Dreams, like memories, are shores we row toward to escape the ever same tomorrows and their cruel futility. Days which cannot express themselves are grey and cold. Mute days whose untidy gestures tear us apart. I have the impression of moving in the shadow of syllables, in regions before secrets, where language cannot yet answer… Continue reading Edmond Jabès
At the end there is double despair: that of the writer, / and that of the witness. — Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions , Vol 1 [The Book of Questions, The Book of Yukel, Return to the Book] (Wesleyan; Rev. ed. Trans. from the French edition September 15, 1991) Originally published 1963.