{ "componentChunkName": "component---src-templates-notes-js", "path": "/notes/4", "result": {"data":{"allContentfulNote":{"edges":[{"node":{"publishDate":"2023-01-22","title":"空白","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"

我听见远方的雨
\n想象它落在大地与人们身上
\n像一种温柔注视，或手的轻抚

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倏忽间，双眼合上天空
\n手也消失不见
\n冰冷的手。最初她给我生命

\n

也贯穿我的身体：
\n她伸进顺从的玩偶内部
\n用白色棉花填满它——

\n

可是手抽出时变成了红色
\n握着变形的心与打结的内脏

\n

或许我想了解，哦神奇的魔法——
\n可以创造生命
\n却也令其渴望死亡

"}},"source":null,"id":"6e4672b1-862b-540c-8c0c-0d95942b43c0"}},{"node":{"publishDate":"2023-01-19","title":"明亮的自我","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"

人们常说「发现、接纳自我的黑暗面」，“Embrace your dark side”, 诸如此类。

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但有时，真正令人害怕的或许是明亮，过于明亮的那一面：stellaire, solaire, la part du feu.

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即使过去的回忆或痛苦是黑色，处在抑郁中的主体有更深的黑色：并不来自夜晚，也无处休息，终日被黑色的太阳照耀。

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在此处，尝试接受这一切，体验那些自由、无法控制的情感、力量。当所有语言也不足以表达身体的感受，当所有动作也无法完全释放精神的张力：像是瞥见真实过于耀眼的光芒。

\n

Emily Dickinson:

\n
\n

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
\nSuccess in Circuit lies
\nToo bright for our infirm Delight
\nThe Truth’s superb surprise
\nAs Lightning to the Children eased
\nWith explanation kind
\nThe Truth must dazzle gradually
\nOr every man be blind —

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以及再一次，雪莱的 Adonais：

\n
\n

The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me,
\nConsuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

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\n
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The breath whose might I have invok’d in song
\nDescends on me; my spirit’s bark is driven,
\nFar from the shore, far from the trembling throng
\nWhose sails were never to the tempest given;
\nThe massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
\nI am borne darkly, fearfully, afar…

\n
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I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar : 黑暗中的诞生。

\n

歌唱、邀请火焰、生命的源泉是一种狂喜。然而这并非没有风险：my spirit’s bark is driven.

\n

For the fire of life is a consuming fire.
\nAnd to live in time is to be consumed by time...

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Then, how do one survive this fire? I think once more of Moby Dick:

\n
\n

Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.

\n
"}},"source":null,"id":"82bc2d51-964b-5f89-878d-1d1cfe9cd20f"}},{"node":{"publishDate":"2023-01-16","title":"L'indigestion du Mal","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"

ses paroles acides remontent en reflux
\nà ma bouche, sa haine me brûle
\net me donne mauvaise haleine.

\n

je crache alors ce feu en friche, je gueule
\ncomme un chien éperdu, et je vous retourne enfin,
\nmesdames et messieurs, vos chères dégueulasseries.

"}},"source":null,"id":"cb0ba69b-315a-5345-8e62-44268d0cb63e"}},{"node":{"publishDate":"2023-01-15","title":"Definitions against poetry","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"

A voice reads itself out loud from
\na memory of lost harmonics :
\nit is not satisfaction of a desire,
\nbut the desire itself that is lacking...
\ncould one desire to desire?
\ncould one sing in the absence of oneself, unaware, unknown?
\nbut then, what is speech, what are those sounds,
\nrage, loss, murdered revenge?
\nI would read myself to sleep, or death
\nor indifference, when no one hears for
\nI say that conversation is promise-making:
\nhow they profer, as if language is free,
\nall those wonderful things: I need you,
\nI will be with you,
\nI love you…
\nand what should I call this void,
\nthis emptiness of my self-same conversation,
\nthis monologue that I have become, this eternal soliloquy?
\nhere promises break down, even despair depletes…
\none feels nothing,
\ndesires nothing,
\nis nothing:
\nnothing that still speaks,
\nnothing that is,
\nis speaking,
\nis,
\nas it is as nothing is and breaks:
\nas if oneself.

"}},"source":null,"id":"794e968d-24d9-56c9-841d-a59843dc9a35"}},{"node":{"publishDate":"2022-12-31","title":"a difference of language would kill me...","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"
\n

“…I cannot understand the gospel; between us there is a difference of language that, if I were to understand it, would kill me.”

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And that is how it always is with “the poet” in relation to the gospel; for him it is the same with respect to the gospel’s words about being a child. “Oh, would that I were a child,” says the poet, or “Would that I were like a child, ‘Alas, a child, innocent and happy’ — alas, I have prematurely become old and guilty and sorrowful!”.

\n
"}},"source":"The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air, Soren Kierkegaard","id":"7a83360a-a195-5d5c-9f6e-83e63a4a83b4"}},{"node":{"publishDate":"2022-12-31","title":"Fire, Rock","body":{"childMarkdownRemark":{"html":"
\n

But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.
\n— Jeremiah 20:9

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Is not my word like as a fire? saith the Lord; and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces?
\n— Jeremiah 23:29

\n
\n
\n

VI
\nThe rock cannot be broken. It is the truth.
\nIt rises from land and sea and covers them…

\n

It is the rock of summer, the extreme,
\nA mountain luminous half-way in bloom
\nAnd then half way in the extremest light
\nOf sapphires flashing from the central sky,
\nAs if twelve princes sat before a king.

\n

VII
\nFar in the woods they sang their unreal songs,
\nSecure. It was difficult to sing in face
\nOf the object….

\n

— Credences of Summer, Wallace Stevens

\n
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