Citati
Gable House, 18-24 Turnham Green Terrace, London w4 1QP
www.saqibooks.com
First published in English in hardback by Saqi Books 2024
Published in French as Un homme sans titre by Éditions Gallimard 2022
Copyright © Éditions Gallimard, Paris, 2022, 2024
Translation © William Rodarmor 2024
Xavier Le Clerc has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and P
www.saqibooks.com
First published in English in hardback by Saqi Books 2024
Published in French as Un homme sans titre by Éditions Gallimard 2022
Copyright © Éditions Gallimard, Paris, 2022, 2024
Translation © William Rodarmor 2024
Xavier Le Clerc has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and P
face to the river, and her back to the sea.
If only the young were trees
The tree is sister to the tree, or its good neighbour. The big one is kind to the little one, giving it the shade it needs. The tall one is kind to the short one, sending it a bird to keep it company at night. No tree attacks the fruit of another tree, and if one tree is barren the other does not make fun of it. A tree does not attack another tree and does not imitate a woodcutter. When a tree becomes a boat it learns to swim. When it becomes a door it continues to keep secrets. When it becomes a chair it does not forget the sky that was once above it. When it becomes a table it teaches the poet not to be a woodcutter. The tree is forgiveness and vigilance. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but is entrusted with the secrets of dreamers, standing guard night and day, showing respect to passers-by and to the heavens. The tree is a standing prayer, directing its devotions upwards. When it bends a little in the storm, it bends majestically, like a nun, looking upwards all the time. In the past the poet said: ‘If only the young were stones’. He should have said: ‘If only the young were trees!’
The tree is sister to the tree, or its good neighbour. The big one is kind to the little one, giving it the shade it needs. The tall one is kind to the short one, sending it a bird to keep it company at night. No tree attacks the fruit of another tree, and if one tree is barren the other does not make fun of it. A tree does not attack another tree and does not imitate a woodcutter. When a tree becomes a boat it learns to swim. When it becomes a door it continues to keep secrets. When it becomes a chair it does not forget the sky that was once above it. When it becomes a table it teaches the poet not to be a woodcutter. The tree is forgiveness and vigilance. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but is entrusted with the secrets of dreamers, standing guard night and day, showing respect to passers-by and to the heavens. The tree is a standing prayer, directing its devotions upwards. When it bends a little in the storm, it bends majestically, like a nun, looking upwards all the time. In the past the poet said: ‘If only the young were stones’. He should have said: ‘If only the young were trees!’
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