photo: Christchurch earthquake, 2011, a few hundred meters from where I was living.
and when everything would go wrong
we would get up at night
we would turn to the sky
we would speak to the angels
we would ask for the sun
we would not know how to pray
but we would join our hands
it would only be necessary
to wish ourselves well.
photo: tremblement de terre de 2011, à quelques centaines de mètres de l’endroit où je vivais
et lorsque tout irait de travers
on se lèverait la nuit
on se tournerait vers le ciel
on parlerait aux anges
on demanderait le soleil
on ne saurait pas prier
mais on joindrait les mains
il suffirait seulement
de se vouloir du bien.
photo: Westland, Christchurch, a place full of silence that speaks.
The voice of silence,
so profound, haunting,
is the one that speaks the most,
that speaks the best.
Words then endeavour
to convey what it means.
photo: Westland, Christchurch, un lieu plein de silence qui parle.
La voix du silence
tellement profonde, lancinante
est celle qui parle le plus,
qui parle le mieux
Les mots ensuite tentent
de traduire ce qu’elle signifie.
photo: for somebody like me, who can hardly draw, tracing letters gives me the impression that I create them. Delphi
Tracing one’s emotions
with a graphite pencil
in a lined notebook.
In the whisper of the paper
the words carry their past
the zigzags of their dance
in the whisper of the paper
on the lined paper
