Excerpt · French Culture · French Literature · Paraphrase · Post-Holocaust · Postmodernism · Quote

Edmond Jabès

I wrote you. I write you. I wrote you. I write you. I take refuge in my words, the words my pen weeps. As long as I am speaking, as long as I am writing, my pain is less keen. I join with each syllable to the point of being but a body of consonants, a soul of vowels. Is it magic? I write his name, and it becomes the man I love. — E, trans. Rosmarie Waldrop . (Wesleyan; Rev. ed. Trans. from the French edition September 15, 1991)

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