Écrire à quelqu’un est la seule manière de l’attendre sans se faire de mal.
[Alessandro Baricco]
Et si enfin, elle avait enfin trouvé un correspondant digne de ce nom ? Un destinataire avide de la lire et qui ne cesse de lui réclamer de la lecture ? Comme cela expliquerait la concentration sur le papier de celle qui a délaissé un peu les livres pour s’appliquer à écrire, décrire, inventer.
Comme elle est belle, la lectrice de Mark Selter. Comme elle est belle, tandis qu’elle lui écrit. Mais n’est-elle pas d’une certaine façon en train d’attendre ? D’attendre une réponse, d’espérer une question… Mais tout cela est tellement agréable, ce jeu de se découvrir. Et cette attente n’est pas douloureuse, mais stimulante. Elle n’attend plus quelqu’un, elle attend une lettre. Qui arrivera quand elle arrivera. Il n’y a pas d’urgence en elle. Juste un peu de curiosité.
11 réponses
IF ONLY I COULD READ FRENCH
Especially for you, Mark, a translation:
Writing to someone is the only way to wait without getting hurt. (Alesandro Baricco)
If, finally, she had found a penpal who deserved the name? One that would wait anxiously for her letters and always be asking for more? That would explain her concentration and why she put aside her books to spend her time writing, describing, creating.
How beautiful she is, Mark Selter’s reader. How beautiful she is while she is writing him a few words. But isn’t she somehow sort of waiting? Waiting for an answer, hoping he would ask her some questions… But it is so exciting this game of discovering one another. And waiting doesn’t hurt, it stimulates. She isn’t waiting for someone, she’s waiting for a letter. That will come when it will come. There’s no emergency. Just a bit of curiosity.
Thank you so much for the translation.
I happened to stumble across your website and found your response to Mark.
We are both very grateful.
Mark & I did, in the beginning, exchange many letters as we both, by choice, did not have telephones. We have and still do enjoy the entire process of the letter. A half mile walk to the mailbox together to perhaps receive a piece of cherished news. We correspond with our loved ones most by email these days, yet this form doesn’t occupy the sacred space inside us that a delivered letter can fill.
The paper, the handwriting.
They reveal much.
I am a painter.
You are a writer.
I am honored to share space with you.
Thank you both for the messages.
You might as well like a poem written by a friend of mine inspired by the IF I COULD ONLY READ FRENCH left by Mark last September that you can read here:
http://dubleudansmesnuages.com/?p=4781
(If you want a translation, I’ll do it just for you and leave it there)
Painters and sculptors create a world that makes me write.
Thanks to you to you, Mark, and to all the artists.
Painters, sculptors and do-it-yourselfers… never forget that God is a do-it-yourselfer!…
Here are some words that I say,
« I am dreams dancing
frozen water thawed
as eagle soar
from star to dream
the awakening dream
creator dancing
in creator’s dream »
We visited du bleu dans mes nuages.
Yes, we would appreciate a translation if you could oblige us.
We would love to hear these words and yours spoken aloud.
You offer us inspiration in return.
Thanks for being.
Mark & Angela Selter
also…
we would like to share this with you…
http://markselter.blogspot.com/
The translation is waiting for you on du bleu dans mes nuages where you can drop a few lines to Armando, the author of the poem that was inspired by my text inspired by your canvas…
Hope you like it!
And congratulations for the blog! I will add it right away to my links!
We will go view the translation. We are intrigued!
Again, thanks for being.
Mark & Angela