NOTE: “To protect myself, to support myself, to sustainmyself” is a remark made by Giacometti about art.
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More poems and contributor notes in Chinesefeature
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Yu Jian
fromWatching a Documentary Film of Giacometti at Work
slowly gradually adding
a kneading inhere a squeezing out there
building upthe left a little pinching in one side abit
adding salt addingsugar adding clay
in the emptiness hishand is holding on to something
womb-wise something is about to be
bornfrom that place to grow and takeshape here, it manifests
itself
alittle there at another point itdisappears the artist hesitates
like alion roaming at the edge of night
gleaming it wants to comein its quarry
begins in the shininggypsum darknessintervenes and on the other
side thereis
bronze ultimately one of them in the emptiness
fluttered its eyelashes another, however,stays buried beneath rock
iron spectacleframes like Empirefurniture you simply cannot budge
the artist is exhausted joints ice-cold
a battle with death ‘To protect myself
to support myself to sustain myself’
apoplectic hands fondling abreast shameless
hands chewed by the fire’s sharpfangs hands
probing moaning shaking caressing rubbing
likewind toyingwith an unpredictable tree
there issomething about to emerge toemerge something about to
emerge
gradually emerging this is not a formula inteaching material
sound appearing onceyou’ve learnt about ears sentencesappearing
once you’ve learnt thetongue everytime youmust start from
scratch
every timeis a pall of darkness
his own hands,invisible every time he gets to work
he has noidea never anyidea what the next thing is
that he hasgot to grasp hold of an iota of what?
A? B? X +Y? or is it the moisture content?
handsalways empty always an ungraspableanxiety
an insupportable anxiety aninsistent but not long-lasting anxiety
anxious that ability is notequal to ambition a strange bashfulness
where is it he should let go? it won’t doto be discouraged
hardening tooquickly he worries aboutcracks so many battles
he hasfought with those elements urging him tocome too soon
o but he has plenty oftime he goes off to Paris withoutimpatience
he can work from morning tonight work on the tops
thebottoms sticking together then movingapart
working on thebacks fronts using hard and soft tactics
tumescentplaces declivities dry and then moist a pairing of fastand
slow
searching hunting bending only to straighten out
from shallow todeep from outside working in
going inthen coming out coming out only to go backin again
he is a lover made of the flesh of spring-time
and whenhe can move no more only then does he
stop work and that’sbecause God in His darkness
has slammeda foot down on the brake
there issomething that props up
the world thishollowed crone
opens her shrunken womb
once the shoulders haveemerged
the process should by rights result in
the appearance ofa proper head
filled with meaning andpromise but no
there instead
allyou’ll find is a small lump of bronze
that looks like an error
the end or just a beginning
who knows?
2 July 2001
Translated by Simon Patton
Translated by Simon Patton