Avec comme pour langage
rien qu'un battement aux cieux
What's written is always something else
And what's described is something else again
Between them lies the undescribed
which as soon as it's described
opens up new undescribed areas
Even though darkness is described by light
and light by darkness
something's always left out.
And even if this something is "defined"
as razed gardens
behind iron fencing that grows
logic is always left
And even though the logic is not defined
but concealed beneath layers of gardens
painted from garden to garden
there's still a restlessness left
a pulse with no body
This is a criticism of the body
because it's a criticism of life.
Inger Christensen, It, Susanna Nied (trad.), Anne Carson (intr.), New Directions Books, 2006 (originalmente publicado em dinamarquês em 1969).