Arhive lunare: aprilie 2008

Ce face profesorul profesor

In psihologie exista un test care decurge in felul urmator: psihologul pronunta un cuvant iar pacientul respectiv asociaza cuvantul cu un altul. Daca cineva s-ar deranja sa faca un astfel de test studentilor si elevilor iar cuvantul pronuntat ar fi “profesor” termenul care ar aparea in discutie ar varia undeva intre “nazist” si “iad”.  Din pacate ne petrecem peste zece ani din viata noastra fiind facuti sa trecem prin foc si sabie de unii din acesti oameni care adesea ne fac sa credem ca isi obtin masteratul in “tortura medievala” iar ultima banca ajunge sa reprezinte raiul pe pamant, adapostul care ne ascunde- cel putin temporar- de “urgia” ce se poate dezlantui oricand. Bineinteles lucrurile nu stau intocmai asa, dar ce ar fi viata fara putina exagerare?

            In zilele noastre notiunea de profesor, rolul, indatoririle a cunoscut o anumita evolutia datorata si vremurilor pe care le traim. Nu mai suntem inconjurati de aceleasi mentalitati invechite pentru ca, dupa cum s-a demonstrat, acestea si-au pierdut o data cu trecerea timpului functionalitatea. Insa, cu toate acestea vestigii ale vechiului sistem de invatamant se mentin si astazi dar, desi lucrurile stau astfel nu putem sa spunem ca se desfasoara rau. Este foarte important ca disciplina, atat de ovationata in trecut, sa se mentina si astazi insa nu prin amenintari si un comportament “comunist” al profesorului- care in unele cazuri prinde cu ochii studentul doar daca se intoarce spre un coleg sau casca- ci prin simpla prezenta a respectivului. Personal, sunt de parere ca nu oricine poate sa fie un profesor iar in aceasta directie un anumit nivel de carisma, o capacitate de conducere trebuie sa existe in omul respectiv pentru a insufla interesul atat pentru el ca persoana cat si ca reprezentat al institutiei scolare. Adesea ni se intampla, ca studenti sau elevi, sa ni se trezeasca o placere si un interes inegalabil pentru un curs pe care un anumit profesor il preda iar aceasta se datoreaza nu faptului ca acel continut al cursului este atat de fascinant incat anuleaza toate celalalte distractii care ar putea sa apara, ci omului care il preda. Pe scurt lucrurile stau in urmatorul mod: ne place omul, ne place si cursul; nu putem suporta omul atunci numai prin operatie chirurgicala ar putea cursul respectiv sa ne trezeasca vreun interes. Intrebarea care survine insa este urmatoare: cum poate un om, un profesor sa se faca placut dar in acelasi timp ascultat? Cum poate sa inspire incredere dar in acelasi timp obedienta?

            Deja am mentionat necesitatea unui nivel minim de carisma, acel ceva care da cuiva atuul de a fi ascultat si urmarit constant,insa ca cineva sa fie un profesor bun trebuie sa stie sa imbine doua elemente: disciplina si apropierea fata de sudenti. S-ar crede ca cele doua ar trebui divizate intr-o forma de jumi-juma insa parerea mea este ca disciplina ar trebui sa ocupe 60% din aceasta proportie. Adesea profesorii se plang ca elevii nu pot fi controlati, ca studentii la curs sunt prea numeorsi si fac galagie, aplica sanctiuni si diverse de care insa ulterior nu se tin pentru a nu dauna situatiei elevilor si asa mai departe. Insa sunt de parere ca atunci cand o clasa nu poate fi tinuta sub control, vina cade nu pe elevi ci pe profesorul respectiv intrucat acesta nu are taria de caracter necesara pentru a-si desfasura activitatea. Este de inteles dorinta profesorilor de a mentine buna-intelegere intre el si elevi insa acest lucru este nerealizabil daca profesorul respectiv nu are ceea ce ii trebuie pentru a-si determina elevii sa il respecte. Desigur, nu vorbesc despre cureaua de piele din cui, ci despre respectul pe care o persoana il trezeste prin proria sa fire, prin modul sau de a fi cine si ceea ce este. Acest lucru este adesea dificil de dobandit natural, dar in cazul care se dovedeste insuficient profesorul are obligatia de a stabili anumite limite, anumite pedespe ce vor surveni in urma lipsei de atentie si de respect. Cativa elevi se vor simti tentati sa verfice veridicitatea acestor “amenintari” dar acesta este exact momentul in care profesorul trebuie sa se tine de cuvantul dat. Fiecare om primeste nivelul de respect pe care stie sa-l dobandeasca. Astfel, daca profesorul va da dovada de slabiciune, de incapacitatea de a scade o nota drastic, de a da studentul afara din sala de curs sau chiar de a-I face dosar, aceasta va fi de asemenea o lectie din care studentii si elevii vor invata. Lectia va fi, ca puterea sta de fapt in mainile lor, ca nu exista limite si ca pot face orice isi doresc fara a tine cont de restrictiile impuse nu numai de profesor ci si de bun simt. Cursul va deveni astfel haos pentru profesorul slab de inger intrucat nimeni nu il va asculta, si oricine se va considera liber sa faca ce isi doreste. Limitele vor fi verificate treptat treptat de catre elevi, curiosi sa vada cat de departe pot sa mearga, si cu cat profesorul le va permite mai multe cu atat va fi mai devalorizat in ochii lor pana in punctul in care orice urma de respect va disparea. Aceasta din pacate se intampla deoarece comportamentului profesorului nu este luat ca ingaduinta sau intelegere ci ca slabiciune…iar daca ni se ofera posibilitatea de a vorbi intre noi o ora si douazeci de minute, de a pleca si intra nestingheriti, de a vorbi la telefoane etc. noi o vom lua.

