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Silke Hahn's avatar

Dear Alberto, this is beautiful. And it relates to a thought that arose here the other day: Language is a social practice. It's not a record that can be stored. One word means a world to me, not much to others. How evocative! A labyrinth of thoughts, feelings, images arises.

A simple word can comprise secrets and open that window into an emotional landscape. Like epic songs of our favourite singers. Whatever touches us evokes memories inside and our own relation. So we are relating to the world, to ourselves, to others. Reading your text today, I think of Rilke and his poems (about roses, about statues, about tempests: "Love Poems to God").

ROSE:

Rose,

oh pure

contradiction,

Lust,

Nobody's

Sleep

to be

under so many

eyelids.

– – – – –

TEMPEST:

“You are not surprised at the force of the storm—

you have seen it growing.

The trees flee. Their flight

sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:

he whom they flee is the one

you move toward. All your senses

sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.

The trees’ blood rose. Now you feel

it wants to sink back

into the source of everything. You thought

you could trust that power

when you plucked the fruit:

now it becomes a riddle again

and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you know

where each thing stood.

Now you must go out into your heart

as onto a vast plain. Now

the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind

sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.

It is what you have.

Be earth now, and evensong.

Be the ground lying under that sky.

Be modest now, like a thing

ripened until it is real,

so that he who began it all

can feel you when he reaches for you.

- Onto a Vast Plain”

– – – – –

STONE (STATUE):

We did not know his outrageous head,

in which the eyeballs ripened. But

his torso still glows like a candelabra,

in which his vision, but dimmed..,

...holds and shines. Else could not the prow

of the breast dazzle thee, and in the quiet turning

of the loins a smile could not go

To that centre which bore the begetting.

Otherwise this stone would stand disfigured and short

beneath the shoulders' transparent lintel

and would not flicker like the skins of predators;

and would not burst forth from all its edges

like a star: for there is no place

that seeth thee not. You must change your life.

– – – – –

None of these explains the mystery of Borges' magic line. However, there is this deep web of symbols. They don't mean much without us humans picking them up, loading them with meaning.

I have a very precise idea of what Borges might have meant. An image, so to speak, an emotion.

I don't know if it was his. This tension of not-knowing keeps the beauty preserved, intangible.

Enjoy Mexico :)

May you be inspired

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Katie (Kathryn) Conrad's avatar

Thank you for the reminder we all need that art is not reducible to data.

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