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A corner of Bucharest. Puisor neighborhood - Eugenia Enachescu
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ISBN: 978-606-28-1429-8
DOI: https://doi.org/10.5682/9786062814298
Publisher year: 2022
Edition: I
Pages: 284
Publisher: Editura Universitara
Author: Eugenia Enachescu
Product Code:
9786062814298
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During this writing, the reader would discover my intention to write a simple, true and decent piece of life as it was then in a corner of Bucharest, neither the center nor the edge, with a little history in becoming disturbed by the times that came upon him.
Eugenia Enachescu
Eugenia Enachescu
-
A corner of Bucharest. Puisor neighborhood
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EUGENIA ENACHESCU
Foreword / 9
Introduction: Bucharest, a city, a neighborhood, a street, an address / 13
Puisor neighborhood / 32
Coriolan Street no. 44/46
Home / 57
At school / 96
Play / 115
On vacation / 148
Distraction / 170
Beyond Puisor / 178
Goodbye, home! Demolition / 236
Epilogue / 248
Annex 1: Familiar, colloquial, slang terms and expressions / 253
Annex 2: Books, albums, guides with and about Bucharest / 258
Appendix 3: Images ‑ photos from long ago and now / 266
Introduction: Bucharest, a city, a neighborhood, a street, an address / 13
Puisor neighborhood / 32
Coriolan Street no. 44/46
Home / 57
At school / 96
Play / 115
On vacation / 148
Distraction / 170
Beyond Puisor / 178
Goodbye, home! Demolition / 236
Epilogue / 248
Annex 1: Familiar, colloquial, slang terms and expressions / 253
Annex 2: Books, albums, guides with and about Bucharest / 258
Appendix 3: Images ‑ photos from long ago and now / 266
For me, Bucharest is my hometown.
And then, how can I not love him, not discover him and not write something about him, as much as I managed to know him, to feel him, to understand him, of course, not enough.
I love Bucharest as it is and I don't wonder why, I lived - and still live - only in Bucharest. When I go out in the city, in the center, I have the feeling that the places I go through are, in fact, an extension of my yard, that is, a bigger, wider yard, where I can move freely, because it seems to me that I belongs unconditionally.
I have often found myself saying or writing "My Bucharest," "My Neighborhood," "My Street," which says something about my connection to this capital city and the places where it allowed me to behave. steps.
What would it be like to talk about what and how it was in the years I lived in Bucharest, in a neighborhood, on a street with a name and a number with or without a husband at each gate?
Thus was born the idea of ​​these memories, precious to me, unfortunately, filtered by ruthless forgetting, because many pass by me without worrying about them.
Although I initially designed a small text about my childhood years, with the title "How the Children Played Then," he stole my pen and carried it on for decades to come. In fact, I was inspired by the "Uranus then / Uranus now" initiative (e-zeppelin.ro/uranus-acum), trying to adapt to my neighborhood, Puisor, in the immediate vicinity of the one above.
On the city map, the area around Puisor Street is included in the 13 Septembrie neighborhood. However, I grew up with the conviction that I live in the Puisor neighborhood, as well as others, in fact, temporary or permanent residents. Maybe, who knows, "in my time", the Puisor neighborhood really existed on the maps of that time and only the devastation of the demolition in the area would have affected its identity. However, in the consciousness and in the soul of those who lived in it, he dwells as "Puisor". Allow me to consider it "my neighborhood."
During this writing, the reader would discover my intention to describe, simply, truthfully and decently, a piece of life as it was then in a corner of Bucharest, neither the center nor the edge, with a short story in his becoming, troubled by the times that came upon him.
What did I rely on?
The written pages came from my direct experiences, careful observations in my travels through the city and the country, documentaries from sources at hand (specialized studies, albums, guides, maps, writings, etc.), literary books about places and characters in Bucharest, discussions occasional with people known or met only in the past, evocations and interpretations of past and present events with and together with my peers, from Bucharest, but not only.
My younger dialogue partners often ask me "what?", "How?", "Why?" when it comes to times they did not live, nor were they born or too young to understand and imprint in their minds. It is not easy to formulate answers that will satisfy them, but at least you try, sometimes you convince them, sometimes they don't, they nod or they can't believe that "it was like that".
What happened? I dare say that this paper could be a documentary diary, ie a combination of memories from a personal baggage and a number of objective realities through their content, however, having a note of subjectivity due to the written word. It is known that writing has, among other virtues, a strong liberating effect, so I could not avoid some nuances of subjectivism. I confess that all kinds of conditions have tried me. Some urged me to continue, others made me put down my pen and give up. What good is that? However, we have completed the debugging thread, as they did in the time allotted to them. I didn't really say everything. I also kept it for myself.
In the text, "then" and "now" frequently appear, that is, a past tense, which was once and left behind, and a present tense that passes before our eyes, fast enough to be clear until it passes, becoming, in turn, past.
Reading what is written can awaken in the reader nostalgia, memories, curiosities, but it can also give him a credible picture of what he saw and experienced "live," in the decades before and after a resounding event that separated definitely an era set by another that has just dawned in our recent history.
I have a feeling of self-satisfaction that I took this step, as if I had done my duty to the place where I was born, the children I played with and their parents, school and work colleagues. , the teachers who guided us and so many others who accompanied me - as they say - on the path of life.