 Un om care nu stie sa controleze o sala plina cu oameni nu va putea sa se apropie nicicand de ei pentru ca pur si simplu ii va lipsi capacitatea de a le atrage atentia. Suntem oameni iar tot ceea ce este in jur pentru noi reprezinta o atractie indiferent cat de banal ar putea sa fie: o barfa cu colegii, o gluma pe seama unor nimicuri, un film nou aparut, noul sandwich de la McDonallds iar lista poate sa continue spre infinit. Profesorul trebuie sa stie sa capteze atentia intr-un asemenea fel incat sa se plaseze deasupra oricarui subiect de conversatie care ar putea sa apara, nu sa faca studentii sa realizeze ca acel subiect va putea fi dezbatut si peste o ora, ci pur si simplu sa il vaduveasca de interes prin propriile sale teme si discutii. Acest lucru poate fi realizat in moduri diverse iar un mod care il asigura sunt glumele. Rasul ne face placere, iar o gluma pe subiectul respectiv poate sa faca si cea mai anosta conversatie sa para interesanta. Bineinteles gluma nu trebuie sa fie facuta in termeni academici pentru ca in acest caz numai persoana de specialitate o va intelege; ea trebuie spusa intr-un mod prietenos, sa fie scurta dar plina de umor, in termeni simpli si intr-un context care se potriveste subiectului tratat.  In momentul in care un profesor poate sa faca o sala intreaga de oameni sa rade cu el si nu de el, atunci este pe drumul cel bun pentru ca acei elevi vor fi atenti sa mai prinda inca un astfel de moment care sa destinda atmosfera. Asta nu inseamna desigur ca un curs ar trebui sa semene cu noul spectacol de circ din oras. Nu este nevoie de elefanti, tigri si clovni (care sunt destul de inspaimantatori dupa umila mea parere) ci doar de inventivitate si incredere in propriile forte intrucat fiecare om primeste nivelul de respect pe care stie sa-l dobandeasca.

            Umorul este asftel o calitate ce asigura succesul oricarui profesor si care aduce inevitabil si o anumita deschidere catre elevi ceea ce este de asemenea foarte important. Nimeni nu vrea un om scortos acolo sus la microfon care vorbeste o ora si douazeci de minute cu el insusi in timp ce fiecare student priveste spre usa de lemn ca la singura scapare dintr-un infern nedrept, care chiar si atunci cand este intrebat ceva tot parca siesi isi raspunde la intrebare si privind spre fata studentului respectiv care pare fie nelamurit fie nemultumit de raspunsul dat, turuie mai departe considerand ca el si-a facut treaba. Nu, profesorul trebuie sa accepte ca, atunci cand trateaza un subiect ce poate starni nelamuriri sau opinii diverse, intrebari ii vor fi puse si explicatii ii vor fi cerute. Raspunsurile care le ofera pot sa insa sa nu fie suficiente iar atunci noi discutii vor incepe si contraziceri care nu trebuiesc anulate sau respinse ci tratate. Acest lucru trebuie facut in acelasi timp cu rabdare pentru ca daca studentul respectiv s-a deranjat sa intrebe ceva, sa isi manifeste o nelamurire (si chiar sa-si atraga in parte o serie de bleste din partea colegilor care se tem ca vor fi tinuti peste program) atunci el merita un raspuns detaliat si clarificator.

            Cand eram in generala si printre orele care se numarau se afla si religia mi s-a intamplat un lucru care mie mi s-a parut cel putin revoltator. In timp ce profesoara tot vorbea de Dumnezeu si despre ceea ce se intampla dincolo de moarte, intrebarea mea a fost destul de simpla “de unde stiti?”, numai ca raspunsul care mi-a fost oferit “pentru ca asa vrea Dumnezeu” mi s-a parut pe atat de banal pe cat era de cretin. Poate este un exemplu destul de vag insa nu puteam sa inteleg cum cineva care nu are nici o idee despre ce explicatii sa dea, putea fi pus sa predea o materie, iar dupa aceea tot acea persoana se plangea de lipsa de interes pentru ora ei.

            O alta calitate a unui profesor trebuie sa fie aceea de a inspira studentilor incredere in propriile lor opinii dar mai ales incredere in a le exprima. In liceu ne petrecem o medie de sase ore pe zi in cadrul scolii si inevitabil ceea ce vedem si auzim in cadrul acestei institutii ne formeaza ca oameni. Aceasta calitate combate acel ritual mai sus mentionat, al unor profesori de a turui ore in sir de dragul de a se auzi vorbind. Asta nu inseamna ca ceea ce spun profesorii respectivi nu este interesant sau folositor, dar daca nu exista o interactiune in cadrul acelei ore, totul devine plictisitor si isi pierde intelesul. In acest sens consider ca foarte multe materii sunt extrem de utile pentru a trezi in oameni acea dorinta si posibilitate de exrimare a propriilor ganduri si sentimente fara teama de a fi ridiculizati de profesor. Poate initial legatura nu este facuta dar in momentul in care capeti curajul sa te exprimi deschis in fata a treicezi de oameni, cu timpul capeti curajul sa te exprimi in fata a o suta cinzeci, inveti sa ai incredere in parerile care ti le formezi, sa le sustii, sa le aperi si chiar sa combati anumite opinii care nu se aliniaza la propriul mod de gandire. Cuvantul este principalul element prin care se realizeaza relatiile sociale, si capatand cunostinta de a-l utiliza si manipula indiferent de context este un avantaj ce nu poate fi negat.

 

Andreea

6 comentarii

Din categoria Andreea

What do you do?

Astazi nu va voi vorbi despre vreo carte, desi am o gramada sa va recomand. Nu de alta, dar rebelu’ din mine refuza sa fie ca restul colegilor mei de pe blog care-au postat saptamana asta ( no offence, guys! ). Implicit, scuzele mele pentru absenta mea sublima de sambata trecuta, nu am reusit sa va incant mintea cu ceva nou.

Tu cu ce te ocupi? Adicatelea, cu ce-ti castigi existenta? Mai pe sleau, ce muncesti? Sau, sa fim sinceri, ce profesie ai/vei avea?

Nu sunt o domnisoara interesata de conturile dumneavoastra din banca, sunt unul ( nu, nu un domnisor ) care incearca sa demonstreze ceva. Ca ceea ce faci conteaza. Si nu ma refer aici la suma tuturor lucrurilor pe care le faci tu, ci profesia ta.

