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Jerzy Grotowski. L’eredità vivente

One movement after I Am America.

Impression en cours de route

Isabelle Schiltz

Texte intégral

1The poet was sitting. Silently. Behind my eyes, I was wondering how it comes that I don’t see him. How it comes that I turned blind. It then happened that somebody told me to get up, get up and walk the stairs until you see what you don’t want to see.

2La modernité se naît de nouveau. Nul ne peut la tuer. Nul ne peut l’oublier.

3La modernité se meut encore au fond de nous. Si nous ne voyons rien, quelqu’un sait.

4I will have a glance at it. I will have a glance at the world. The world like it is, the world diving in the mud of our all yesterdays. Before the poet appears he was killed by images, lonesome stupid images. Moments of fear, moments of ignorance. And he took it all. Not images but realms.

5This is what it is.

6It is what I am It is what I am It is what I am It is what And I

7Am what it is I am… I am what it is I am what it is And I


9Je collectionne image après image après image après image après image après image après, je collectionne l’apparition du poète.

10Quand il vient, je lui ouvre la porte.

11Quand il vient, je détruis les images.

12Quand il vient, j’espère qu’il vient.

13In between modernity and modernity there is life, a forgotten mourning above the morning news. It is the poet’s mourning, it is the poet telling the news, not morning news, but news of the world. Of dreams dying. Of worlds crushing. Of loving leafs falling down. Of a world carried in our pockets.

14Of lightning dreams. Of singing calls. Of mirrors.

15Of we waking in America and of we being alive in America. Of we constructing a lightning America out of the mud it carried us through. Of we meeting the poet, of we opening our eyes for the poet’s visit, of we opening the eyes of our deepened blindness. Of we seeing the poet’s image is just the image of the world.

16This is what we are, and it is called poetry. This is what we look for, and it is called poetry.

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