/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.11891525]

Nothing holds me.
I want fifty things at the same time.
I long with meat-craving anxiety
For I don’t know what—
Definitely something indefinite...
I sleep fitfully and live in the fitful dream-state
Of a fitful sleeper, half dreaming.

All abstract and necessary doors were closed in my face.
Curtains were drawn across every hypothesis I could have
seen from the street.
I found the alley but not the number of the address I was
given.

I woke up to the same life I’d fallen asleep to.
Even the armies I dreamed of were defeated.
Even my dreams felt false while I dreamed them.
Even the life I merely long for jades me—even that life...

At intermittent intervals I understand;
I write in respites from my weariness;
And a boredom bored even of itself casts me ashore.

I don’t know what destiny or future belongs to my anxiety
adrift on the waves;
I don’t know what impossible South Sea islands await me, a
castaway,
Or what palm groves of literature will grant me at least a
verse.

No, I don’t know this, or that, or anything else...
And in the depths of my spirit, where I dream all I’ve
dreamed,
In my soul’s far-flung fields, where I remember for no reason
(And the past is a natural fog of false tears),
On the roads and pathways of distant forests
Where I supposed my being dwelled—
There my dreamed armies, defeated without having been,
And my nonexistent legions, annihilated in God,
All flee in disarray, the last remnants
Of the final illusion.

Once more I see you,
City of my horrifyingly lost childhood...
Happy and sad city, once more I dream here...
I? Is it one and the same I who lived here, and came back,
And came back again, and again,
And yet again have come back?
Or are we—all the I’s that I was here or that were here—
A series of bead-beings joined together by a string of
memory,
A series of dreams about me dreamed by someone outside
me?

Once more I see you,
With a heart that’s more distant, a soul that’s less mine.

Once more I see you—Lisbon, the Tagus and the rest—
A useless onlooker of you and of myself,
A foreigner here like everywhere else,
Incidental in life as in my soul,
A ghost wandering through halls of remembrances
To the sound of rats and creaking floorboards
In the accursed castle of having to live...

Once more I see you,
A shadow moving among shadows, gleaming
For an instant in some bleak unknown light
Before passing into the night like a ship’s wake swallowed
In water whose sound fades into silence...

Once more I see you,
But, oh, I cannot see myself!
The magic mirror where I always looked the same has
shattered,
And in each fateful fragment I see only a piece of me—
A piece of you and of me!

[Anonymous No.11891920]

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