Se spune ca unii se nasc cu talente/afinitati (afectiuni grave, le-as spune eu). Cum ca unii copiii il canta pe Mozart de la 5 ani si ca unii termina lucrari stiintifice de absolvire a universitatii la varsta de 7 ani. „Brilliant!”, ar spune englezul. Daca ati fi unul din cei enumerati mai sus, probabil nu v-ati mai pierde vremea pe net si cu atat mai mult citind cum incerc eu sa manipulez lumea in legatura cu profesiile.

Planeta este plina de sfaturi ( bune/rele, ca multe alte lucruri de pe aceasta planeta albastra ca de metil ) si toti incearca sa ni le bage pe gat. „Banii sunt tot ce conteaza”, ar spune majoritatea. Adica, faci o facultate ceva, daca esti suficient de destept te asezi intr-o pozitie inalta si castigi bani si asta-i toata profesia ta. Bullsh*t.

Altii ar spune ca trebuie sa faci „ce-i la moda” sau „ce se cere”. Nu o sa enumar aici aceste categorii de profesii pentru a nu jigni pe cei care fac ce fac cu placere ( nu ma refer numai la sex ), dar acesta este unul din sfaturile des oferite de catre parinti. Arunca-te in jungla, fa ce poti mai bine, poarta-te ca un pradator si la sfarsit sa vii acasa cu trofee. ( aka verzisori )

Ultima categorie, si probabil cea mai limitata, este reprezentata de oamenii care te-ar sfatui sa faci ceea ce iti place. Sa transformi un hobby in meserie, cum ar spune tatal din „Istoria calvitiei mele” ( Arnon Grunberg ). Sau linkul excelent oferit de Razvan, discursul excelent al lui Steve Jobs, in care acesta ( nu Razvan, el mai are vreo 2 ani si o sa vorbeasca si el in fata Stanfordului 😉 ), Steve Jobs, subliniaza importanta faptului de a face ce-ti place, indiferent de circumstante.

Si totusi, ne este greu sa alegem un singur drum cand sunt atatea de facut. Atatea pasiuni, atatea afinitati poate, atatea talente neexploatate sau negasite chiar. Banii? Banii sunt doar o scuza pentru slujba/profesie. Cei ce lucreaza cu pasiune nici macar nu le pasa de bani, pentru ca ei oricum vin din moment ce un lucru este facut foarte bine si cu pasiune.

Trecand cu vederea peste bani, beneficii materiale, rutina zilnica ( sau nu? depinde de voi ) mai este vorba si de personalitate si spirit. Ceea ce faceti va defineste, este o parte din voi. Tot ceea ce lucrati are amprenta voastra, personalitatii voastre si implicit, a profesiei voastre. Pe langa asta, pentru a va implini pe toate planurile ( daca as fi zis spiritual, as fi parut ca sunt de la MISA ) nu vad cum altfel ati reusi decat gasind ceea ce va place sa faceti.

Drumul nu este usor. Totdeauna vor fi obstacole. Vor fi si momente in care va veti satura si veti vrea altceva. Vor fi momente in care veti face altceva si veti ignora profesia pentru scurta vreme. Vor fi momente filozofice si „De ce?” va reprezenta intrebarea care va va survola mintea ca un Boeing zi si noapte.

Dar pana una alta, important este sa-ti gasesti pasiunea si iubirea ( nu ma refer la sexul opus neaparat ). Pasiunea si iubirea din viata ta si din profesia ta. Pe langa aceasta, sa faci si cat mai multe lucruri mai mici, tot asa, care-ti plac. Care te fac sa simti ca esti viu. Care te dezvolta. Sunt unii oameni care-si traiesc toata viata insistand pe ceva ce au pornit, poate din pasiune, poate din ignoranta/lipsa de optiuni, si ajung sa faca acelasi lucru toata viata pe care ajung sa-l urasca. Au o viata mediocra din toate punctele de vedere, pentru ca sunt obligati sa castige bani mediocri dintr-o profesie mediocra in care ei sunt mediocri.

Asa ca… faceti ceea ce va place? Think about it. Mai este timp. Este vorba de voi si de sufletul vostru. Ah, si de ce am scris toate astea? Nu ca sa par mare sfatuitor, ci pentru ca de vreo doua saptamani intrebarea „De ce?” ma tot inconjoara si pe mine.

Iulian

3 comentarii

Din categoria Iulian

eu daca mor, tu cui ramai?

copertaIn caz ca iti aduci aminte, si chiar cred ca asta o sa faci, suntem intr-un razboi, pe undeva, departe pe langa Kyrgyzstan. Oricum nu conteaza ca e departe. Ideea e ca daca razboiu asta ar ajunge mare si ar omori pe toti, ca in filmu ala cu Will Smith (relatia aia intre tata si fiu sigur inseamna sfarsitu lumii), nu s-ar supara nimeni. Chestia despre cartea lu Alan Weisman e ca iti zice niste chestii care s-ar intampla atunci cand ti-e lumea mai draga. Cartea se cheama “The World Without Us” si s-ar treduce “Pe nimeni nu doare in cur ca suntem aici”
Acu, n-am citit cartea ca daca era sa scriu despre o carte citita de mine nu scriam nimic (hai sa fim seriosi ca nimeni nu a citit “Punguta cu doi bani”, toata lumea o stie ca a auzit-o in tinereti. Idee: intreaba-i pe aia care ii intalnesti sa iti povesteasca punguta cu doi bani ca te-a intrebat nu stiu cine si ca trebuie sa i-o povestesti aluia, sa vezi ce-ti zice ala). Asa, cum ziceam, cartea lu nenea asta mi s-a parut interesanta ca mi-a zis unu de la televizor ca e interesanta, si ca a fost best-seller, piata a vorbit! Cica s-a plimbat prin toata lumea ca sa intrebe oameni destepti ce trebuie sa scrie in carte. Misto!
Omu asta incearca sa faca un experiment, vrea sa vada ce s-ar intampla daca de-o data lumea ar disparea si ce am lasa noi ca mostenire, in afara de termopane. El zice ca daca lumea nu ar mai avea grija de canalizari, ele cu timpu s-ar constipa, strazile s-ar surpa si crocodilii ar iesi la suprafata. Acu, oamenii in mod normal ar avea grija de canalizari, da’ daca is in rai si se uita la ingerasi in puta goala, nu prea au cum. El mai zice si de casi ca s-ar darama in cam 4 ani si cu timpu ar deveni loc ascuns unde si-o trag pisicile (is ca oamenii, au nevoie de intimitate). Alinuta, cum imi place mie sa ii zic, zice ca singurele urme care le-am lasa ar fi oalele, ulcelele si cartofu ala care ne aduce noua aminte de revolutie (probabil daca il tai are o cruce la mijloc ca in cartofii aia pe care fii foloseste Dumnezeu sa dea un semn divin). El zice ca in 500 de ani in locul New Yorkului o sa fie o padurice, adica planeta ar ajunge la pubertate si ar incepe sa-i creasca padurici in locuri unde nu erau padurici.
Daca o sa se razbune timpu ca l-am omorat prea mult si o sa zica “gata!” si am disparea!?! Nu s-ar supara aproape nimeni, ar muri cam 300 de specii de bacterii care traiesc in intestinul nostru. Sobolanii si gandacii de bucatarie ar muri de foame, singuratate, si de frig. Deci e vina celor care tot imbrafiseaza animelele astea domestice, ca daca le-ar da drumu, le-ar fi frig si am scapa de ele. Daca as muri eu, mi-ar fi dor de mine.
Ar fi aiurea daca pe lume nu ar mai exista femei, ca ar fi o lume plina de ghei.

