{"id":2446,"date":"2014-10-03T12:12:47","date_gmt":"2014-10-03T10:12:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/cequireste\/?p=2446"},"modified":"2017-09-05T14:03:27","modified_gmt":"2017-09-05T14:03:27","slug":"marco-ercolani","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/?p=2446","title":{"rendered":"Preferisco sparire, dialoghi con Robert Walser,"},"content":{"rendered":"

tra\u00adduc\u00adtion in\u00e9dite de Syl\u00advie Durbec
\n\u00e9d. Robin&<\/span>sons, Rome<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amour<\/h2>\n

J\u2019aime les bri\u00adgands, ceux qui viennent la nuit pour tout te voler et te laissent la vie pour que tu puisses te sou\u00adve\u00adnir d\u2019eux. Mort, ce ne serait pas pos\u00adsible. Les cri\u00admi\u00adnels sont rus\u00e9s, ce sont des ban\u00addits de l\u2019art, ils te ban\u00adnissent du monde. Ils res\u00adsemblent \u00e0 des dieux. La res\u00adsem\u00adblance entre un homme et un dieu est unique : l\u2019homme ne com\u00adprend pas ce qu\u2019il redoute ou qu\u2019il aime, alors il l\u2019appelle dieu. Et alors\u2026O, dieu bandit !<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Schubert<\/h2>\n

Ta petite science, doc\u00adteur Weiss\u2026petite, trop petite, pen\u00adser qu\u2019elle pour\u00adrait deve\u00adnir grande ! Vaste comme un pano\u00adra\u00adma qu\u2019aucune terre ne pour\u00adrait conte\u00adnir. Mais vous ne savez que d\u00e9crire vos propres peurs. Vous cher\u00adchez des solu\u00adtions, vous n\u2019\u00eates m\u00eame pas sur\u00adpris. Tr\u00e8s mau\u00advais, \u00e7a, et spi\u00adri\u00adtuel\u00adle\u00adment pauvre. Le tr\u00e8s doux Schu\u00adbert, lui, \u00e9tait tou\u00adjours dans l\u2019\u00e9tonnement. Sa musique, si pure, se d\u00e9noue pro\u00adlixe et sublime dans les sen\u00adtiers et les val\u00adlons, ses phrases ont tou\u00adjours l\u2019\u00e9tonnement musi\u00adcal du wan\u00adde\u00adrer qui s\u2019arr\u00eate dans une clai\u00adri\u00e8re enchan\u00adt\u00e9e de clar\u00adt\u00e9 : ce que vous n\u2019avez jamais eu et que je n\u2019oublie pas. Je vais, heu\u00adreux mar\u00adcheur, mal\u00adgr\u00e9 mon \u00e2ge. Les ciels d\u2019orage m\u2019\u00e9meuvent. Je crois qu\u2019\u00e9crire vient de la peur de les regar\u00adder pour de vrai.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

D\u00e9crire<\/h2>\n

J\u2019ob\u00e9is. Ser\u00advant mon r\u00eave de ser\u00advir. Je le fais parce que les ser\u00advi\u00adteurs choi\u00adsissent leurs ma\u00eetres, et les ma\u00eetres, non. Et ain\u00adsi je suis libre.
\nMais trop de fois j\u2019ai d\u00e9crit en d\u00e9tail mon r\u00eave et dans trop de livres. Ce n\u2019est pas bien. Que mes mots trop clairs existent encore me d\u00e9pla\u00eet, et qu\u2019ils conti\u00adnuent tou\u00adjours \u00e0 tour\u00adner. J\u2019ai \u00e9t\u00e9 un bouf\u00adfon. Le r\u00eave a besoin d\u2019enfants taci\u00adturnes. J\u2019\u00e9tais un taci\u00adturne vani\u00adteux de mots, gon\u00adfl\u00e9 comme un paon de tel\u00adle\u00adment, tel\u00adle\u00adment de mots.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Je pr\u00e9f\u00e9rerais ne pas<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

Toute ma vie vient d\u2019une phrase de Melville.
\nJe pr\u00e9\u00adf\u00e9\u00adre\u00adrais ne pas.<\/em>
\nAin\u00adsi j\u2019ai per\u00addu ma vie. Dans ce \u00ab je pr\u00e9f\u00e9rerais \u00bb.
\nJe n\u2019ai jamais dit : je pr\u00e9f\u00e8re.
\nJe suis res\u00adt\u00e9 entre le oui et le non.
\nSi on m\u2019obligeait, je copiais des lettres obs\u00e9\u00adquieuses dans ma chambre.
\nSi on ne me disait rien, je fixais le mur, comme tant de Mer\u00adveilleux \u00c9cri\u00advains qui n\u2019\u00e9crivirent jamais rien.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Montgolfi\u00e8re<\/h2>\n

