Mihai Eminescu was a Romanian poet, novelist, and journalist
Sherzod Artikov | Uzbekistan
Although the city of Bucharest in September looks a bit tired and exhausted from the outside, in fact the atmosphere in the city is very quiet, warm and pleasant. When I visited Bucharest at the beginning of the fall of 2023, I felt the happiness and peace that I had been looking for since many years and could not find.
Known as the “Paris of the East”, the beautiful city has dozens of museums, art galleries and other attractions worth seeing and visiting. For some reason, I chose Bellu Cemetery as the first place I had to visit. Without delay, in one breath, as fast as I can and decided to fly there as a bird. This was one of my long-standing, unfulfilled dreams.
Belle? Why exactly this, that is, a cemetery named after a rich baron, attracted me? That’s why Mihai Eminescu, whose work I loved and admired too much, whose fiery and sensitive love in his lyrical poems constantly excited and turned me upside down, whose fire verses penetrated my heart and touched its strings delicately, whose poetry is vividly embodied in my eyes every time Romanian literature was mentioned, lay there in eternal sleep for many years.
It was not difficult for me to find Bellu, because I was impatiently in love with his grave. It was not far from the city center. Entering from the main gate, walking along the corridor on the right side, you will find the Alley of Writers. Eminescu’s tomb overlooked that avenue. When I went to his grave, for a few minutes my perception was in a hurry, my body trembled, my heart beat faster. I couldn’t believe my eyes: after all, I appeared in front of the grave of Mihai Eminescu, standing before him like a statue. This is a reality, to be more precise, it is like Shahrizoda’s fairy tale in “One Thousand Nights”, no matter how hard I try, I would not believe in this noble truth. However, this was the truth. Realizing or not realizing it, losing control over me, unconsciously passed by Eminescu’s tomb size, engraved on the tombstone, years of birth and death, repeatedly look at the flag of the Romanian state, holding the tombstone with my fingers trembling his smooth marbles, passed by him next to this, took a selfie by my phone, if not, looked to a tomb thoughtfully like philosophers.
Eminescu was not alone here. On his right, another great Romanian writer and dramatist, Ion Luca Carajale, and a little further away, writer Marin Preda, did not leave him alone not only in this real world, but also in the forever world after death. It seemed to me that in this part of Bellu, a great and big ensemble had gathered, which left an indelible mark in the history of Romanian literature and became the conscience of the Romanian people. Finally, I came to my senses and slowly sank down on the edge of the grave. As if waiting for me to drown, my unbridled imagination instantly flew far away. The life of Mihai Eminescu, who is recognized as the “morning star of Romanian literature” in its borders, began to pass before my eyes. Just like a film, one by one, all in black and white like in Chaplin’s movies…
Here is Northern Moldavia. 1850 according to the calendar. In the hut of one of the hard-working farmers, who work without stopping either in winter or summer, woman named Raluka gave a birth to a child. Crying at the top of his voice, the baby was born. The midwife, who was very old, turned to the woman, and joyfully shouted “son, Raluka!” Happy parents gave him the name Mihai, and the old priest baptized him in the church.
At night, he writes poems. About the mother, or rather about his mother Raluka. He also dedicates poems to his beloved teacher, Aron Pumnul, Bukovina, the village where he was born and grew up. In addition, he writes about first love.
Here are the views of the rural village of Bukovina, which was under Austro-Hungarian rule at that time. There, in the courtyard of the old gymnasium, where the walls are covered with plaster, the buildings are beginning to shine, the boy Mihai is frowning, his face does not light up. Because learning the German language is causing him difficulties, no matter how hard he tries, love for this language does not awaken in his heart. He is unable to find the grace, melody and sweetness of his mother tongue, Romanian, taught by his beloved teacher Aron Pumnul in the depths of a coarse language. He is upset, disappointed, depressed.
Here is 1864 on the calendar. Mihai joins a handful of provincial actors and lives as a wanderer. Together with them, he shows the people an amateur theatrical performances in the remote villages, and earns pocket money, barely enough to feed his stomach. He was thin on top, emaciated from not having enough to eat, and his days spent in need and beatings had left him with almost no hope for the future. Although he sighs at the amateurs and poor actors around him who are living for today, the happy part is that the poet, suffering from a mental crisis, finds strength in himself and writes his first poetic exercises about love. You want to say praise to human courage after seeing this!
This is a narrow and old road leading to Vienna, the center of the empire. It looks old and strange. It is not even paved. During the snow and rain, not only people, but also a cart wheels get stuck in the mud, has difficulty walking, and sometimes get stuck on the road for several days.
A black cart was seen in the distance. Its wheels screeched as it approached, reminiscent of the anguished cry of a sick person. Several passengers inside. One of them is a young man with a mustache, blue eyes and white dreams shining in his eyes. Mihai is going to Vienna to study, to achieve his dreams. Will the spoiled old man, who in his time loved Mozart and Beethoven madly, accepts him?