Un comentariu

Din categoria Victor

M-am hotarat sa devin prost

„Acum, la douazeci si cinci de ani, sperand intr-o viata ceva mai blanda, Antoine a luat hotararea sa astearna peste creierul lui giulgiul prostiei. Constatase de prea multe ori ca inteligenta este cuvantul care desemneaza prostii bine ticluite si frumos pronuntate, ca este atat de pervertita, incat de multe ori esti mai avantajat fiind prost, decat intelectual consacrat. Inteligenta te face nefericit, singuratic, sarac, pe cand deghizarea inteligentei iti confera o imortalitate de hartie de ziar si admiratia celor care cred in ce citesc.”

Cam asa incepe cartea lui Martin Page – „M-am hotarat sa devin prost”. Antoine sufera de boala ganditului si drept urmare alege sa renunte la orice urma de inteligenta pentru a se simti uman( „Vreau sa fiu un spectru banal” ), dar face asta prin diferite metode inedite si penibil de amuzante.

„Voia sa devina alcoolic in mod inteligent, constructiv si cultivat, sa cunoasca secretele otravii care avea sa-l salveze” – adica omul asta a mers la biblioteca municipala pentru a se documenta temeinic inainte sa se apuce de baut. A citit cap-coada carti precum „Dictionarul bauturilor alcoolice din lumea intreaga”, „Ghid istoric al bauturilor alcoolice”, „Bauturi alcoolice si Vinuri”, „Cele mai faimoase bauturi alcoolice”, „abecedarul bauturilor alcoolice”… A stat de vorba cu un betiv notoriu pe care l-a considerat timp de cateva zile „un Platon al lichiorului, un Einstein al calvadosului, un Newton al vodcai, Yoda al whiskeyului” . Asa a aflat de neplacerile bautului excesiv: ” O sa vomiti des, stomacul iti va fi incordat si acid, o sa ai tot felul de migrene, oftalmice, cerebrale, dureri cervicale, in muschi si in oase, o sa ai diaree, ulcere, tulburari de vedere, insomnii, bufeuri de caldura, crize de angoasa.” ( aviz amatorilor! )

Pentru ca faza asta cu imbatatul nu prea i-a iesit, s-a gandit sa se sinucida, exact asa cum au facut-o altii mai mari inaintea lui: Hemingway, V. Woolf, Marilyn Monroe, Seneca, Cleopatra, Lafargue …. Dar cum altfel decat participand la <<workshopuri>> la S.P.T.P.T.M. Te intrebi ce floricele pe campii reprezinta S.P.T.P.T.M. ( infiintata in 1742! ) : Sinucidere pentru toti si prin toate mijloacele. Da, exista cursuri de sinucidere! ( I definitely hope that is not true! )

Si citatele frumoase nu inceteaza sa apara, desi unii dintre voi poate nu le vor considera asa. Colac peste pupaza, cartea e savuroasa, se citeste foarte usor, nu degeaba face parte din colectia ” Cartea de pe noptiera”. Daca sunteti in pana de idei grozave, asta e cartea care sigur o sa va aduca zambetul pe buze. Si poate chiar o sa va faca sa va intrebati de ce visul oricarui parinte e sa creasca un copil inteligent si destept <<ca mama-sa>> sau ca <<taica-su>> . Este inteligenta chiar un lucru dezirabil ?

„Inteligenta e un cal salbatic, trebuie sa inveti sa-i tii fraiele, sa-l hranesti cu ovaz bun, sa-l ţesali si, uneori, sa folosesti cravaşa.” ( Nietzsche )

Ela

5 comentarii

Din categoria Ela

O recomandare

Science fiction, acest copil nedorit al literaturii universale, mi-a demonstrat din nou că aparenţele înşeală – mărturie stă o carte de o profunzime deosebită care deşi e construită pe un fundal science-fiction abordează teme cu puternice implicaţii morale. De fapt, ceea ce puţini reuşesc să înţeleagă, este că reprezentantele acestui gen nu sunt cărţi de aventuri în spaţiu, cum mulţi s-ar putea lăsa păcăliţi să creadă, ci care pun întrebări dintre cele mai profunde dar care îşi găsesc exprimarea cea mai naturală în spaţii şi cadre imaginare.

