excerpts A PRIMER OF SORTS KIWI
Kiwi, the bird I am going to tell you about, goes by the name of Kiwi. No one ever saw it flying. It never came to anyone's window, ever. The wind never ruffled its feathers. The sun never turned its wings to gold.
Kiwi is a bird from a faraway continent, with the bones of a bird, the wings of a bird, and the eyes of a bird. There's but one thing Kiwi can't do: fly. Its tiny wings cling to its body, Kiwi drags itself upon the ground, close to the roots of ancient trees, Kiwi stuffs its gullet with insects and things. Shall we love it? What for? Shall we follow it? Never. Let us give flying a try instead, even without wings, let us rather give flying a try. Let us keep trying, and one day we'll be sure to break free from the clay. XENIA AND THE XYLOPHONE
Xenia is my friend. Whenever we go on outings, she is playing the xylophone and shares with me her packed lunch. And so do I. Xenia is a very cheerful girl and I love calling out her name in the woods, hands cupped around my mouth. Xenia does not answer when I call. She hides behind some bushes and for a brief spell I panic: what if she's got lost? How would I ever go back home without my friend Xenia? When she finally comes out, I'm the happiest boy on earth. Xenia, when I grow up, I'm going to buy me a bicycle and give you rides – you and
your husband, of course… Facla, Timisoara, 1980
by Nichita Stănescu (1933-1983); Gheorghe Tomozei (1936-1997)