{"id":2568,"date":"2018-08-18T12:19:12","date_gmt":"2018-08-18T12:19:12","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/?p=2568"},"modified":"2018-08-18T12:19:12","modified_gmt":"2018-08-18T12:19:12","slug":"adriana-craciun-daca-n-ar-fi-eminescu","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/adriana-craciun-daca-n-ar-fi-eminescu\/","title":{"rendered":"Adriana Cr\u0103ciun\/Dac\u0103 n-ar fi Eminescu"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"alignnone size-art-big-1col wp-image-2592\" src=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/07\/adriana-craciun-326x235.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"326\" height=\"235\" \/><\/p>\n<p><em>colegiul Na\u021bional \u201eSpiru Hare\u201d Tecuci<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Versurile sunt p\u0103r\u0163i din sufletul poetului pe care acesta le exileaz\u0103 \u00een lume l\u0103s\u00e2ndu-le s\u0103 \u00eeng\u00e2ne c\u00e2nt\u0103ri asemenea unei melodii sfinte.<br \/>\nMihai Eminescu este cel care a dat glas limbajului poetic \u00een literatur\u0103, pun\u00e2ndu-\u015fi amprenta asupra acestuia prin m\u0103iestria care \u015flefuie\u015fte cuv\u00e2ntul.<br \/>\nUn plop b\u0103tr\u00e2n ale c\u0103rui frunze ve\u015ftede sunt purtate de adierea cald\u0103 a v\u00e2ntului \u00eentr-o dulce simfonie vegheaz\u0103 un copil cu bucle b\u0103lai \u015fi sur\u00e2s inocent care p\u0103teaz\u0103 cu cerneal\u0103 albastr\u0103 foile alb-l\u0103ptoase care \u00eei aud g\u00e2ndurile. R\u0103sun\u0103 \u00eemprejur o lacrim\u0103, un z\u00e2mbet, o voce, o iubire, dar nici unul nu izbute\u015fte \u00een a \u00eenceta. Se ridic\u0103 de la masa veche din lemn de brad ro\u015fiatic\u0103 \u00een lumina lum\u00e2n\u0103rii \u015fi pleac\u0103, asemenea unei fantasme, \u00eentr-un codru. \u00ce\u015fi a\u015feaz\u0103 capul pe genunchi \u015fi pl\u00e2nge. O fecioar\u0103 \u00een alb cu ochi de nestemate \u00ee\u015fi presar\u0103 degetele sub\u0163iri pe um\u0103rul s\u0103u, iar cei doi se \u00eenal\u0163\u0103 spre bolta cereasc\u0103, contopindu-se \u00eentr-o stea care st\u0103 de straj\u0103 asupra noastr\u0103.<br \/>\nEminescu este iubire. O iubire dulce, plin\u0103 de ging\u0103\u015fie, pres\u0103rat\u0103 de atingeri calde \u015fi s\u0103rut\u0103ri timide. O iubire fragil\u0103 asemenea unui copil, umbrit\u0103 de nuan\u0163e de triste\u0163e profund\u0103 n\u0103scute din \u00eendep\u0103rtarea de fiin\u0163a iubit\u0103. P\u0103rta\u015ful acestuia este natura, care creeaz\u0103 un cadru feeric pentru \u00eendr\u0103gosti\u0163ii veghea\u0163i de lumina palid\u0103 a lunii. ,,Lacul codrilor albastru&#8221; este un loc \u00een care nu doar clipocitul apei r\u0103sun\u0103, ci \u015fi murmurul g\u00e2ndurilor iubi\u0163ilor. Un loc \u00een care \u00eenl\u0103untrul uman transpare \u00een ipostaza celui care mediteaz\u0103, ilustr\u00e2nd condi\u0163ia omului de geniu, afl\u00e2ndu-se \u00een singur\u0103tate, care dore\u015fte s\u0103 se \u00eemplineasc\u0103 prin iubire.<br \/>\nLuceaf\u0103r bl\u00e2nd \u00een miez de sear\u0103, vioar\u0103 mut\u0103, floare de cire\u015f, ai str\u0103b\u0103tut v\u0103zduhul pentru a ajunge \u00een pragul u\u015fii noaste \u015fi a ne c\u0103l\u0103tori sufletul. Dac\u0103 n-ai fi, noi ce am deveni? Suflete mute, care se risipesc \u00een t\u0103cere.<br \/>\n\u00cemi adormi sufletul obosit cu poezia ta dulce. Chiar ai plecat? Nu te mai \u00eentorci? Iar\u0103 este prim\u0103var\u0103! Dar ce conteaz\u0103 dac\u0103 \u00een al meu suflet e at\u00e2ta toamn\u0103? Sufletu-mi este asemenea unei fantasme care p\u0103\u015fe\u015fte m\u0103runt \u00eentr-un col\u0163 de lume. At\u00e2t de frig, at\u00e2ta cea\u0163\u0103&#8230;At\u00e2tea cuvinte de spus, dar cui? Z\u0103bovesc pe poteci asemenea unui fluture de m\u0103tase, p\u00e2lp\u00e2ind \u00een lumina iubirii; \u015fi mor, pu\u0163in c\u00e2te pu\u0163in, fiindc\u0103 nu mai lumineaz\u0103 ca alt\u0103dat\u0103. Trupul m\u0103 plimb\u0103 dintr-un loc \u00een altul, dezv\u0103luindu-mi noi chipuri, noi sentimente, noi emo\u0163ii. Unde sunt oamenii de ieri, cei care nu cereau nimic \u00een schimb pentru un sur\u00e2s, pentru un glas dulce, pentru ni\u015fte ochi calzi? Totu\u015fi, \u00een miez de noapte, o lic\u0103rire \u00eemi str\u0103bate sufletul \u015fi transform\u0103 toat\u0103 acea toamn\u0103, \u00eentr-o ginga\u015f\u0103 prim\u0103var\u0103. Frunzele ar\u0103mii, \u00een care m\u0103 sc\u0103ldam \u00eentr-o baie de ghe\u0163\u0103, cap\u0103t\u0103 nuan\u0163e de verde smarald, care m\u0103 \u00eentineresc. Din cer, nu se mai zdrobesc de p\u0103m\u00e2nt stropii reci de ploaie, ci petale de flori care m\u0103 \u00eembie cu un miros neasemuit, al nim\u0103nui \u015fi zidesc un pat pe care \u00eemi pot odihni sufletul istovit. Dar totu\u015fi, ce este acea lic\u0103rire? Nu. Cine? E\u015fti tu, cel sl\u0103vit de stele lucitoare, din care m\u0103 hr\u0103nesc \u015fi care treze\u015fte fiin\u0163a dinl\u0103untrul meu. \u015ei de ce nu, o nou\u0103 prim\u0103var\u0103.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>locul II la concursul \u201eDac\u0103 n-ar fi Eminescu\u201d &#8211; organizat de Biblioteca Municipal\u0103 \u201e\u0218tefan Petic\u0103\u201dTecuci\/Bibliotecar &#8211; Ionica N\u0103sie<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"alignnone size-art-big-1col wp-image-2592\" src=\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/07\/adriana-craciun-326x235.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"326\" height=\"235\" \/><\/p>\n<p><em>colegiul Na\u021bional \u201eSpiru Hare\u201d Tecuci<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Versurile s&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1,28],"tags":[],"coauthors":[75],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-Fq","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2568"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2568"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2568\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2616,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2568\/revisions\/2616"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2568"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2568"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2568"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=2568"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}