Bruno Schulz preface:
"The whole
. . . was soaked in the gentle air and
filled with blue breezes. When you lay in the grass you were under the azure
map of clouds and sailing continents, you inhaled the whole geography of the
sky. From that communion with the air, the leaves and blades became covered
with delicate hair, with a soft layer of down, a rough bristle of books made,
it seemed, to grasp and hold the waves of oxygen.
That delicate and whitish layer
related the vegetation to the atmosphere, gave it a silvery grayish tint of the
air, of shadowy silences between two glimpses of the sun. And one of the
plants, yellow, infused with air, its pale stems filled with milky juice,
brought forth from its empty shoots only pure air, pure down in the shapes of
fluffy dandelions balls scattered by the wind to dissolve noiselessly into the
blue silence.”
he smoked a La
Gloria Cubana in a sun filtering through an easterly blanket of clouds
bearing
rain warm and cold at turns
its wind in his ear
a lousy lover
i
inarticulate he contemplated a creative mind
a
g
i
n shutdown by a foreseen
a bullet to the brain
t
i
o
n
a specific brain
Brunos brain
from a gunshot he wouldnt hear
deaf
unlike all the other gunshots
he heard
all the executions purgings
he wondered if Bruno hadnt
imagined the bullet smashed by his skull
altered mysteriously
into a fragrant mushroom
tarnished
red by the sun and blood
sprung among the fern moss and
roots mooring the forest or an anemone spawning in
the underwater shoals of his
brain
if
in that last mortal
nanosecond - yet contrived
- in that last moment before his
death
if
Bruno didnt compose in elegiac
prose like Pan or Mr. Charles a fantastic escape
a picnic of the Senses
an escape into the afterlife
before his life was shuttered and stopped
and all the stupid
Gestapo officer succeeded in killing was a dead body
the Sentience already awing and
beyond approach or pain
all the jealous German did was
shoot a riot of mud standing in the shape of a man
1527, Twosday,
5 3. 13