Bradbury, RayFahrenheit 451

Într-un stil autentic de distopie, decorul în faţa căruia se desfăşoară acţiunea este format dintr-o omenire care a trecut prin două războaie atomice după 1990 (cartea a fost prima dată publicată în 1953) şi care suferă un proces de auto-cenzurare, de eliminare a oricăror forme de manifestare artistică prin care se doreşte suprimarea oricăror sentimente şi gânduri. Conştiinţa generală este că sentimentele creează diferenţe de opinie, sunt o sursă pentru cugetare, nasc idei, creează divergenţe. Toate acestea se doresc a fi suprimate astfel încât omenirea să trăiască într-un soi de hibernare totală, unde războaiele nu mai au cum să apară, toţi oamenii sunt egali, nu au pretenţii şi nu provoacă probleme. În esenţă, omenirea suferă un regres, cărţile dispar, picturile şi tot ceea ce provoacă orice fel de trăire emoţională sunt înlăturate, blocate, cenzurate.

Trebuie să fim cu toţii la fel. Nu se naşte fiecare liber şi egal aşa cum spune Constituţia, ci devenim cu toţii egali. Fiecare om caută să fie după chipul şi asemănarea tuturor celorlalţi; abia atunci toţi sunt fericiţi, pentru că nici un munte nu-i mai înspăimantă şi nu le dă sentimentul propriei micimi. Aşa! O carte e o puşcă încărcată în casa vecină: pune-o pe foc, smulge armei focosul, zdrobeşte cugetul omului! Cine ştie ce poate să pună la cale un om cult ?!

Ai înţeles acum de ce sunt privite cărţile cu ură şi cu teamă ? Ele dezvăluie porii de pe faţa vieţii. Oamenii comozi vor să vadă doar figuri de ceară, fără pori, fără păr, fără expresie.

Ce se întamplă cu omul curăţat de orice influenţă artistică, ce se întamplă dacă uneltele de creaţie îi sunt luate din mână şi el rămâne izolat într-o societate inflexibila, rigidă ? Umanitatea întreagă stă în puterea noastră de a asimila şi transmite sentimente. Oare nu cumva tehnologizarea şi ritmul rapid care caracterizează timpurile în care trăim ne îndreaptă cu paşi repezi spre o astfel de lume ?

Pompierii de altă dată au devenit acum un mecanism care anihilează eficient orice încercare de „fraudă”. Carţile sunt arse pe loc, iar oamenii sunt cu ochii în patru să reclame orice vecin care ar putea avea astfel de practici diavoleşti. Omul este golit de spirit, e un corp care traieşte fără scop, bucuriile vieţii nu mai există, iar opinia publică e complet suprimată. Singurele momente de divertisment sunt televizoarele prin intermediul cărora emisiuni monotone sunt transmise şi retransmise.

Guy Montag, protagonistul romanului, redescoperă uşor uşor umanitatea pierdută. Prin intermediul lui, cititorul descoperă acele mici plăceri ale vieţii care parcă şi nouă ne scapă din ce în ce mai mult. Grupuri izolate de ultimi apărători ai umanitaţii îşi dedică viaţa învăţării cărţilor pe de rost, pentru ca aceste valori să nu fie niciodată uitate, pierdute.

Cartea este un omagiu pe măsura adus tuturor cărţilor. În acelaşi timp, pentru cititorul educat, este un maraton destul de bine trasat de autor prin citate din cărţi şi referinţe către acestea care de-alungul timpului s-au dovedit a fi de căpătâi. O recomand tuturor celor care nu pot sta mult fără o carte în mână. 🙂

Răzvan

14 comentarii

Din categoria Razvan

Heathcliff Hilarious

Heathcliff Hilarious had had a stroke of luck in his younger years; born into a numerous and poor family it seemed that the small boy would not have many chances of a swiftly achieved success in life.
However, when he was fourteen, the keeper of the local inn seemed to take notice of him. His inclination towards learning proved to be deceptive to his parents, who had placed hope in a son that would go on to acquire, through study, a respectable profession that would come to take the family out of the poverty in which it had been damned. However, despite this, he turned out to be a hard worker, something which the keeper of the inn took notice of, and soon hired the lad to work as an assistant.
The pay wasn’t exactly abundant, as the inn was not of the most respectable kind, but tips were bountiful, especially when he would procure certain things that clients of the hotel would need, anything from food to arms and even women.

Later in his life, Fate proved to favor Hilarious once more for the keeper of the inn was neither handsome nor rich, and as such he did not come to marry, something which in all given honesty, did not surprise Heathcliff in the least. He found it hard that that old, slightly hunchbacked man would have attracted any woman, with a stomach as round as a watermelon and his face slightly pinched of chicken pox. As he never married, no legal heir or other relative was there to inherit his great heritage. So when close to his death, the keeper placed the deed of the inn into the late adolescent’s hand, naming him thus his successor.

At first Hilarious found it hard to come to terms with the luck he had been awarded. Not only did he find himself released from underneath the horrid man’s constant orders, and annoying errands, to which he never raised a voiced complaint but that he would always murmur about to himself, but he was also now the soul keeper of a place, which in his thoughts appeared to be prolific.

Over the years, despite his efforts to better the inn, which he had named „The Wigs and Torrys”, Heathcliff found himself faced with failure conjured up by two reasons, one consisting of the hotel in itself. Its poor, desolated air had done much less than to attract the height of society dew to the reputation it had acquired under the ownership of its former patrons. How can one better a hotel where only thieves, drunkards, men down on their last few pounds and other such rift-rafts would show their faces? The answer to such a troublesome question always seemed to keep itself hidden.

The second impediment, one which Heathcliff was more than careful not to boast about, was dew to his wife, Glascia, a stubborn woman, of immense greed. Born as poor as Heathcliff had been, the woman seemed to have a voracious appetite for money, yet not to squander them, as some think inevitably tied to women’s nature, but to amass them to no end.
 She adored to see the money which would gather, to hold them in her hands and watch their rich green paper for hours, always imagining what she would come to make of them, yet never putting any plan into application. Every penny would be put aside carefully, hidden in a small leather sack beneath a loose floor board in her and her husbands sleeping chamber.
At first Heathcliff did not criticize his wife’s precautionary methods. After all, in times like those, no one knew what could come to happen next. Yet as time passed, Glascia’s greed appeared to increase more and more.

