segunda-feira, 22 de fevereiro de 2016

Assia Djebar and I.


Going away would return me to myself. Far away, a foreigner at last - the fruits and the pulp of being foreign, a foreigner even to my memories and my future.  Vacant, nascent. To leave!

Assia Djebar, The Tongue's Blood does not Run Dry: Algerian Stories

(For Assia)



there is rain washing this
  chance of desert,  aroma
of oasis and pine.  there
is a winter white which in the
fugitive sunlight could be warning,
  could be
       warming, could
                     almost be the white
of yr blanched algiers
walls, and blue doorways
   adorned with a chain of bells
   and a fine yellow script
and white veils blowing along the
street, imperceptible patter of feet
over the ancient cobblestone -

       as if there were no one 
       inside, nothing but air
       and muted desire, as if 

there were never
a boat at the dock,
a light at the end

of the tunnel.


                   Image: Miriam Adelman (Street art, Montevideo)

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