Image, and: Letters, and: The Chair

Image

translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval

She went out in the hall for a moment—the hall without anyone—and saw that the sun entered obliquely—dust in the air.

She took a few steps forwardand crossedthe golden, the oblique,the solitary.

And all that is left behindan imagethat will not belong to anyone.

Letters

translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval

I am sending you some drawings. Lots of kisses.I got very good grades. Lots of kisses.

And so, between paper kisses, the newsthe brave word, the hope.

(Everything that must not be said or writtenbeats, between one letter and the next, on the blank paper.)

The Chair

translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval

She wanted to have a chair in the room—a very small room—in case visitors came.She also wanted to have some candyto offer, in case children came.She always had to have flowers,too, to brighten up the room.After smoothing the fold of the sheeteverything was ready.

Those who sat in the chaircan be counted on the fingers of one hand,and there would be fingers left.Nevertheless she always spoke of various friendswho might perhaps come to visit hereven though they lived far away.She also kept a dessert or a sodain case anyone, suddenly, arrived.

Ah, but the chair,the chair that now does not want to be matchedwith others.It waits—not for the emptiness that erased the whole room—but rather for some words, a greeting,a trivial conversation, always virtually the sameabout those friendswho would, perhaps, come.