With the passing of the years, a quite important sum had been acquired, enough so as to make essential alterations to the inn. Yet Glascia Hilarious would always darken whenever she would hear of such nonsense. Rare were the occasions when money were extracted from the leather pouch.

She had said that those would be money placed aside when the worries of old age would come across them. Now they were living that melancholic part of their lives, and still the sack remained untouched, much to Heathcliff’s dismay who often spent his nights shivering beneath the thin blankets, craving for luxuries such as warmth, meat and wine, and listening to his wife, snoring loudly from beneath her bonnet.
How ironic, he thought then, that the Fates had taken away her sight a few years into their marriage. Though he never admitted it, he was proud that God himself had punished the woman with such an illness of the eyes, robbing her of her great joy of goggling at the money for hours on end.

During the day, from behind his counter, Heathcliff sometimes wondered whether he would ever be offered the chance of actually spending the hard-earned small fortune. Indeed a strange and satisfying idea had risen itself once in his head. What if he was to extract some money from the pouch, enough so as to at least make some small restorations to the inn, at least a proper coat of paint on the walls, and replace the money with sheets of paper? Then when his wife would touch the pouch she would be under the impression that what she was actually feeling was money.

At first he proved hesitant to do such a thing, what if she would come to observe that money was missing? What would he do then… But the man’s cunning wit was placed into play and was quick to respond to such a query. He would test his theory first, yes he would, Hilarious thought. He would take a small sum of paper money and replace them with sheets of crumpled paper, measured exactly so as to mirror the real thing. If his wife would notice the difference, for as he came to observe her sense of touch had heightened with the loss of her eyes, he would simply state it was a mere prank and that the money were safe and sound, which of course, they would be at the time. And if, luck would smile down on his again, and his wife would show herself unknowing of the switch, then it would mean that he would have free liberty to use the money whichever way he saw fit.

And so Heathcliff began to do just that, extracting the money when his wife was down stairs and he was lying in their bedchamber feigning an indisposition of some sort, and introducing sheets of paper on which he would come to write the number that should have replaced the real paper money, in their place. The logistic was that at the end of the week, when his wife would ask him to count the money, he would perfectly do so, without the slightest stir or worry, for he would have the numbers jotted down and everything.

To his immense joy, the plan proved not only well thought, but fruitful as well yet time brought with it great temptations upon the man’s shoulders. The years he had spent in poverty, followed by the freedom to spend all the hard earned money. Thus, unknowingly, despite his forward age and decaying body, he began more and more to waste his money on finer drinks, foods and women of the night.

So there came one Sunday, that upon sitting at the table, his wife carefully placing the pouch into his hands and spilling the money onto the table, her ears perking slightly at the wonderful sonorous sound that the small fortune made, Heatcliff began to count it and saw not with little startle that most of the money he had worked so hard for had now turned to bits and crumples of old paper on which his shaken hand writing showed the worth of each note he had so cunningly extracted.

All night he found himself unable to sleep for fear and despise towards what he had done Not all the money was gone, this was true, there must have been still enough pounds so as to assure them a modest lifestyle, but so much had been spent, so horridly much that the thought made him want to cut off his hands for what he had done. Heathcliff then made a decision that night, he would not use the money for his own pleasures anymore, if Glascia would have found out there was no telling what her reaction would be, and with no little justification, he reasoned to himself…
The next night Heathcliff sat behind his counter once again so as to check the newcomers in, and make sure that everyone paid their fees earnestly, or at least that was what a stranger might think, for though the keeper would have never admitted it aloud, the reason was another. A great many things could be observed from behind the dusty counter; great, useful and interesting sort of things. Indeed Heathcliff would find himself fortunately seated in his own private box, watching as a spectator the execution of actors on a second hand stage, with the soul purpose of amusing his daily life. Bald and crooked from the years that weighed upon his shoulders, the man looked very much like a vulture, carefully stalking his pray. The spectacle did indeed amuse him at times and it often helped to relieve the troublesome matter of money that was often on his mind.

As Heathcliff was sending an errand boy on his way, not before striking him for the nerve of accusing the keeper that he had not fully paid the boy, the creaky and heavy door of the inn opened to let out the heavy smoke of cheap cigars and cigarettes.

As the door opened, all heads of those many present turned, more or less subtly so as to see the intruder, for after all, chances would arise from opportunity as those.

A cloaked figure stepped inside, oddly dressed and keeping their face concealed from prying eyes which only seemed to further attract the attention of everyone in the room. Yet without even a glance to those around, nor a movement so as to either disclose or further conceal their face, the person calmly neared the counter.
Heathcliff turned from the boy after letting go of his arm and proceeded to walk towards the person with a lively step. He himself wondered the moment he set eyes on the figure, who the person was, for it was surely anything but a regular of the inn.

Only when coming closer did he notice that the hood was concealing a woman’s face, and his face twitches slightly with a knowing smirk Women would not come here unaccompanied unless their goal was to leave with company. If that would have been the purpose of the woman, than she would have surely managed, the man thought to himself, but something told Hilarious that the woman’s intentions, given from her serious air, and the ebony color of her robe, were not as such.

„Good evening misses!” The man greeted.

„A good evening to you as well. I am in need of a clean room, with two beds; I would like some food to be brought up as well, cakes if you have any and wine.” The woman said sternly yet with as much politeness as Heathcliff had ever heard.

„Well we don’t have anything fancy or anything here mam,” he began almost as if excusing himself for the lack of refinement of the place, „but I’m sure we can manage something…” he ended.
Somehow the man felt compelled to assure this woman the best of what he had, not because he suspected that she was rich, though from the fine cut of her dress that was slightly showing from beneath the robe, that could have been easily obvious but dew to the fact that she appeared to be so out of place in the horrendous room, where men and women of the worse sort gather so as to eat and drink. Heathcliff himself was dumb-struck at the reason for which a woman of her nature would even come to consider sleeping in a place as such, where even the mediocrity of society would evade his inn as if it were the Consumption.

