romania revealed

Constantin Virgil Banescu: The angel in the Coloseum.

The last time I spoke to Bobita, this past June, was pleasant. He agreed to answer questions for an interview to be published on this website. Things were going well. He preferred not to be called "Bobita" anymore-- Virgil wore better. He seemed at the top of his world. 

The last time I saw Bobita, I was at the bottom of mine. And he was still Bobita.

I was in Europe, savoring the days lived from a backpack. After spending a summer in Krakow, my cousin whisked me back to Romania on a long, beautiful, broken train ride. Once in Bucuresti, there was little to stop me from exploring the dark alleyways and haunted crannies of Romanian life. It was the early 2000s; every moment milked for its vitality and generosity. 

My cousin and a few of his friends threw an all-night party at a Bucharest apartment-- a party which mixed poetry, wine, tuica, Aristotle, Cioran, and Marilyn Manson (the latter would not have been Bobita's choice for music). Among the ten of us laughing and arguing was included the gentle presence of Bobita. When he spoke to you, there was nothing else more ravishing than the sounds coming from your mouth. As in his poems, Bobita's words came slowly and softly, yet so powerfully one couldn't help but marvel. I remember being impressed by his talent, his interest, and the scent of angels than seemed to surround him. 

Speaking to my aunt in Bucuresti yesterday, our Skye connection fuzzed by storms, she told me that "Busnadms" (covered by storm fuzz) had taken his own life. I knew before she repeated it that she was talking about Bobita. There were no more angels in the room, the light wove its own texture.

Constantin Vigril Banescu was 27 years old when he took his own life. Or rather, he took what was left of his life after the medications treating his alleged schizophrenia made peace with the difference. In those 27 years, Bobita emerged as an exceptional talent, winning the coveted Prize of the Bucharest Young Writers Association and the international Hubert Borda Prize for Young Poets. He had a 4-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. And when he read his poems aloud, every single word was a song. But in the last few months of his life, Virgil seemed to lose his voice. 

My worst disease is the fact that I am still alive.

So read the note found by his mother in the room with empty pill bottles and a body empty of Bobita. Family and friends knew he was depressed, but everyone hoped the medicines would work. In a blog conversation early this summer, Bobita told Mugur that he couldn't sleep and he "didn't see a sense to life anymore", though he admitted that he would like to "escape to a hospital where he could read and write". Even as Bobita's taste for life diminished, his desire to put his words on paper did not.

Mugur Grosu suggests this may have been Bobita's last poem. My translation, of course, has that heartless aftertaste that translations tend to spread like a virus, but I wanted to share it. Somehow. To convey the place he left as he saw it-- heavy, tiresome, and thick with dread.

sufletul meu se odihneşte My soul is resting

văd un copac înalt strălucitor I see a tall, sparkling tree

înfăşurat în toate culorile Wrapped in a rainbow of colors

apoi o fântână mică Then a small fountain

din care se ridică From which there rises

odată cu fiecare trecere puternică a vântului    With every powerful passing of the wind

un bulgăraş de apă A tiny lump of water

cerul s-a desfăcut The sky has opened

dintr-odată mai e atît de puţin Suddenly there is so little

până mă voi trezi Before my waking

şi iarăşi voi ieşi de sub pleoape And again I will emerge from underneath eyelids

ca să mă îndur pe mine Only to endure myself

printre măştile realu Among the masks of the real.

Before I finally got around to sending those interview questions, Bobita (or Virgil) finally renounced his masks. May his soul find the sleep he sought. His touch will be missed.

A link tribute to Bobita plus a video in which he reads in May 2009 at the Writer's Union meeting:

• The Romanian Writer's Union, in which he played a part.
• Bobita at the 9th International Literature Festival in Berlin.
• Virgil's translation of "Encounter" for Words Without Borders.
• Virgil's page at Agonia.ro (note his one-lined biography).
• Virgil and a colleague won the 2007-2008 ICTW Translation Grant.
• More about Banescu's Burda Prize (in Romanian).
• "Romanian Bodies: An essay on new Romanian poetry" from Romanian Bodies.
• A tribute from a friend.
• Razvan Tupa's final memories of Virgil.

I couldn't resist.