Parmi les façades, en taches alternées d’ombre et de lumière — ou plutôt, de lumière et de moindre lumière — le matin se déverse sur la ville. Il semble qu’il ne jaillisse pas du soleil, mais de la ville elle-même, et que ce soit des murs et des toits que la lumière déferle — non pas d’eux physiquement, mais plutôt de leur présence en cet endroit.

J’éprouve, à la voir, comme une grande espérance : mais je reconnais que cette espérance est toute littéraire. Matin, printemps, espoir — ils se trouvent liés musicalement par une même intention mélodique ; ils se trouvent liés dans mon âme par le même souvenir d’une même intention. Non pas : si je m’observe moi-même comme j’observe la ville, je reconnais que tout ce que je peux espérer, c’est que ce jour prenne fin, comme tous les autres jours. La raison voit elle aussi l’aurore. Si j’ai placé en elle quelque espoir, ce n’était pas le mien, mais celui des hommes vivant simplement l’heure qui passe, et dont j’ai incarné, sans le vouloir, la façon tout extérieure dont ils comprennent cet instant.

Espérer ? Qu’ai-je donc à espérer ? Le jour ne me promet rien d’autre que lui-même, et je sais bien qu’il aura un cours et une fin. La lumière me ranime sans me faire aucun bien, car je quitterai cette journée tel que je l’ai trouvée, plus vieux de quelques heures, plus gai d’une sensation, plus triste d’une pensée. Dans tout ce qui naît, nous pouvons aussi bien sentir ce qui naît que songer à ce qui va mourir. Maintenant, sous la lumière haute et vaste, le panorama de la ville est semblable à un champ de maisons — c’est une chose naturelle, étendue et calculée. Mais, même au centre de cette vision, comment oublier que j’existe ? Cette conscience que j’ai de la ville est, au-dedans, la conscience que j’ai de moi-même.

Por entre a casaria, em intercalações de luz e sombra — ou, antes, de luz e de menos luz — a manhã desata-se sobre a cidade. Parece que não vem do sol mas da cidade, e que é dos muros e dos telhados que a luz do alto se desprende — não deles fisicamente, mas deles por estarem ali.

Sinto, ao senti-la, uma grande esperança ; mas reconheço que a esperança é literária. Manhã, primavera, esperança — estão ligados em música pela mesma intenção melódica ; estão ligados na alma pela mesma memória de uma igual intenção. Não : se a mim mesmo observo, como observo à cidade, reconheço que o que tenho que esperar é que este dia acabe, como todos os dias. A razão também vê a aurora. A esperança que pus nela, se a houve não foi minha : foi a dos homens que vivem a hora que passa, e a quem encarnei sem querer, o entendimento exterior neste momento.

Esperar ? Que tenho eu que espere ? O dia não me promete mais que o dia, e eu sei que ele tem decurso e fim. A luz anima-me mas não me melhora, pois [?] sairei de aqui como para aqui vim — mais velho em horas, mais alegre uma sensação, mais triste um pensamento. No que nasce tanto podemos sentir o que nasce como pensar o que há de morrer. Agora, à luz ampla e alta, a paisagem da cidade é como de um campo de casas — é natural, é extensa, é combinada. Mas, ainda no ver disto tudo, poderei eu esquecer que existo ? A minha consciência da cidade é, por dentro, a minha consciência de mim.

Fernando PessoaLe Livre de l’intranquillité[Livro do Desassossego composto por Bernardo Soares, ajudante de guarda-livros na cidade de Lisboa, 1982] ⋅ trad. Françoise Laye aube conscience de soi espoir journée matin ville

