Immersed in the city we missed you, and at times, a shimmer of light in the sky, a reflection in a girl’s hair, reminded us of you.
We know that soon we will go back, to the solitary trails, to the sound of our boots on the hard rock, to the smile on her face that says: “I want to hug you at the summit”.
And there you will be, in an unexpected corner, lurking in the light, seemingly innocent: but you know how to recognise lovers who wish to flirt with the mountains, cheating the Enemy, dreaming of becoming angels…
For season after season you survive the floods, the ice, the fall of stones, the shoes of men.
For year after year we seek you, as we seek each other, in the palm of God, in the light of His Grace, where you shine, immortal.
If you normally write non-fiction, post a photo. If you normally post images, write fiction. If you normally write fiction, write a poem. If you normally write poetry, draw a picture.
In your eyes I see the fire, and I,
must keep my soul steady and cold
for your judgement I fear
as much as I seek your presence
and you may enjoy mine…
The opposite we are,
as the walls of the Roman stadium are
to the bright steel and glass buildings
of our cities…
Yet the river flows and
I cannot detach my mind
from the dream…
Is it yours?
“He had said nothing to her, neither goodbye, nor see you soon, nor adieu…” (Pauline Réage)
When you gaze out your window — real or figurative — do you see the forest first, or the trees?
I see the world reflected in your eyes
For what I see you have seen first
A long time before I was born ~
And now the colours are the colours you see
The shapes, the stones, the skies, the flowers
And the trees you have taught me to love
O Mother, Mistress of this world
Mother, lover, Gaia
Image: František Vobecký- melancholický den (Melancholy Day) 1936
For Dominique Aury
Through the magic of things written I am trying to find you: and you are in so many places, present, resolutely the woman you always were.
So it is, for me, that you live on, your writing a seductive light of decency and wonderful poetry, for everything I read from you is sheer delight…
And, yes, there is a bit of jealousy in this admiration, in this search through shadows, towards the man you loved and for whom you wrote the ultimate passionate letter, the one that cannot be forgotten.
You wrote of a gift never equalled since, of a sacrifice that only heroines of old were capable.
Is this madness, falling in love with someone who left this world so long ago?
I have written about you, and you continue to intrigue me. You are the young peasant who defeats the Titans, and Isa’s friend, or are you? Or are you Ausar, who, in the mists of times, imprisoned the Worker of Secret? Ausar is also another of Osiris’ s names. For some weeks I have entertained another possibility: that you may be a reflection of Galahad, one of the three achievers of the Grail of the legend…
This would befit you: for naive you are as he was, fearless, and I guess, of no experience at all with women. Galahad the Preux was a virgin, the immaculate son of Lancelot and Elaine, who treacherously appeared as Guinevere to Lancelot… Your father forgave your mother, but you, his son, had only one goal: The Grail.
Tennyson wrote “My good blade carves the casques of men…” for you… And, yes, this reminds me of the Infinity Blade…
The Camelot Project at the University of Rochester
1Q84 is Haruki Murakami’s latest book, and a universal best seller. I don’t intend to reveal anything of the plot, since some followers of these posts may not have read the book! 1Q84 is several books in one, a love story in the tradition of Haruki’s previous novels, especially Norwegian Wood (the love story that created the literary phenomenon Murakami for the world audience) and Kafka on the Shore, but also a reflection on modern Japan, its cities and landscapes, and human relationships.
The two central heroes of 1Q84 are ordinary people, though with special gifts. They are also failures, or at least they believe to be, for some twenty years – until one night they look at the moon. The book is full of musical and literary references, beautifully woven in the daily lives and thoughts of the characters. Some critics have pointed out that the novel mixes genres unashamedly: for this reader, this is one of the many charms of the book, which straddles highly speculative fiction and poetry. That the world we see is only an appearance created by our limited physiological abilities, sight, longevity and cultures, is a fact admitted by most writers. That there may be many variations around us is nothing more than a strong probability: but it only takes a walk along an expressway to discover one of these variations…
The novel was published in Japan in three books, the latest one year later than the first two. The UK publisher , Harvill Secker, has continued the tradition with books one and two in one volume followed by book three. I found book three in some way different in tone compared with the other two. Is it intentional, or the result of different sensibilities on the part of the two translators (Jay Rubin for books one and two, and Philip Gabriel for book three). Those translations are impressive but I wish I could read the original.