Labor Day

“To begin with, he would know nothing”

– Maurice Blanchot –

I was just wondering how we might use the abilities of language to end talk.

The silence of a raised hand, yet still a sign.

“To begin with, he would know nothing,”

in other words, a not-even-what that cannot be known.

The same one-of-us who “to express the ineffable” : a wisdom in oxymorons.

What I strove for as an end.

.

“You go further into the blank paper” (L. Levis)

Perhaps with no further to go, unless there’s another side.  A side that is empty.  Which side is that?

Two hands, almost transparent, indecipherable and meaning.

.

When she says “yes” or “now,” he hesitates.  Pause created by language.  A ruin.

Some vaccine made of words?  Is that a poetry?  A philosophy or wisdom?

I’ve heard musical compositions that seem more silencing than sound.  Breeze over stone.

No one heard.  I was writing.

“To begin with, he would know nothing” (something silent, attributed to a name, representing a person, whom no one could find).

.

Antidotes.  Self-negation.  Freudian dreams?  Something curing itself…ministered in doses.  It’s dangerous.

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One thought on “Labor Day

"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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