The
Art of Writing
He
told me,
"Writing
is a mode of slowing the thinking,
of
drawing primitively
the
face of the faceless beings,
the
fingers of pure touching --
the
one that had been before
the
creation of the fingers and things."
Oh,
you, speed,
heart
in balance,
pushing
the migration of the peoples of
red
and white cells.
Heart,
you, the quickest
heart,
you, deity of magnets!
They
have made a face of yours from broze
and
one from iron,
but
the bronze melodious is, and the iron
pretty
swift is.
They
have made a face of yours from stone,
but
the stone is coward,
and
hides inside it
births
of armless statues.
They
have made a face of yours from words,
have
drawn you as heart
and
have given you the shape of A.
He
told me,
"Writing
is a way of slowing the thinking,
a
primitive one of comprehending, of stopping
the
motions of the thought.
Writing
seems to be very alike to a trap
of
metal,
that
catches in it a living fox
and
a moving one
and
shaking
and
blocked by the fear of death.
I told
him,
"There
are many forests and I am hungry,
that
is why I made A, the divine trap."
I told
him,
"I
placed traps at the beginning of the forest,
from
A and from A.
Now,
I am sitting somewhere, at a certain distance
and
I am waiting for the catch of my food."
He
heard me. He silenced.
ARTA
SCRISULUI
El
imi spuse:
scrisul
este un mod de a incetini gandirea,
de
a desena primitiv
chipul
fiintelor fara de chip
degetele
pipaitului pur --
cel
care a fost mai de dinainte
de
crearea degetelor si a lucrurilor.
O,
tu, viteza,
inima
in balans,
impingand
migratia popoarelor de celule
rosii
si albe.
Inima,
tu, cea mai repede,
inima,
tu, zeitate a magnetilor!
Au
facut un chip al tau din bronz
si
unul din fier,
dar
bronzul e melodios, iar fierul
destul
de sprinten este.
Au
facut un chip al tau din piatra,
dar
piatra e lasa,
si-ascunde
in ea
nasteri
de statui fara brate.
Au
facut un chip al tau din cuvinte,
te-au
desenat inima
si
ti-au dat forma lui A.
El
imi spuse:
scrisul
este un mod de a incetini gandirea,
un
mod primitiv de a intelege, de a opri
miscarile
gandului.
Scrisul
se aseamana intocmai cu o capcana
de
metal,
care
prinde in ea o vulpe vie
si
miscatoare
si
zbatandu-se
si
pierita de frica mortii.
Eu
i-am spus:
sunt
multe apduri si mi-e foame,
de
aceea l-am facut pe A, divina capcana.
Eu
i-am spus:
am
pus capacane la inceputul padurii
din
A si din A.
Acum
stau la o oarecare departare
si
astept prinderea hranei mel.
El
m-a auzit. El a tacut.