„Thank you.” The woman said shifting something in her arms.
„How are you to pay though?” Heathcliff asked slightly frowning in curiosity towards the person’s gesture, noticing, that in her arms, beneath the covers of the elegant robe, a boy no older than five was sound asleep.

The woman extracted her hand and placed a silver ring on the counter, laced with emeralds that in the middle shun with a dazzling blue light.
„Please forgive me,” she began slightly embarrassed. „I have no other means of payment at the present time…”
The man said nothing but merely stared at the ring in awe. Never in his days had he seen such a magnificent treasure, not even in the town of London or on the hands of the few lords and ladies he had been given to see in his life. The craftsmanship appeared to be almost out of man’s reach, as if magic of the grandest kind had been used to create it.

„I trust it will suffice?” the woman asked.
„Yes, yes, of course…” the man said eyeing the ring hungrily, stumbling over every word he uttered. „Second floor, third door on the right… Food will be ready in a jiffy. Anything else?” he finally asked awakening from his daze.

„Yes, there would be…” the woman began hesitantly. „If anyone should come and ask about a woman, whatever they offer you, I will pay you double, for it to remain a secret.” And she continued her voice diminished to a whisper of warning, which held a cold and certain truth in every word the cloaked woman uttered. „I will warn you though, that I shall know, should you think of lying to me about the matter…”

The man nodded, feeling a slight chill going down his spine, and handed a rusty key to the guest, which began to slowly ascend the stairs still under the very watchful eyes of all those present.
The moon had not yet set when Heathcliff Hilarious retook his natural position behind his beloved counter and while he watched the maids and errand boys scurrying about with their instructed chores, he touched the pocket of his pants, in which he still held the ring, tapping it slightly. Suddenly a want started to overcome him once more; the want to touch the noble material, to feel the carving of each precious rock began to overtake him and two of his fingers quickly bored into his pocket, as if with a will of their own, touching the ring, reading it carefully with his hands.
He had not slept all night dew to that cursed ring the woman gave to him. He held it in his hands, playing with it around his fingers as if scared that by loosing contact with it, the ring would disappear.
Perhaps, he thought, he could go trade it for money, a large sum of money, then place the earnings into the satchel. It wouldn’t matter much compared to the sums he had thrown out the window out of the want of experiencing different pleasures, but it would be a start, yes it would indeed be a start.

This pleasurable thought did not leave Heathcliff until the next day when around the time the broken pendulum announced that it was eight in the morning. As his thoughts traveled to the joy he would feel when placing part of the money he had squandered back, the maid which was supposed to serve the new guests came down the stairs, wearing a consternated expression on her face.
„Now what’s wrong with you?” he asked picking up a rag and beginning to clean the counter carefully.
„The strangest of things…” The woman said leaning on the counter with one elbow, before continuing in a strong accent. „I can’t say for the boy, ‘cause I didn’t get a right look at ‘im, but I’m sure she had different clothes on last night!”

„Well, people make a habit of changing their attire from time to time…” Heathcliff said humoring the old maid which had been working there for years on end.
He of course would have gotten rid of her a very long time ago; the woman was far too nosy and gossipy even in Hilarious’ view. But Glascia proclaimed that she refused under any circumstances to let her poor cousin out on the streets, especially when in the old days she used to brag all the time of her husband’s wealth and riches. But then of course, as the maid, whose name was Louisa, grew older, then man’s taste for youth grew stronger, and so the boastful woman found herself out into the street at the mercy of a cousin on which she had so snobbishly looked down upon.

„Oh don’t be giving me that Heathcliff!” She complained with a wave of the hand. „She ‘ad no luggage in ‘er room, did you see ‘er comin’ in with luggage?” The woman questioned.

„No, I don’t think so…” said Heathcliff, now honestly trying to remember.

„Strange…” the woman said with a curious satisfaction.

„Not so strange, prolly just had some small hand baggage around.” The man said, but as soon as he did, he knew that that could not be the case either. She was barely managing to hold the boy, and place her ring on the counter, let alone carry baggage.
„Well she’s a right peculiar one if I’ve ever seen one… And those clothes of ‘ers, I don’t think me grandmother wore stuff like that in ‘er younger years. And don’t even get me started on the way she acts! All ‘igh and mighty as if she’s the bloody queen of the castle…” the woman said with a slight envy in her tone.
„Well she sure as hell isn’t from the same batter as you and me came from.” Heathcliff said now growing tired of the woman’s rants.
„Hmph, you think?” the woman asked as if something of the sort would have been preposterous.
„Yeah,” The man said nodding. „And you know what else I think?” he questioned, reducing his tone to a whisper, and motioning towards the woman to lean in closer so no one could hear them.
Louisa’s eyes grew large as she neared the man with hungry curiosity.
„What?” she asked her eyes glazed with excitement and a hideous smile playing on her shriveled lips.

