I reject all likeness with other men. I have this privilege. And I will keep it. Umberto Saba (“Privilegio”) (trans. George Hochfield and Leonard Nathan)
The first shock must have been when the neighbor said he felt the same thing. A chill upon waking, an irritation, a sickness at being so well thought of, when all he wanted was to be solitary, as if I were a single stem in a thimble of soil and the single leaf that appeared on the first sunny morning would be forever green, forever itself, devouring the flower before it formed, until it bloated and pulled the thimble of soil up into itself and then became a sphere without angles or edges, a world that floated away, hawks and crows careening away from it, the half- drizzle, half-hail from a thunderhead falling not on it but around it, so that it moved in its own airless bubble drawn upward to the stars, where it disappeared.
John Allman | “You Play Bach Your Way, and I’ll Play Him His Way” Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)