So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years-
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l’entre deux guerres–
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholy new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate – but there is no competition –
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
Art: Galatea of the Spheres. Salvador Dalí
“If a shadow is a two-dimensional projection of the three-dimensional world, then the three-dimensional world as we know it is the projection of the four-dimensional Universe. ”
― Marcel Duchamp
Photo taken at the Philadelphia Museum of Art
A pilot /poet was writing verses in the sky; a blue background with clear and unmistakable verses that said, “The war is over, destiny has absorbed the distance, let’s escape from it, let’s take the same path.” In my mind, a black and white film ran with images of shadows and silhouettes, both characters looking into each others’ eyes and the protagonist said: “We are specialists, we are surrealists, we manage our attraction with abstraction.” It was as if my left hand directed me to take a road and my right to take a mountain range.
Image by Edward Steichen. “The Quiet Front”
Un piloto poeta escribió versos en el cielo; una pureza azul de fondo y unos versos que sin fisura y sin torpeza decían: “Se acabó la guerra, la distancia la absorbió el destino, escapemos de ella, tomemos el mismo camino”.
Por mi mente pasaba una película en blanco y negro, con imágenes de sombras y siluetas, ambos personajes mirándose a los ojos y el protagonista decía: ” Somos especialistas, somos surrealistas, manejamos nuestra atracción con abstracción”.
Era cómo si mi mano izquierda me señalase una carretera y mi mano derecha una cordillera.
“He aprendido que aunque el desamor sea torrencial, uno debe amar. Amar de frente y de perfil como un platillo volador”.
“I have learned that although the heartbreak is torrential, one must love. Love up front and from the side, like a flying saucer”