„That-” Heathcliff began quietly as if weary that the walls had sprung ears over the night „you should get back to work!” he carried on, raising his voice to a bellow ” I’m not paying you to sit around jabbing about!” the man yelled, making the woman wince with fright, whipping the wood where her elbow once stood.
Louisa huffed angrily and set off with her nose high into the air as if she had never known a greater insult.
Yet as he watched her leave, Heathcliff came to realize that she was right, there was indeed something very strange about this woman, and even stranger in her request. Perhaps, he reasoned, she was of noble birth, one of those which were forced to marry into a family according to their own rank- after all he had heard of things of such sort still happening between noble families. Now, all grown up, and ready to live her life, maybe she had gotten fed up with an old bore of a husband, and decided to leave, taking the young child with her. That would explain why there was no luggage, she had ran away. Would explain why she was weary of people looking for her- a father wouldn’t allow to be separated from his child, a son even more so.
Again his fingers rand down his vest, to his pockets and touched the outline of the ring. He didn’t need to bother with a stranger’s problem he decided. He had troubles of his own to deal with. He would have to find an appropriate time and go to the Jewelers to see how much he would get for it. And soon enough he envisioned himself returning the money and ridding himself of the guilt and worries that had begun to weigh on his shoulders. But this time, the thought of even handing the ring to the fine dressed young man at the shop did not resound as wonderful as it had done the previous night. If the sum of money would consist of such small worth compared with his squandering then why would he come to put it back? Indeed it would make no great difference so maybe it was best to keep the money for himself… After all, it had been such a long time since he last visited Leonora, that beautiful young girl of only twenty, but who’s body held so much mystery and such great talents unrivaled by anyone, not even by the courtesans he had come to hear that would often roam around the crowned princes themselves in ages that not even him had lived in, but of which he had heard about.
Again though a spasm of doubt raised in his mind for maybe his wife would not find out today or tomorrow or even in two years of the loss, but one day she would, and if not then one day he would grow older and feeble and prove unable to work. With what will he support himself and his wife then? The thought of winters spent without fire, food or a drop of wine chilled Heathcliff to the bone more than the iciest of winds. But it would be one night, just one night, one last night he vowed. Yes, after tonight he would never visit Leonora again, he would put all money aside as it was good of him to do, but tonight he needed to see the girl. Yes, he would keep the money for himself he reasoned, patting the ring once again with satisfaction.
Captured in his web of thoughts, Heathcliff lost all track of the world around him, not even noticing the woman present in front of him, and paying no attention to what she had previously said.
At long last, he raised his eyes, jumping slightly, startled by such an instantaneous appearance.
„I came to leave the key and thank you for your hospitability.” The woman said and when looking at her, Heathcliff did indeed observe that she was now dressed differently.
A silver dress could be spotted towards the ground one of a simple elegance, and a cherry coloured cloak hung heavily over her shoulders to protect her from the cold winter that had settled upon England that year.
The boy, which was now looking curiously around the tavern of the inn, had a similarly tailored cloak, only difference being that his was a dark green one.
„Yes, yes, thank you…” said Heathcliff smiling stupidly at the woman as if he had been drunk the previous night before and the effect manifested itself on him even today. The smile though came from no drink but from a thought, the remembrance of the woman’s request…
„About your request…” Heathcliff started carefully, adjusting his glasses.
He had had a magnificent thought! The woman had said that she would be able to pay him more if he would not divulge the presence of her or her son to anyone who would come asking. Indeed she had worn him, but she was no mind reader to tell of whether or not if from his words sprung truth or lies… But as he prepared to skillfully portray a false scene of last night’s events her words of warning ran once more through his mind, their security, the tone, her threatening and demanding eyes, eyes which were just as demanding now as they had been the night before. His mouth turned dry for a strange reason, making it difficult for him to word anything out. It felt to him as if he had already lied and had been discovered, but how could that have been when he had not uttered a single word?
Heathcliff lowered his head slightly and opened his mouth to speak once more.
„No,” he said the first word with such tone as if someone had ripped it with a pair of tongs from his mouth. „No, no one came asking madam, you can rest right at ease about that one.” he said, appearing partly relieved partly in pain that he had told the truth.
„Very well then,” The woman said smiling and Heathcliff began to get a frightful feeling that she knew exactly every thought that the he had had from the moment she had laid eyes on him that morning.
„Goodbye Mister Hilarious, you are an honest man, and I hope the future brings good fortune into your life.”
The man smiled once more, this time though slightly embarrassed with a compliment he knew was not entirely befitting for him.
Taking no further notice the woman placed the key on the counter and since he had never had much to do with the upper classes, Heathcliff wondered whether or not he was allowed or actually supposed to kiss the strange noble woman’s hand.
 The person however did not await such manifestation, and with a slight nod of the head, turned on her heels and exited the inn along with her son.

4 comentarii

Din categoria Andreea

supereroi.

Fiecare intelege altceva din cuvantu asta. Eu inteleg ca poti sa vorbesti cu pestii daca esti erou. Altii zic ca eroi sunt soldatii aia care lupta in Iraq. Bine ca acum facem pe toata lumea erou, parca o sa aud ca o sa il faca si pe Shaggy, ca el a rezolvat misterul.
Lassie, domnul Castor, Banel Nicolita… eroi au fost, erori sunt inca. Vor doar sa ne induca in eroare, de ce sa zic eu ca Nelson Mandela a fost un erou? Ce, zboara? Sau trage cu panza de paianjen? Ce daca a stat 27 de ani in inchisoare, alearga foarte repede sau se face verde? De ce trebuie sa facem un film dupa el, nu trebuie sa avem prioritati? Prima data Pokemon, si daca mai avem timp facem si un videoclip cu Mandela asta.
Un erou poate fi unu care invarte pizza pe deget, si arunca cu ea in aia care jefuiesc o banca. La campionatele mondiale de invartit blatu de pizza de anul acesta s-a gasit eroul care poate face asta. Ca multi eroii, el e de pe alta planeta, e canadian. Insa nu cred ca poate fi numit erou un om care isi salveaza sotia din gura unui crocodil. Eroii trebuie sa fie intregi la minte, mai degraba e crocodilu un erou ca el nu e doar o gura casca. El nu a facut gura mare, nu se astepta ca in viata totu sa fie mura-n gura, un erou devarat.
Pentu altii un erou e Iisus. Ca orice supererou are si el benzile lui deseate, mie unu nu prea imi plac ca nu au poze. Nu pot mereu sa imi imaginez cum transforma el apa in gheata, cum se batea cu Atom Ant sau cum a vindecat homosexualii (adica i-a facut nehomosexuali). Ce nu imi mai place la benzile lui desenate e ca in toate numerele, e aceeasi poveste. Daca s-ar intalni Iisus cu Superman, cine ar bate? Ca multi dintre super eroii cunoscuti are slabiciuni, crucea, daca il pui pe o cruce l-ai terminat, e ca kryptonita. Eu nu inteleg de ce poarta lumea, care crede in el, cruci la gat si de ce toti pun cruci peste tot, asta e ca si cum fanii lui Wolverine ar purta magneti la gat. Daca dai niste bani la biserica poti si sa vorbesti cu el, ceva de genu telefonu cu nas rosu din Powerpuff Girls.
Pot fi pe lumea asta multi eroi, da’ pt mine, eroul cel mai mare esti tu , cititoru.

3 comentarii

Din categoria Victor