Wheel With a Single Spoke Quotes

“Tell me, if I ever caught you
and kissed the arch of your foot,
wouldn't you limp a little after that
for fear of crushing my kiss? …”
― Nichita Stănescu, Wheel With a Single Spoke: and Other Poems

“Jacob Battles the Angel: Or, On the Idea of "You"

I.
That which is furthest from me,
is being closer to me,
is named “you.”

See how I came to wrestle with myself.
In me wrestled “you,”
“you,” eyelid, you wrestled,
you, hand,
you, leg, you wrestled
and though I was lying down, I ran
around and around my name.

Only to myself can I not say “you.”
Everything else, including my soul,
is “you.”
You, O soul.

II.
– You laughed.
I denied it and said:
– No, I didn’t.
For I was afraid.
But he said, Yes, you did.

And truly, the name,
leaning
like my body was
his oaken cane,
hurled itself against him,
the one without a name,
the one nothing but body,
against “you,”
the body of all names,
against “you,
the father of all names.

But he
when the dawn poured forth
stopped thinking of me.
He forgot.

III.
– Change your name, he said.
I responded: I am my name.

– Change your name, he said.
I responded:
– You want me to be someone else,
you want me to be no more,
you want me to die
and be no more.
How can I change my name?

IV.
He said:
– You were born on my lap.
I have know you since you were born.
Do not fear death,
remember how you were
before you were born.
For that is what you will be after you die.
Change your name.

V.
– You cried.
I denied it and said:
– No, I didn’t.
For I was afraid.
But he said, Yes, you did,
and stopped thinking of me.
He forgot.

VI.
I am only my name.
The rest is “you,” I told him.

He didn’t hear me, for his
mind was elsewhere.

Why else would he have said:
You wrestled the word itself
and won!

Was he the word itself?

Is name word?
… He who is only “you,”
you and you and you and you,
who surrounds my name?”
― Nichita Stănescu, Wheel With a Single Spoke: and Other Poems

“Ars Poetica

I taught my words to love,
I showed them my heart
and would not give up until their syllables
did not start to beat.

I showed them trees
and what words wouldn't rustle
I hanged, without pity, from the branches.

In the end, words
needed to resemble both me
and the world.

Then
I came to me,
I braced myself between two banks
of a river,
to present a bridge,
a bridge between a bull's horn and grass,
between black stars of light and earth,
between the temple of a woman's head and a man's,
letting words travel over me
like racing cars, electric trains,
only so they could cross faster,
only so they would learn to transport the world,
from itself,
to itself.”
― Nichita Stănescu, Wheel With a Single Spoke: and Other Poems