.I thought that the world was a vast system of signs, a conversation between giant beings.
My actions, the cricket's saw, the star's blink, were nothing but pauses and syllables, scattered phrases from that dialogue.
What word could it be, of which I was only a syllable?
Who speaks the word?
To whom is it spoken?
—Octavio Paz
The Blue Bouquet, excerpt
Eliot Weinberger version
.
No comments:
Post a Comment