Nov 25
"SPEAK MEMORY!"
"Mów!"
commands the cat
in Polish
seeing that
it is
a Polish cat.
"Je. . . ne. . .ige!"
chants the snow
falling in French
seeing that it is
snowing
in France.
"Sneachta...sneacthta..sneachta!"
the child cries
watching her first snow
falling 50 years ago
in her Irish childhood
that is always happening.
This moment is like
a moment in a movie
with subtitles
underneath
so the cat the snow
and the child
can all understand
what each is saying.
The words "Speak!" "I. . . sn. . .ow!"
"Snow...snow....snow!"
blown away now
by a gust of the past.
Only the language of memory
sees them as they were.
*
She was Irish living in France and had got her cat in Poland hence the mix of languages that go to make up the matrix of her world. She would always command her cat to speak( "Mów!" in Polish )and the cat would answer her in what she could only assume in cat Polish! Sneachta of course is the Irish for snow and I don;t know if there is a French verb for " snow!" but I thought...ahhh well...there ya go!
She was reading Montaigne and fell asleep and entered her Irish childhood. She had been telling me abut Montaigne and his cat and his essay on...thumbs! In her youth she had touched the toes of his statue for luck thus contributing to their shininess.
“When I play with my cat,” wrote French philosopher and essayist, Michel de Montaigne, “Who knows whether she is not amusing herself with me more than I with her.*”
"Mów!"
commands the cat
in Polish
seeing that
it is
a Polish cat.
"Je. . . ne. . .ige!"
chants the snow
falling in French
seeing that it is
snowing
in France.
"Sneachta...sneacthta..sneachta!"
the child cries
watching her first snow
falling 50 years ago
in her Irish childhood
that is always happening.
This moment is like
a moment in a movie
with subtitles
underneath
so the cat the snow
and the child
can all understand
what each is saying.
The words "Speak!" "I. . . sn. . .ow!"
"Snow...snow....snow!"
blown away now
by a gust of the past.
Only the language of memory
sees them as they were.
*
She was Irish living in France and had got her cat in Poland hence the mix of languages that go to make up the matrix of her world. She would always command her cat to speak( "Mów!" in Polish )and the cat would answer her in what she could only assume in cat Polish! Sneachta of course is the Irish for snow and I don;t know if there is a French verb for " snow!" but I thought...ahhh well...there ya go!
She was reading Montaigne and fell asleep and entered her Irish childhood. She had been telling me abut Montaigne and his cat and his essay on...thumbs! In her youth she had touched the toes of his statue for luck thus contributing to their shininess.
“When I play with my cat,” wrote French philosopher and essayist, Michel de Montaigne, “Who knows whether she is not amusing herself with me more than I with her.*”
