Our lives race feebly in all directions.
A frozen piece of land at the bottom of the earth…
“I seem to hold in reserve something that makes for success
and yet to see no worthy field for it
and so there is this consciousness
of a truly deep unrest.”
takes on significance
and plots our course.
Where does this unrest originate?
“Daddy, do you like my drawing?”
A gentle wind on the water.
Stars hanging down
in a solitary night.
The moon leaps on the great river.
Du Fu, what did your life resemble?
A sand gull
floating, floating
between earth and sky.
Du Fu, now that we read you,
what did your life resemble?
F
Fiercely Tender: The Simple Complex World of Michael Ondaatje’s Novels
Shortly afterwards in that novel we encounter a celebration of the body, grime and all, unimpeded by this abstraction called mind. While writing the body might seem not altogether unusual, my point is that you cannot simply assume its naturalness. Language, even fictional language, is so much of a mentally...