In my city one wished me death,
Nevermind,
The stars last more than one night –
The hidden so disposes imagination,
And so the body to take on a nature
Opposed it seems to itself, of which no idea
Can be given the mind, but that a man
Out of need of his nature should try not to exist
Or appear changed
Is as impossible
As for any thing to be made out of nothing,
This everyone with a little reflection
May see :
Anyone can kill himself, compelled by some other
Who twists his right hand
Which holds perhaps a sword
So it is led against his own heart,
Or like Seneca by the command of a tyrant,
Be forced to open his veins,
To avoid more evil by taking on less –
Many things sleepwalkers do
They would not dare if awake –
All of which shows
That the body can do many things
By the laws of its nature
At which the mind is amazed ;
No one knows how
The mind moves the body
(Cerebral charges ? were discovered
Some time ago thru poetry
Not surprised in the least
By new science)
Or by what means,
Nor how many degrees of motion
It can give the body,
Nor with what speed it can move it.
Whence if men say this or that action
Arises from the mind
That has power over the body
They confess specious words
That do not regard it with wonder ;
When the body sleeps
The mind’s unconscious (Spinoza very early on that)

Has not the power
It has when awake.
The mind is not always apt
For thinking its subject,
Only as the body is apt
For the image of this or that
To excite it
Does the mind see the object.

I looked

When we dream that we speak
We think we speak
From free decision of the mind ;
Yet we do not speak, or if we do,
This decision thought to be free
Is imagination – or memory ;
Is nothing but the accord
An idea involves.
A suspension of judgment
Apprehends, is not free.
In dreams also we dream that we dream,
I grant no one is deceived
In so far as he perceives.
The imaginations of the mind
in themselves
Involve no error,
But I deny that a man
affirms nothing
In so far as he perceives –

SPINOZA.

Louis Zukofsky« A12 »« A » University of California Press1978p. 187–189

As Baruch said accursed, nevermind blest –
Since men would rather imagine than understand
And chance is imperfect knowledge
And body exists as we feel it
And essence is that remove, that degree,
without which a thing is no thing
(Defined is defined)
And nothing happens in the body
That is not perceived by the mind
The mind also conceives by its power –
A contents that is as in the song « sweet content. »
Since no one cares about anything he does not love
And love is pleasure that dwells on its cause
He who loves keeps what he loves :
An image inwreathed with many things
That may flourish, that draws cause
To light up.
If the understanding perceives the idea of quantity as cause
It determines the quantity
So to speak from motion
(A line from motion of a point,
A body from motion of a plane)
Yet these are not understood
Unless quantity is perceived
And the motion be made to endure
Forever,
Which could not be
Without a thought
Of infinite quantity.

Louis Zukofsky« A12 »« A » University of California Press1978p. 174–175

Or : remember, G. S.
begins « Making of Americans »
With a quote From Nicomachus’ father –
With patient father and angry son –
That she said,
« How can you know
More than you do know
And we are still in the shadow
of explanation, »
Add to her insight (« in all periods before
Things had been said
But never explained.
So then they began to explain »)
Long before « before »
Too, they had explained a long time.

Louis Zukofsky« A12 »« A » University of California Press1978p. 168–169 aristote explication expliquer Gertrude Stein Nicomaque poésie américaine stein

« Tous les animaux, suivant l’opinion la
plus vraisemblable et la plus reçue,
naissent dans les œufs,
et ils y demeurent enfermés, en abrégé
jusqu’à ce que la semence mâle ait pénétré
leur enveloppe, et les ait étendus
suffisamment
pour les faire éclore ; alors il entre
dans leurs vaisseaux des sucs,
qui étant poussés par les esprits,
circulent,
par toute l’habitude de ces petits corps,
les nourrissent et les dilatent peu à peu ;
c’est ce qui fait leur accroissement.
Cette circulation réitérée par un grand nombre de
fois, rend ces sucs nourriciers tellement
raréfiés et atténués,
qu’elle leur fait acquérir
une couleur rouge,
et les convertit en ce que l’on appelle le sang. »

LEMERY, de l’Académie Royale des Sciences, Docteur en médecine.
Dictionnaire universel des drogues Simples.
M.DCC.LX.

Mathieu BénézetBiographies[1965–1969] Al Dante2003p. 192–193« roman »