Sunday, January 24, 2010

Gluey feathers on a flume

sometimes i think we can only say the most beautiful and painful and inexpressible things we feel in a language not our own.

and why not?

there is too much familiarity with our fluency to ever really give justice to our stumbling, irrational words.

they bleed all over paper streets,

soft, fickle, quick and dying.

1 comment:

  1. Because something is difficult, because it barely stands braced against a wall shaking knees quivering spine, because we are all too used to athletes to even notice.

    No, I disagree; beautiful, painful, meaningful things are just hard to say — no matter the language.

    Just translating, just giving words life in some different place, with some different context, and, more, doing it through wax and wordlessness, is to just tell a different sort invalid to walk, run, to fly. It is no better, and often much worse, pinioned between the twin obstacles of confusion and attention undue.

    It can be rewarding to practice some other language, but in any language communication requires the same eventual sacrifice.