Bad blood
Il m'est bien évident que j'ai toujours été race inférieure. Je ne puis comprendre la révolte. Ma race ne se souleva jamais que pour piller : tels les loups à la bête qu'ils n'ont pas tuée.
Rimbaud's vision of his ancestors as lazy, useless people resonates with me. I have no real idea of who I descend from - and like him I know that whoever they were, they weren't any good.
Rimbaud's poetry resonates with me, not just because I have a Romantic sensibility, but because the idea of the rootless wanderer is my picture of myself - at least in the metaphor. That sounds odd to say about a householder, a father, a husband, but as in all things it's what's in your heart that counts. I have never belonged - not to a place, nor a job, nor even to friends, family, or even myself.
Does it bother me to have bad blood? Sometimes I've wished to have the peasant life, to live quietly in a village (again, the metaphor is stronger for me than the actuality - you can make your village in a large city). Sometimes I've wished I could escape the confines of my inheritance - my "Gallic blue eyes" (IYKWIM, my eyes are not blue, of course).
But not belonging also means not having to hold on to what you wish to let go. Sometimes, that's a blessing. You can find freedom if you allow it to happen.
It also means you can wander, ceaselessly roam, in love with the world that surrounds you, wordlessly, thoughtlessly...
Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue,
Rêveur, j'en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.
Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien :
Mais l'amour infini me montera dans l'âme,
Et j'irais loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la nature, heureux comme avec une femme.Sensation
posted by Dr Zen @ 1:24 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home