Je suis fou parce que vierge ? Vierge parce que fou ? \u00catre vierge n\u2019est pas le pire des p\u00e9ch\u00e9s, c\u2019est la meilleure des d\u00e9fenses. Je laisse le monde \u00e0 sa tran\u00adquilli\u00adt\u00e9. Je marche \u00e0 c\u00f4t\u00e9. Je me pro\u00adm\u00e8ne, je vais, c\u2019est ma mani\u00e8re d\u2019aimer le monde. Si on peut aimer avec vio\u00adlence ? Non, pas du tout, avec la vio\u00adlence on ne peut que bles\u00adser et d\u00e9chi\u00adrer. L\u2019amour est dou\u00adceur, len\u00adteur. Comme tra\u00adver\u00adser la terre colo\u00adr\u00e9e en la contem\u00adplant depuis une mont\u00adgol\u00adfi\u00e8re. Ces der\u00adniers temps, les mots me semblent faibles et sourds. Mais les chants des oiseaux, ceux que j\u2019entends quand je suis l\u00e0 haut, dans le bal\u00adlon, oh oui, comme ils sont clairs l\u00e0 haut ! Et quel\u00adque\u00adfois (mais ne le dis \u00e0 per\u00adsonne, c\u2019est peut-\u00eatre un symp\u00adt\u00f4me), je crois entendre les voix des che\u00advaux. Comme me le chu\u00adcho\u00adtait une amie enra\u00adg\u00e9e, je me sou\u00adviens de son nom, Gre\u00adta, elle vou\u00adlait r\u00e9vo\u00adlu\u00adtion\u00adner le monde avec le style logique et bar\u00adbare de ses yeux clairs. Peut-\u00eatre Gul\u00adli\u00adver avait-il rai\u00adson quand il cr\u00e9a le royaume ration\u00adnel et par\u00adfait des Houyhnhnm. Je ne cr\u00e9e pas de royaume, je caresse le papier qui ren\u00advoie les reflets d\u2019un miroir, comme il brille\u2026<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Lutter<\/h2>\n

Je n\u2019ai aucune envie de lut\u00adter. J\u2019ai contrac\u00adt\u00e9 une mala\u00addie incu\u00adrable et je ne sui\u00advrai aucun trai\u00adte\u00adment m\u00e9di\u00adcal. Je me d\u00e9sha\u00adbille\u00adrai pen\u00addant une pro\u00adme\u00adnade, pour me faire gifler par le vent froid. Je veux aider la mort. Pour\u00adquoi avoir avec elle, que per\u00adsonne ne vain\u00adcra jamais, un rap\u00adport d\u2019opposition, un rejet arti\u00adfi\u00adciel ? Je suis d\u2019accord pour lui faci\u00adli\u00adter le tra\u00advail, s\u00fbr d\u2019\u00eatre sa cible. Suivre sim\u00adple\u00adment les sept r\u00e8gles du Silence : pru\u00addence, secret, simu\u00adla\u00adtion, songe, fan\u00adtai\u00adsie, m\u00e9ta\u00admor\u00adphose, m\u00e9lancolie.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Presque<\/h2>\n

Je ne m\u2019\u00e9loigne jamais long\u00adtemps. Je ne veux pas jouer le r\u00f4le de pri\u00advi\u00adl\u00e9\u00adgi\u00e9. Je dois ren\u00adtrer aux heures impo\u00ads\u00e9es. Man\u00adger et dor\u00admir avec tous les autres. A la m\u00eame heure. C\u2019est le contrat avec Heri\u00adsau. Tu dois avoir lu mon dos\u00adsier m\u00e9di\u00adcal. J\u2019imagine qu\u2019il est presque vide. Genre : Robert Wal\u00adser. Pro\u00adme\u00adneur. Entend des voix. Vou\u00addrait \u00eatre moins visible.
\nPresque est le mot juste. Il appar\u00adtient \u00e0 deux royaumes dis\u00adtincts. Il est presque beau, presque laid, presque sain, presque fou. Mais il n\u2019est jamais l\u2019une ou l\u2019autre chose. Tu vois, c\u2019est sans fin. Je marche dans les bois mais c\u2019est comme s\u2019il n\u2019y avait plus d\u2019arbres. M\u00eame les oiseaux ne chantent plus. Les che\u00admins sont vides. Je me sens libre. Non pas presque libre. Mais libre.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

tra\u00adduc\u00adtion in\u00e9dite de Syl\u00advie Dur\u00adbec \u00e9d. Robin&<\/span>sons, Rome   Amour J\u2019aime les bri\u00adgands, ceux qui viennent la nuit pour tout te voler et te laissent la vie pour que tu puisses te sou\u00adve\u00adnir d\u2019eux. Mort, ce ne serait pas pos\u00adsible. Les cri\u00admi\u00adnels sont rus\u00e9s, ce sont des ban\u00addits de l\u2019art, ils te ban\u00adnissent du monde. Ils [\u2026]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"wp_typography_post_enhancements_disabled":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[778],"tags":[281],"coauthors":[779],"class_list":["post-2446","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marco-ercolani","tag-prose"],"yoast_head":"\nPreferisco sparire, dialoghi con Robert Walser, - Ce qui reste<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/?p=2446\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"fr_FR\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Preferisco sparire, dialoghi con Robert Walser, - Ce qui reste\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"tra\u00adduc\u00adtion in\u00e9dite de Syl\u00advie Durbec \u00e9d. Robin&sons, Rome   Amour J\u2019aime les bri\u00adgands, ceux qui viennent la nuit pour tout te voler et te laissent la vie pour que tu puisses te sou\u00adve\u00adnir d\u2019eux. 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Mort, ce ne serait pas pos\u00adsible. Les cri\u00admi\u00adnels sont rus\u00e9s, ce sont des ban\u00addits de l\u2019art, ils te ban\u00adnissent du monde. 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