De Estische dichter, schrijver en vertaler Tõnu Õnnepalu werd geboren op 13 september 1962 in Tallin. Zie ook mijn blog van 13 september 2008 en ook mijn blog van 13 september 2009 en ook mijn blog van 13 september 2010.
Flesh has become word
Flesh has become word, word has not become flesh.
Who lives, can become word,
this is my little human hope
and today it is visible, today, today!
Today awakens the flesh in my flesh and the earth in my bones
and the sap of trees, the earth water, rises upwards,
earth’s cold blind water, lifeless water, ice water,
presses up throught the veins,
through the bitter flesh of pines,
the sweet flesh of maples,
up, out, into steam, as spirit,
in vain, water presses, sap presses, blood presses, yes,
not listening, in vain!
The hum of ducks is the Victory Song today,
the Nameless’ immense fleshly voice in the tranquil mist of the sea,
under the bright morning covers, in the warm, wordless light,
yes, in wordlessness, in not becoming word, in not being held by the word.
And I remain outside of it, outside of this great day,
because inside me there are words,
seeing and hearing I think words,
I do not hum like ducks, I do not flap wings,
the words in my head are mute motionless song,
needless sounds that nobody hears,
blind light that nobody sees,
an unmade move, caress and pain that nobody feels.
But there is something else in me, there happens to be everything
that touches everything else today and flies away.
And the word is smaller than this,
for really there is very little in word.
Perhaps this or that, perhaps a lot,
perhaps almost everything remains outside the word.
The word is ill of it, always in pain for what it is not.
In pain of this morning,
in pain of the flesh and blood,
in pain of water and light,
in pain for being closed in the head.
It may be that this is my work, that this is
the pressing voice of the Nameless speaking in me:
to let the word free, let it out of the head,
let it die, sow it into the vast earth of the unword,
into the darkness of myself and un-self,
outside the gates into the great light where Today is waiting,
where the wordless, shapeless, ever changing All is waiting.
And I myself should wait, not knowing for what,
cry and mourn for the word, weep for my self
that has no more name,
lie down on bare ground before the Gates
as beggars lie down to sleep in the open
and wait to be let in,
wait to get out,
wait for the Hour of Change, for the Unknown.
Tõnu Õnnepalu (Tallin, 13 september 1962)