Sunday, 31 March 2013

Kurtág Kafka Fragments


The moonlit night dazzled us. 
Birds shrieked in the trees. 
There was a rush of wind in the fields. 
We crawled through the dust, a pair of snakes.

There is a destination, but no path to it;
what we call a path is hesitation. 

None sing as purely as those in deepest hell; 
it is their singing we take for the singing of angels.  

The true path goes by way of a rope
that is suspended not high up,
but rather just above the ground.
It's purpose seems to be more 
to make one stumble
than walked upon.

Kurtág: Kafka Fragments



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