Читать книгу Of Silence and Song - Dan Beachy-Quick - Страница 17

7.

Sensation of staring so long through the bars of the window that the bars appear in front of anything I see. The field is a kind of jail, but the jail is inside me, inside my eye. What is there when I stare at nothing and look at the field? Some grid so fine I don’t know it’s a grid. Or a sheet of ruled notebook paper like a child learns to write on. Look up at the sky and it’s ruled. That’s why it’s blue. All those lines have run together.

Is it a depth, or a surface, or a distance, or is it so near as to be within?

To say something like: the difficulty of blankness.

But so much of it all isn’t quite right.

Paul Celan in Paris, walking with his friend, so fond of repeating what Kafka said: “Sometimes God, sometimes nothing.”