Nights that have never been

Now shall I praise the cities, those
  long-surviving
(I watched them in awe) great constellations
  of earth.
For only in praising is my heart still
  mine, so violently
do I know the world. And even my
  lament
turns into a paean before my
  disconsolate heart.
Let no one say that I don’t love life,<br
  the eternal
presence: I puslate in her; she bears
  me, she gives me
the spaciousness of this day, the
  primeval workday
for me to make use of, and over my
  existence flings,
in her magnanimity, nights that have
  never been.
Her strong hand is above me, and if
  she should hold me under,
submerged in fate, I would have to
  learn how to breathe
down there. Even her most lightly-
  entrusted mission
would fill me with songs of her;
  although I suspect
that all she wants is for me to be
  vibrant as she is.
Once poets resounded over the battle-
  field; what voice
can outshout the rattle of his metallic
  age
that is struggling on toward its
  careening future?
And indeed it hardly requires the call,
  in its own battle-din
roars into song. So let me stand for
  a while
in front of the transient: not accusing,
  but once again
admiring, marveling. And if perhaps
  something founders
before my eyes and stirs me into
  lament,
it is not a reproach. Why shouldn’t
  more youthful nations
rush past the graveyard of cultures
  long ago rotten?
How pitiful it would be if greatness
  needed the slightest
indulgence. Let him whose soul is no
  longer startled
and transformed by palaces, by gardens’
  boldness, by the rising
and falling of ancient fountains, by
  everything held back
in paintings or by the infinite thereness
  of statues -
let such a person go out to his daily
  work, where
greatness is lying in ambush and
  someday, at some turn,
will leap upon him and force him to
  fight for his life.

Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Stephen Mitchell, Fragment of an Elegy (Duino Elegies)

L’autre bout du monde

Pour certains cœurs, au-dessus desquels gronde souvent comme un orage le dégoût des choses de ce monde, il est urgent de s’abriter sous une espèce de paratonnerre qu’on pourrait appeler un paradésespoir. D’aucuns trouvent le leur dans la tendresse qu’ils portent à un chien. C’est là que s’écoule et se perd un tœdium vitœ qui autrement eût été capable de les foudroyer.

Edmond Thiaudière

Hiatus, squared

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.

George Gordon, Lord Byron

Sweet morning

L’amour n’a aucun remède à offrir.

Maryse Condé

Snowed in

It is not so much the example of others we imitate as the reflection of ourselves in their eyes and the echo of ourselves in their words.

Eric Hoffer

Winter fire

Don’t ask so much what the world needs. Go out and do what makes you come alive, because what the world needs most are people who have come alive.

Howard Thurman

End-of-year delirium

Le plus grand obstacle à la vie est l’attente, qui espère demain et néglige aujourd’hui.

Séneque

In its midst

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love!

Hamilton Wright Mabie

Photo: gin|tonic @ Flickr

Winter’s Night

On lit comme on aime, on entre en lecture comme on tombe amoureux: par espérance, par impatience… trouver le sommeil dans un seul corps, toucher au silence dans une seule phrase.

Christian Bobin

A kind of past

Je ne reconnais plus mes souvenirs.

Yves Thériault