Rof

It was the month of June, 1821. Tudor Vladimirescu had risen from the darkness of Oltenia's forests; he had carried from Cernetzi all the way to Bucharest the light of his prophetic claims and he had set down like the sun, somewhere between Goleshti and Targovishte,

COMPOSER, MUSICOLOGIST, WRITER, FOLKLORIST, INSTRUMENTALIST, ESTHETICIAN, PROFESSOR, BYZANTINOLOGIST, PHILOSOPHER Born in Galatzi (24 March 1885), he began his musical studies with his father, the composer and professor Constantin Cuclin, continued at the Bucharest Conservatoire

Chapter IVexcerpts The doorbell rang earnestly. I had noticed, during my long career as an art scholar, that all of my doorbells manifested a sort of unexpected zeal, an eagerness that suggested that these tiny technical devices strove to reach the condition of an animate

Oh, moody minstrel, hazier stillThan the old wine wedding guests toast,Ribbons and gold reward thy skill,Lavishly granted by the host.  Come, self-willed minstrel, cast thy spell,Gather thy ample voice and singAbout Laplander EnigelleAnd ancient Crypto, mushroom-king.  Best

All kinds of things happen. I remember this biker. I was sitting in front of the chalet, watching him. I was waiting to see him getting bored. He was mounting the steep slope for the forth time around and, as soon as he reached the top, he would turn his bike into a smooth,

A Great Man is one of the short stories that has haunted me since adolescence when I accidentally found it on one of the shelves in my bookcase, in a volume of short stories by Eliade. I was intrigued by the title and I chose to read it first. Its reading brought in front

I had known Cucoanesh as far back as the first high school years, but we had never made friends. In university, I lost touch with him. I only learnt that he entered the PolytechnicUniversity. Meeting him, by accident, in a tobacconist's, he told me that he had graduated

Wakened up from chloroform by the doctor, Lia realized she had given birth to a monster. The baby was a hunchback. She had been waiting for Prince Charming for nine months, while feeding a crocodile with a broken spine in her womb, instead. This can't be true, doctor!

At first sight, nothing could be more reasonable or understandable than the illustration of the present issue of PLURAL. As the texts spin around the sexual obsession in Romanian literature, running from Creanga`s licentious Tale of All Tales to Agopian and Aldulescu`s swank,

excerpts Crina: Very few people on the trolleybus. I take a seat and as always I get to be on the sunny side. I prop an elbow in the curved rubber of the windowsill. White with powder and fingerprints, it is filled with seed coats and a used ticket. Gusts of wind carrying

excerpt 02/01/1980I am reading something by W. Faulkner, which lives among dusty shelves, with a tidy certitude; that certitude divorced reality a long time ago, quietly depleting, like a breeze of air when it sees injustice taking hold… and I now believe that this is

excerpt I carefully studied him. It seemed to me that he was shaking. His hair was dark and curly, his eyes bright and his face was fresh and clean like a baby's. Why are you looking at me like this!?My, how you've grown, Raresh!You have such beautiful eyes! I've