A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Poem of the Day: Samuel Beckett

what would I do without this world faceless incurious 
where to be lasts but an instant where every instant 
spills in the void the ignorance of having been 
without this wave where in the end 
body and shadow together are engulfed 
what would I do without this silence where the murmurs die 
the paintings the frenzies towards succour towards love 
without this sky that soars 
above its ballast dust 

what would I do what I did yesterday and the day before 
peering out of my deadlight looking for another 
wandering like me eddying far from all the living 
in a convulsive space 
among the voices voiceless 
that throng my hiddenness 
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