Before long, the scene changes. Now the magnificent, charming and beautiful Vienna appears. Here Mihai is a free listener at the old University of Vienna, attending lectures on philology, philosophy and jurisprudence. His poetic, emotional heart began to fade in front of such a dull prosaic scene. The professors who inherited pedantry and rotted in the mold already seemed to him to be the same, as if they did not enjoy life, as if they lived without love. In particular, he was completely stunned by the science of law. Mihai is fading, bored, his heart is pounding like a bird trapped in a cage.
The French have a saying that “poets are born in the countryside and die in the cities.” This proverb can also be applied to Mihai. He was born in a small village like Bukovina, and said goodbye to the mortal world in a big city like Bucharest.
At night, he writes poems. About the mother, or rather about his mother Raluka. He also dedicates poems to his beloved teacher, Aron Pumnul, Bukovina, the village where he was born and grew up. In addition, he writes about first love. As dawn breaks, the same dull prosaic landscape swallows him up again. Either he must stop it or sacrifice a fiery heart. Mihai chose the first and decided to leave Vienna.
1872, Berlin. Now Mihai is busy with listening to lectures at the University of Berlin. He spent two years on these lectures. He deeply studies philosophers such as Immanuil Kant and Confucius, and translates some of their works into Romanian. He supports the revolution in Paris and the Paris Commune. He captures these historical moments in his epic poems such as “The Emperor and the Workers” and “The Angel and the Devil.” During these years, the spirit of patriotism and social themes are more visible in his poems. He begins to write poems with high pathos and love about his motherland, Romania.
Now I see the small town of Iasi in Romania in 1874. Mihai is teaching the children in the gymnasium there in an ill-fitting teacher’s uniform. It has been a long time since his work and worldview made a radical change, and now he has become a person and artist who wants to spread patriotism in the hearts of every Romanian, and who is ready to serve the unity of Romania through his poems. Soon the city of Iasi became too narrow for his ideals and he moved to Bucharest. It was in Bucharest that he finished writing his monumental socio-philosophical epic – “Morning Star”.
Read: When the characters come to life
Before long, I see Bucharest in 1889, the psychiatric hospital there. Mihai is lying quietly on the turnip bed in his room, which smells of poison and chlorine, without taking his eyes off the ceiling. His nerves are tired. Looking at him, you want to exclaim that “it was not easy for poets in all times.” Indeed, it is true. Constant thoughts about the fate of the country, sleepless nights devoted to poems reflecting on its reunification, sufferings caused by the abstraction behind his future, long ago made Mihai mentally unbalanced, until this day he was living by doing one thing, taking care of himself, and now it was as if he was nailed to the bed forever. He felt in his heart that he would not get up again, his native village Bukovina, his mother Raluka, his childhood and high school years passed before his eyes, although his mental injury was severe, he did not stop himself from enjoying these sweet memories…
The French have a saying that “poets are born in the countryside and die in the cities.” This proverb can also be applied to Mihai. He was born in a small village like Bukovina, and said goodbye to the mortal world in a big city like Bucharest.
It was almost noon when I woke up repeating the same saying in a whisper, and although there was a light breeze blowing from all four directions, the temperature had risen a little. This very day, as I bid farewell to Mihai Eminescu, who now has nothing left but his desk, in the underground grave, I felt a growing conviction that he would remain in a corner of my heart until the end of my life, that I would turn to him again and again in my thoughts, that I would live days, weeks, and months within his lyrical poems, and that Bellu would become a corner more precious to me than the grave, and this conviction would not only bring a half-smile to my lips, but also involuntarily moisten my eyes…
Translated into English by Maftuna Abdurasulova
___________________
Sherzod Artikov is an Uzbek writer, essayist, poet and translator. He graduated from Ferghana Polytechnic Institute of Uzbekistan in 2005. He was one of the winners of the International Award of Contemporary Author’s Fairy Tales held in North Macedonia in 2021. His stories have been translated into 30 languages of the world and published in websites, magazines and newspapers of about 60 countries. In 2020, the author’s books “Autumn Symphony”, “Beauty that did not save the world” and “Mona Lisa’s Smile” were published in 2022. In the middle of 2021-2022, his stories and poems were published in international anthologies in Bangladesh, Egypt, India, Canada, Tunisia, Greece, Mexico, Indonesia, USA, UAE, France, Lebanon, Poland, Turkey, and his author’s books were published in Cuba, in India, Romania, Vietnam, and in Hungary. He is a 2021 laureate of the “Golden creativity award” of the Mexican-Moroccan literary alliance for young translators.
Read: ROMANIA WITHOUT TATIANA
