On Loving Barbara
DOI:
https://doi.org/10.19245/25.05.pij.02.07.26.2Keywords:
Translation, Barbara CzarniawskaAbstract
I loved Barbara Cziarnawska.
How hard it is to write that sentence in the past tense, as we start doing as soon as we hear of someone passing. I’m very old, and the passing of dear friends has become common—though never “routine.” It hurts every time. When Barbara or Richard or Stefano left this world I felt again the tears of things. Get ready to get old. And you know the vague, wholly absurd resentment we feel when a loved one dies. Why did the beloved so cruelly abandon poor little moi? Oh, Barbara, dearest Barbara: why are you not still here, to correct and inspire us and teach us?
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