9th January 2015: In the Pose of a Question Mark by Valzyna Mort (Belarus 1981 - ) translated by Valzyna Mort, Franz Wright and Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright How hard it is to draw ourselves up from the pose of a question mark into the pose of an exclamation. The left labia of Poland and the right labia of Russia part and our heads emerge out of . . . what? By now we have sixteen names for snow – it’s time to come up with sixteen names for darkness. In the pose of a question mark – with our whole bodies we call ourselves into question, confirmed by a urine dot. Is it really us calling into a question? Or adolescence has just birthed a rumpled beach towel. So blunt were the midwife’s scissors which with time turned into brightly-polished avenues jointed by a military obelisk. A tractor plant started manufacturing hair-rollers and every Sunday sent mother a gift basket. Her head in rollers – the ideal reconstruction of the solar system – was photographed for albums and calendars. The principle of rollers clenching hair underlay the national production of harvesters. This became my first metaphor which I gobbled till my mouth foamed as if I had swallowed the whole Swan Lake. My body didn’t belong to me. Bent with pain, it was making a career out of being a question mark in the corporation of language. The bureaucracy of the body drove me to the wall: head didn’t want to think – let the eyes watch eyes didn’t want to watch – let the ears listen ears didn’t want to listen – let the hands touch hands didn’t want to touch – let the nose smell the body which blooms with linden flowers of pain. Where are my bees? Aren’t I sweet enough for them?
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 13:28:00 +0000
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