Boris David alias Darias Basarab: Instead of foreword – Povod. Road to Siberia
My thoughts and every single one,
belong to me, to other none!
Don’t turn words away from sense,
don’t look for hidden meaning,
Among the waves of brain wich swing
the agony of venture is immense!…
The Author
Instead of foreword
I was so fond of solitude that I ended up fearing it! I have desired it since I was a child, or maybe since forever. Every time I could acquire it, I stared at the sky, or at its reflection in the water, because I had always protected my solitude lying under the ravine bank, or, as I liked to call it, under the monastery, on the Danube bank. Maybe there were others like me, but I don’t think so, because how could I have found free seats at the show of solitude if that was the case?! The hardest part to acquire was time. Yes, yes! Solitude is not easily satisfied. You have to have time, in order to be alone. You have to search for it, find it, give yourself to it, forgetting about everyone and everything. Only who learns to separate from the rest can hope to know solitude. All by yourself, protected by the steep slope of the ravine, between sky and water! One day, I tried to evade even more into loneliness. I plunged in the water, swimming with open eyes – the sky disappeared. Soon, the power guiding me also disappeared, and at the first gulp of water, a feeling of terror started to choke me. A sky filled with stars shone in my head, as if lighting my path toward the riverbank. I lay on the soft sand and I saw the blue sky. I understood that underwater I had encountered the darkness, but not the loneliness I was looking for. God, I spent so many hours between sky and water! It was getting harder for me as years went by. A solitary teenager easily becomes his fellows’ target. Adolescence brought with it the ordeal of convenience. I wanted to be alone, but I was spending my time in society. I was even considered sociable! With such a pleasure I evaded in my singular world, leaving the appearance of a mysterious person. I did everything to defend my reputation, without allowing anyone to pass the boundary of my loneliness. It wasn’t easy, because it deprived me of the time I needed so much. The fear that I couldn’t defend my solitude from the misunderstanding of those around me, gradually brought about a fear of my much-desired loneliness. I started judging myself, confronting with others, blaming myself. I knew I wasn’t hiding anything evil in me; nevertheless I started to elaborate a harsh indictment. I was the ruthless judge, the innocent accused, the defender of my own person. I was fond of loneliness in the world of childhood, I kept it hidden in the depths of my being in the years that followed and I still keep it. By hiding it, I do nothing but defend it, keeping my best memories immaculate. Who could I explain the charm of the moments spent between sky and water, all by myself, gazing at the vastness which the deceitful horizon binds in a single word – infinity. Why do I like to leave on my own in the search of sky and waters? Something like this cannot be explained! This is a part of the small infinity of my soul, from which my whole being can get through, but where nobody else can get. No, what I am saying is not poetry! It’s just my life, which I like to dispose of! I have loved solitude and I can still find this first love intact in me. Will I have the power not to hide it at least now, at the finish line? I don’t know. But I know that I should!…
D.B. was born on the 10th of May 1929, in the town of Ismail, on the bank of the Danube. In 1944, at Easter, he set off wandering, stopping in his journeys at Calarashi, Rimnicu Sarat (Ferdinand high school), Beiush, Oradea (Gojdu high school), Timisoara (Polytechnic Institute – Industrial Chemistry), Shtei, Bucharest. Chemist engineer (1954) he has been drawn to research in the field of Rare and Radioactive Metals, remaining tributary to it until retirement (1989).
He has written, but only for himself – poetry, prose. He has only published scientific works.
I was so fond of solitude that I ended up fearing it! I have desired it since I was a child, or maybe since forever. Every time I could acquire it, I stared at the sky, or at its reflection in the water, because I had always protected my solitude lying under the ravine bank, or, as I liked to call it, under the monastery, on the Danube bank.
Folk ‘wisdom’ says that: ‘you can forgive, but you cannot forget’! Can that be true? If so, why can’t I myself make this saying a dictum that will bring tranquility on ‘my street’?! To forgive! Maybe if I managed to forget, I would escape the hatred – one cannot hate in absence of a subject! But oblivion means amnesia, and amnesia is a disease I cannot wish for.
Daris Basarab – POVOD, Road to Siberia, novel, Bucharest, 2004
Pro memoria, for Cris!
Cover by: NIKOLAUS OTTO KRUCH
edited for english version by: Florin Oprea
Translated by: Mihai Oprea
