— Giordano Bruno, 1585
Then Were the Beeches Bright
Then were the beeches bright, then was the stream
strewn with white buttercup islands, swimming;
bright its crown, the bird cherry swung where as a boy I wandered—
Silently it rains. The sky hangs low on
thin crowns. A whistling—the train sets off
again. Into slowly darkening evening, I travel friendless.
— Vilhelm Ekelund
Children of the world,
if Spain falls — listen, it’s a saying —
if her forearm,
that two earthy plates grasp
in a harness, falls from the sky:
— children, what an age of hollow temples!
how early in the sun, what I told you of!
how quickly in your breast, the ancient noise!
how old your 2 in the notebook!
Children of the world!
our mother Spain stands with her womb on her back,
she stands as our teacher with her rulers,
as mother and teacher,
cross and wood, because she gave you height
and vertigo, division and total, children:
she stands by herself, you legal fathers!
If she falls — listen, it’s a saying —
if Spain falls, down from the Earth …
— children, how you’ll stop growing!
how the year will punish the month!
how everything will halt: your teeth at ten,
the dipthong in downstroke, the medal in weeping!
How the lamb will stay tied
by its leg to the great inkwell!
How you’ll go down the steps of the alphabet
to the letter where sorrow was born!
sons of the warriors, meanwhile,
hush your voices, for this very moment
Spain is dividing her energy among the animal kingdom,
the little flowers, the comets and men.
Hush your voices, for she stands
with her sternness, which is great, not knowing
what to do, and in her hand
is the speaking skull, and it speaks and speaks,
the skull, the one with braids,
the skull, the skull of life!
Hush your voices, I tell you;
hush your voices, the song of the syllables, the lament
of matter and the minor murmur of the pyramids, and even
of the temples that walk with two stones!
Hush your breath; and if
her forearm falls,
if the rulers slap, if it is night,
if the sky fits in two earthly limbos,
if there is noise in the sound of the doors,
if I am late,
if you don’t see anyone, if the pencils without points
frighten you, if mother
Spain falls — listen, it’s a saying —
leave, children of the world; go seek her! …
— J.M. Coetzee
— Catherine Malabou, Whither Materialism? Althusser/Darwin (via jevoussaluespinelli)