to Constanţa. On its other side I have written the words from the statue's pedestal: "Under this stone lies Ovid, the singer of tender love, slain by his own talent. Oh, you, passing by, if you've ever loved, pray for him, for his sleep to be smooth".