Individuality
by Paul Klee (tr. Anselm Hollo)
Individuality?
is not of the substance of elements.
It is an organism, indivisibly
occupied
by elementary objects of a divergent character:
if you
were to attempt division, these parts
would die.
Myself,
for instance: an entire dramatic company.
Enter an ancestor, prophetic;
enter a hero, brutal
a rake, alcoholic, to argue
with a learned professor.
A lyrical beauty, rolling her eyes
heavenward, a case
of chronic infatuation --
enter a heavy father,
to take care of that,
enter a liberal uncle -- to arbitrate. . . .
Aunt Chatterbox gossiping in a corner.
Chambermaid Lewdie, giggling.
And I, watching it all,
astonishment in my eyes.
Poised, in my left hand
a sharpened pencil.
A pregnant woman!, a mother
is planning her
entrance --
Shushhh! you
don't belong here
you
are divisible!
She fades.
by Paul Klee (tr. Anselm Hollo)
Individuality?
is not of the substance of elements.
It is an organism, indivisibly
occupied
by elementary objects of a divergent character:
if you
were to attempt division, these parts
would die.
Myself,
for instance: an entire dramatic company.
Enter an ancestor, prophetic;
enter a hero, brutal
a rake, alcoholic, to argue
with a learned professor.
A lyrical beauty, rolling her eyes
heavenward, a case
of chronic infatuation --
enter a heavy father,
to take care of that,
enter a liberal uncle -- to arbitrate. . . .
Aunt Chatterbox gossiping in a corner.
Chambermaid Lewdie, giggling.
And I, watching it all,
astonishment in my eyes.
Poised, in my left hand
a sharpened pencil.
A pregnant woman!, a mother
is planning her
entrance --
Shushhh! you
don't belong here
you
are divisible!
She fades.
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