Friday, August 27, 2010

If such a thing were possible.  If it were possible to convey what one feels when night falls and the stars come out and one is alone in the vastness, and life's truths (night truths) begin to march past one by one, somehow swooning or as if the person out in the open were swooning or as if a strange sickness were circulating in the blood unnoticed.  What are you doing, moon, up in the sky? asks the little shepherd in the poem.  What are you doing, tell me, silent moon?  Aren't you tired of plying the eternal byways?  The shepherd's life is like your life.  He rises at first light and moves his flock across the field.  Then, weary, he rests at evening and hopes for nothing more.  What good is the shepherd's life to him or yours to you?
-Roberto Bolaño, 2666 p432

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