Simona, Carmen, Caius, Vasilescu, Papadima, Martin, Sorin Alexandrescu, Carterescu were for me names wrapped in cotton candy, like gods. I wrote the letters close to the revolution. I entered Litere in love. And my friend told me about them, about the Synacle of Monday. She didn’t know their history in detail either, but she had heard of them, she had read some of them, she had told me about them. Only me, right? After an accident in high school, I got into literature about two years late, then through the army. My girlfriend joined Letters two years ago. We loved each other silently, without any touching, just telling stories. She devoted me to letters. As inferior as I am, she taught me how to study, how to type, how to interpret text. Our love did not lead me astray. The Faculty of Literature meant love. It meant blindness. And I was never alone. And I studied Letters with my loved ones. And I always saw things, with love, differently.

Celebrating 160 years of Letters last night at Central University Library, check out my gods on stage.

I didn’t see Mircea Martin smile until 1989. He was one of the forbidden gods. I studied with him after 1989. I didn’t understand many of his theories, but it was still like this: I still want to understand them. It made me so hungry. Sorin Alexandrescu was also on stage last night. He had forbidden books during my love. I read it after 1989. Mircea Martin and Sorin Alexandrescu were in our minds gods who took care of us. It was a feeling that even though you can’t see them, the gods are watching our minds. I know the book and we have to hold the hangar. Let’s be in their place. They care about our mind. They do not lead us astray. we trust what they tell us. How to check them? And there were others like them. Check out a few: Nicolae Manolescu, Dan Grigorescu, Cesar Tabarcha, Liliana Ruxendaou, Mihai Marta.

Simona Popescu reminded me of the love of reading, of great reading, of the search for meaning.

Yes, in the terrible and final darkness, as I saw it then. Our lights went out, we were in the dark in the houses, in the dormitory. We were students and ate onions with bread, carrots or boiled potatoes. We were in love with books, with teachers. We are ourselves. We wanted to search for eigenvalues ​​in some letters. She read to me, I read to her, we deciphered together by candlelight. The next day I was at Martin’s, in Kornea. He was thirsty, he wasn’t hungry. Meeting these teachers was easy. Nothing could stop us from reading. We were together, nothing stood in our way. And there was Martin, and Cornea, and Victor Chobanu, and Mihai Marta.

Caius Dobrescu, though reserved, avoided this moment, something I suspected back in college.

What I heard about. He distributed manifestos, he was followed along with his friends. I don’t remember ever thinking about this, about anti-communism. I perceived the world as it is, that is, it is cold, there is no food, there is a long queue. I read Yes, I read. I knew about Kai, but I couldn’t believe it. I was a Pole, not a conscience, anything.

Carmen Mushat and Liviu Papadima told me about the quiet discussions, about how the Securitate recruited students.

My story was late, for some reason my love, which was my guide, was put to work. cast! God, what a test, what strategies were produced…

I couldn’t ask her what to do with those guards. But I didn’t get called back because I forgot about meetings with officers who wanted me to tweet. Carmen Mushat and Mircea Vasilescu “shot” at me and at the 1989 revolution. Look, the days and nights of the revolution, then the days and nights on the University Square. I was also at the Market and some of my colleagues were there. And part of the teachers. We met at the Revolution Square. It is incredible how intimate, close to insanity this revolutionary intimacy with hidden teachers is, indexed. There I took lessons in democracy.

There, on the Maidan, I threw off the evil that I carried in the pockets of my thick and scratched clothes. That’s where I got my vote, on University Square. The market was my water, food, book. There I was with my profiles, what more could I want? Endless conversation. Naturally, I was still in love at the Market, otherwise I would not have overcome my illiteracy.

Finally, to be in letters is to create your worlds from books.

To win independently, according to the way of understanding every moment of your life, every poetic universe. Kerterescu also told yesterday how he understood Romanian writers, how they shaped him. Mircea introduced us to the map of Carterescu’s mind, from his childhood, when he easily learned poetry, to the sleepless nights on the couch of Brumar.

Papadima told us that we all returned home, teachers, after a long journey where we found the imagination and the teachers that allowed us to create our own passionate universe, as George told Ardeleanu.

I spoke about what I experienced at the Colloquium 160 years after the founding of the Faculty of Literature. And there was the Mircea Cărtărescu / My Romanian Literature conference. What I can and can’t read anymore. And it was “Round table Dictatorship, democracy, philology. Moderator: Caius Dobrescu. Guests: Sorin Alexandrescu, Mircea Martin, Liviu Papadima, Mircea Vasilescu, Simona Popescu, Carmen Musat, George Ardelianu, Oana Fotache, Stefan Firica.

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