These fragments I have shored against my ruins. -T.S. Eliot

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.  -T.S. Eliot
Showing posts with label All that unsayable life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label All that unsayable life. Show all posts

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Which I is I?




















How can it be described? How can any of it be described? The trip and the story of the trip are always two different things. The narrator is the one who has stayed home, but then, afterward, presses her mouth upon the traveler’s mouth, in order to make the mouth work, to make the mouth say, say, say. One cannot go to a place and speak of it; one cannot both see and say, not really. One can go, and upon returning make a lot of hand motions and indications with the arms. The mouth itself, working at the speed of light, at the eye’s instructions, is necessarily struck still; so fast, so much to report, it hangs open and dumb as a gutted bell. 


-Lorrie Moore, “People Like That Are the Only People Here”
Image: Flickr / francyvieste
Title: Theodore Roethke, from “In A Dark Time”