The House Founded on Elsewhere
He who turns against his language, adopting that of others, changes his identity and even his deceptions. He tears himself—a heroic betrayal—from his own memories, and up to a point, from himself. Emil Cioran, from The Temptation to Exist (translated from Romanian by Carmen Bugan)
I.
Today is allowed to exist and then vanish
Like the seagulls and their shadows on
The still-seeming water in the Bay of Bantry,
Where I walk unnoticed, unrecorded,
Making memories of compass jellyfish swimming
Up with the tide, after the storm, to the beach.
My own shadow, stooping, standing
Over rocks and sand, back on the walking path
Simply means that I exist, and there is light.
That is all that will remain of today, no official record
Will testify against what I say that I see. As for me,
I hover in the space between the seagull and its shadow
Loose like a thought that tries to cling to something,
To celebrate the swans and their mirror image,
That medusa that opens like a flower in the sun,
Green lobster nets and masts of boats
Writing something oracular on the horizon
For those who are without a home.
VII.
Not all the words you say are the Self and not all turning
Against your language is self-betrayal. Behind each word
Is what tries to get inside it. That is what matters
Whether I speak it in my own language
Or in the tongue of others. The thought, the breath
With which you push love out, or forgiveness, say,
Outlive the words and languages, outstrip
The syllables at prayer or play. I speak of smiles and tears
And better yet, smiles through tears at the end of day.
And so the house stands with what it can:
A sagging wall, a brand new door through which
Come children with schoolbooks and street-side flowers;
Solid enough to face the winter wind and baking heat,
Each word inside for what it’s worth and what it can say:
Good enough to bear the weight of what’s to come.
He who turns against his language, adopting that of others, changes his identity and even his deceptions. He tears himself—a heroic betrayal—from his own memories, and up to a point, from himself. Emil Cioran, from The Temptation to Exist (translated from Romanian by Carmen Bugan)
I.
Today is allowed to exist and then vanish
Like the seagulls and their shadows on
The still-seeming water in the Bay of Bantry,
Where I walk unnoticed, unrecorded,
Making memories of compass jellyfish swimming
Up with the tide, after the storm, to the beach.
My own shadow, stooping, standing
Over rocks and sand, back on the walking path
Simply means that I exist, and there is light.
That is all that will remain of today, no official record
Will testify against what I say that I see. As for me,
I hover in the space between the seagull and its shadow
Loose like a thought that tries to cling to something,
To celebrate the swans and their mirror image,
That medusa that opens like a flower in the sun,
Green lobster nets and masts of boats
Writing something oracular on the horizon
For those who are without a home.
VII.
Not all the words you say are the Self and not all turning
Against your language is self-betrayal. Behind each word
Is what tries to get inside it. That is what matters
Whether I speak it in my own language
Or in the tongue of others. The thought, the breath
With which you push love out, or forgiveness, say,
Outlive the words and languages, outstrip
The syllables at prayer or play. I speak of smiles and tears
And better yet, smiles through tears at the end of day.
And so the house stands with what it can:
A sagging wall, a brand new door through which
Come children with schoolbooks and street-side flowers;
Solid enough to face the winter wind and baking heat,
Each word inside for what it’s worth and what it can say:
Good enough to bear the weight of what’s to come.