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    Shifting the Silence
    Shifting the Silence
    Shifting the Silence
    Ebook48 pages55 minutes

    Shifting the Silence

    By Etel Adnan

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    *Recent books have been featured in The New York Times.
    *Author is an internationally beloved artist, known for her paintings, tapestries and artist books.
    *An example of how politics, poetry and philosophy can be woven together and communicated seamlessly through the life experience of an artist and elder.
    *An important example of post-colonial Francophone literature, politics and poetics.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNightboat Books
    Release dateOct 27, 2020
    ISBN9781643620923
    Shifting the Silence

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      Book preview

      Shifting the Silence - Etel Adnan

      Yes. The shifting, after the return of the tide, and my own. A question rushes out of the stillness, and then advances an inch at a time: has this day ever been before, or has it risen from the shallows, from a line, a sound?

      When we name things simply, with words preceding their meaning, a cosmic narration takes place. Does the discovery of origins remove the dust? The horizon’s shimmering slows down all other perceptions. It reminds me of a childhood of emptiness which seems to have taken me near the beginnings of space and time.

      Now, dark animals roam in the forest, you could touch them. A particular somnolence takes hold of you when the shadows start growing. Then, the heart creates different beats. You want to touch the leaves, look intensely at each tree. The night falls, already tired, already bare.

      The size of the future is not any longer than this alley’s. And questions are falling, and failing. But to go by a narrow gully, find the tide at its lowest, watch ducklings follow their mother in search of evening food, is a sure way to some kind of an illumination.

      I am wearing the rose color of Syria’s mountains and I wonder why it makes me restless. Often my body feels close to sea creatures; sticky, slimy, unpredictable, more ephemeral than need be. From there I have to proceed, as an avalanche of snow falls. That’s what the radio has just said: that entire villages have been made invisible. But they are faraway: the news never covers my immediate environment.

      And having more memories than yearnings, searching in unnameable spaces, Sicily’s orchards or Lebanon’s thinning waters, I reach a land between borders, unclaimed, and stand there, as if I were alone, but the rhythm is missing.

      What is not missing is fear. It’s a matter of arteries clogged, of long hours of sleeplessness, of the lack of resolution for any outstanding problem. My feet are sliding on a wet floor, but I have to thank my good luck: I leave the horizon deal with my terror.

      Why, oh why!

      I miss the cosmic energy of ancient Greece. They loved their gods to whom everything was given save the supreme power. Free, none of them were in the absolute sense, only Zeus was, though his arbitrariness was often looked at with a critical eye. Prometheus was chained because he rebelled, and Io was condemned to suffer an opposite but equally radical punishment, to turn and turn and never rest. There was a raw cruelty to their world, but I miss them, just the same.

      To put one’s feet on the rocks of Delphi is worth damnation. And to Sikiyonou the offerings for the oracle are still coming. For me, the pain of dying is going to be the impossibility of visiting that site one more time.

      When you have no way to go anywhere, what do you do? Of course, nothing. But that’s no answer. We let so many replies go unformulated, as a liberation of sorts, so many tides uselessly advance, so many desires are buried (the mind gets tired too). In the middle of the night I measure the cold outside, the silence.

      To speak Greek is to use most of Aristotle’s own words. But I rely on Eschylus. He reminds me of the mystics from Bukhara. He placed Prometheus on Mount Aetna, linking him to Empedocles. How can one live away from their circle?

      But, returning to my condition, if I had to choose a place to spend the night, what would it be? At this point, I will turn my back and go into my room. The major part of the beauty of the world I will ignore, if not all.

      There

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