Nyt on yö. Minä kuljen yksin tyhjiä katuja. En tiedä, mihin olen menossa, hyvä kun tiedän mistä olen tulossa, ja ruumiissani soi tuhat kaunista ja voimakasta sävelmää, minun koko menneisyyteni, ja silmissäni loistavat tuhannen ihmisen silmät, silmien takana tuntemattomuus, tätä naista ei tunne kukaan, se ei ole vielä täysin syntynytkään, ei kukaan tiedä mitä se on tulevaisuudessa.
- Mirka Lattunen
El a întins spre mine o frunză ca o mână cu degete. Eu am întins spre el o mână ca o frunză cu dinţi. El a întins spre mine o ramură ca un braţ. Eu am întins spre el braţul ca o ramură. El schi-a înclinat spre mine trunchiul ca un umăr. Eu mi-am înclinat spre el umărul ca un trunchi noduros. Auzeam cum se încetineşte sângele meu suind ca seva. Eu am trecut prin el. El a trecut prin mine. Eu am rămas un pom singur. El un om singur
- Nichita Stănescu
Kunst ist nicht ein Spiegel, den man der Wirklichkeit vorhält, sondern ein Hammer, mit dem man sie gestaltet.
- Karl Marx
The Hermit’s Song
A hiding tuft, a green-barked yew tree Is my roof, While nearby a great oak tree keeps me Tempest-proof.
I can pick my fruit from an apple Like an Inn, Or can fill my fist where hazels Shut me in.
A clear well beside me offers Best of drink, And there glows a bed of cresses Near its brink.
Pigs and Goats, the friendliest neighbours, Nestle near, Wild swine come, or broods of badgers, Grazing deer.
All the gentry of the county Come to call! And the foxes come behind them, Best of all.
To what meals the woods invite me All about! There are water, herbs and cresses, Salmon, trout.
A clutch of eggs, sweet mast and honey Are my meat, Heathberries and Whortleberries For a sweet.
All that one could ask for comfort Round me grows, There are hips and haws and strawberries, Nuts and sloes.
And when summer spreads its mantle What a sight! Marjoram and leeks and pignuts, Juicy, bright.
Dainty redbreasts briskly forage Every bush Round and round my hut there flutter Shallow, thrush.
Bees and beetles, music-makers, Croon and strum; Geese pass over, duck in autumn, Dark streams hum.
Angry wren, officious linnet And black-cap, All industrious, and the woodpecker’s Sturdy tap.
From the sea the gulls and herons Flutter in, While in upland heather rises The grey hen.
In the year’s most brilliant weather Heifers low Through green fields, not driven nor beaten, Tranquil, slow.
In wreathed boughs the wind is whispering, Skies are blue, Swans call, river water falling Is calling too.
Mihai chewed up a piece of raw garlic the other day. After the first bite, he shouted, "Waah! What's this?!" No, he had not found a new friend in his food. What made him so astonished was the lack of aroma.
Back home in Romania, he told me, he would smell of garlic for weeks if he ate one small piece. His aunt was constantly complaining that she could not cook anything that wasn't supposed to taste strongly of garlic after having cut up some garlic, because the smell on her fingers was so strong and lingered in everything she touched.
Indeed, I had noticed the same during my visit, and had found Romanian garlic to be much stronger than what I was used to, just like the taste and smell of all other vegetables, fruits, etc. was much fuller and nicer.
We tried to figure out why there was such an immense difference in Swedish and Romanian garlic. One reason could be that the Swedish garlic has been bred and/or manipulated to reduce its smell, as many (stupid) people don't like the smell. Another reason could be that the mass production prevalent in EU farming has produced not only tasteless, watery tomatoes and cucumbers, but also tasteless, watery garlic.
Considering that Romania will become a member of the European Union in 2007, this is quite alarming. If the Romanian farmers will follow the EU Common Agricultural Policy's incentives and turn to mass production, and eventually produce garlic that is just as devoid of any strength and stench worth mentioning - then what will protect them against the vampires?
This weak garlic will not help against those creatures, Mihai assured me. And he should know.
Read more about the European Union's Common Agricultural Policy:
Martin has told me the same thing about Polish vegetables. When his relatives visit Sweden, they are appalled to find out that Western vegetables don't taste half as hearty as the Polish tomatoes etc. But of course the EU is demanding change in Polish agriculture - they have to adjust to EU standards of "hygiene". Which means that one thing that Eastern Europeans have been spared for a long time - food allergies, frequently linked to use of chemicals in Western agriculture - will become a problem in the east as well. Hooray.