The road of these testimonies to the readers, Bucharest and non-Bucharest, will start, from somewhere else, from the center of Bucharest, where the well-known Editura Universitara is present, animated by a distinguished management and remarkable professionals, lovers, of course, of this city.
My friends were (very) close to me, they mattered a lot - and I don't say big words - they know why and I also know how much I value them. Their children, in turn, have widened my circle of friends and I am glad to see them good, beautiful, generous, in their families, where another generation is already rising.
I left the family behind, precisely because it is "the first". You start with your parents and continue with them, under their watch, because otherwise how could you break through everything you go through?
What more could I want than a more beautiful, more interesting, more fun life for the youngest members of the family, with beautiful names, Vlad and Darie, together with their parents, Cristina and David, in the present times? and those they will face in the future.
What will they have to say?
Author
And then, how can I not love him, not discover him and not write something about him, as much as I managed to know him, to feel him, to understand him, of course, not enough.
I love Bucharest as it is and I don't wonder why, I lived - and still live - only in Bucharest. When I go out in the city, in the center, I have the feeling that the places I go through are, in fact, an extension of my yard, that is, a bigger, wider yard, where I can move freely, because it seems to me that I belongs unconditionally.
I have often found myself saying or writing "My Bucharest," "My Neighborhood," "My Street," which says something about my connection to this capital city and the places where it allowed me to behave. steps.
What would it be like to talk about what and how it was in the years I lived in Bucharest, in a neighborhood, on a street with a name and a number with or without a husband at each gate?
Thus was born the idea of ​​these memories, precious to me, unfortunately, filtered by ruthless forgetting, because many pass by me without worrying about them.
Although I initially designed a small text about my childhood years, with the title "How the Children Played Then," he stole my pen and carried it on for decades to come. In fact, I was inspired by the "Uranus then / Uranus now" initiative (e-zeppelin.ro/uranus-acum), trying to adapt to my neighborhood, Puisor, in the immediate vicinity of the one above.
On the city map, the area around Puisor Street is included in the 13 Septembrie neighborhood. However, I grew up with the conviction that I live in the Puisor neighborhood, as well as others, in fact, temporary or permanent residents. Maybe, who knows, "in my time", the Puisor neighborhood really existed on the maps of that time and only the devastation of the demolition in the area would have affected its identity. However, in the consciousness and in the soul of those who lived in it, he dwells as "Puisor". Allow me to consider it "my neighborhood."
During this writing, the reader would discover my intention to describe, simply, truthfully and decently, a piece of life as it was then in a corner of Bucharest, neither the center nor the edge, with a short story in his becoming, troubled by the times that came upon him.
What did I rely on?
The written pages came from my direct experiences, careful observations in my travels through the city and the country, documentaries from sources at hand (specialized studies, albums, guides, maps, writings, etc.), literary books about places and characters in Bucharest, discussions occasional with people known or met only in the past, evocations and interpretations of past and present events with and together with my peers, from Bucharest, but not only.
My younger dialogue partners often ask me "what?", "How?", "Why?" when it comes to times they did not live, nor were they born or too young to understand and imprint in their minds. It is not easy to formulate answers that will satisfy them, but at least you try, sometimes you convince them, sometimes they don't, they nod or they can't believe that "it was like that".
What happened? I dare say that this paper could be a documentary diary, ie a combination of memories from a personal baggage and a number of objective realities through their content, however, having a note of subjectivity due to the written word. It is known that writing has, among other virtues, a strong liberating effect, so I could not avoid some nuances of subjectivism. I confess that all kinds of conditions have tried me. Some urged me to continue, others made me put down my pen and give up. What good is that? However, we have completed the debugging thread, as they did in the time allotted to them. I didn't really say everything. I also kept it for myself.
In the text, "then" and "now" frequently appear, that is, a past tense, which was once and left behind, and a present tense that passes before our eyes, fast enough to be clear until it passes, becoming, in turn, past.
Reading what is written can awaken in the reader nostalgia, memories, curiosities, but it can also give him a credible picture of what he saw and experienced "live," in the decades before and after a resounding event that separated definitely an era set by another that has just dawned in our recent history.
I have a feeling of self-satisfaction that I took this step, as if I had done my duty to the place where I was born, the children I played with and their parents, school and work colleagues. , the teachers who guided us and so many others who accompanied me - as they say - on the path of life.
The road of these testimonies to the readers, Bucharest and non-Bucharest, will start, from somewhere else, from the center of Bucharest, where the well-known Editura Universitara is present, animated by a distinguished management and remarkable professionals, lovers, of course, of this city.
My friends were (very) close to me, they mattered a lot - and I don't say big words - they know why and I also know how much I value them. Their children, in turn, have widened my circle of friends and I am glad to see them good, beautiful, generous, in their families, where another generation is already rising.
I left the family behind, precisely because it is "the first". You start with your parents and continue with them, under their watch, because otherwise how could you break through everything you go through?
What more could I want than a more beautiful, more interesting, more fun life for the youngest members of the family, with beautiful names, Vlad and Darie, together with their parents, Cristina and David, in the present times? and those they will face in the future.
What will they have to say?
Author
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