Traveling Softly One Winter's Night: Part 4
November 4th 2006 03:58
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The Italo Calvino / William Weaver text continues:
All this simply means that, having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in the bookshop, you have turned toward a stack of If on a winter's night a traveler fresh off the press, you have grasped a copy, and you have carried it to the cashier so that your right to own it can be established.
You cast another bewildered look at the books around you (or, rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs who, from their cages in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him), and out you went.
You derive a special pleasure from a just-published book, and it isn't only a book you are taking with you but its novelty as well, which could also be merely that of an object fresh from the factory, the youthful bloom of new books, which lasts until the dust jacket begins to yellow, until a veil of smog settles on the top edge, until the binding becomes dog-eared, in the rapid autumn of libraries. No, you hope always to encounter true newness, which, having been new once, will continue to be so. Having read the freshly published book, you will take possession of this newness at the first moment, without having to pursue it, to chase it. Will it happen this time? You can never tell. Let's see how it begins.
Epiphanie Bloom's translation:
Well, you've made it (having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in the bookshop, you have finally found the part of teh store in which the copies of Traveling Softly One Winter's Night lie, you have selected the copy with the least creased cover, and you have carried it to the cashier so that you might make it your own.
You're not sure if you've cast another bewildered look at the books around you, or if it were they that held your gaze, reaching out for your pity like the baleful gaze of dogs who, from a cage in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of their owner, come to rescue it, but that was that, and you've emerged from the bookstore remaining in one place.
You derive a special pleasure from a recently published book, and it isn't only the book you are taking with you but its novelty, the delight of an object fresh from the factory, the youthful bloom of new books, which lasts until the dust jacket begins to yellow, until a veil of smog settles on the top edge, until the binding becomes dog-eared, in the rapid autumning of libraries. You fervently desire to come across only the most novel features of life, a newness which regenerates itself and cannot grow old. How will this text fare amongst the works upon your shelves? Only time can tell, and now it's time to interrupt an analysis of its appearance and delve into its singular mysteries.
All this simply means that, having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in the bookshop, you have turned toward a stack of If on a winter's night a traveler fresh off the press, you have grasped a copy, and you have carried it to the cashier so that your right to own it can be established.
You cast another bewildered look at the books around you (or, rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs who, from their cages in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him), and out you went.
Epiphanie Bloom's translation:
Well, you've made it (having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in the bookshop, you have finally found the part of teh store in which the copies of Traveling Softly One Winter's Night lie, you have selected the copy with the least creased cover, and you have carried it to the cashier so that you might make it your own.
You're not sure if you've cast another bewildered look at the books around you, or if it were they that held your gaze, reaching out for your pity like the baleful gaze of dogs who, from a cage in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of their owner, come to rescue it, but that was that, and you've emerged from the bookstore remaining in one place.
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