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Articles Tagged ‘night’

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Written in a green notebook while traveling

Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

Sept. 07

Flying above the ocean at night, there’s nothing to see outside my window except the occasional tiny cluster of lights indicating a lone ship. Instantly my mind descends, to the rough chuck-and-slap of water against the boat’s sides. The night watchman walks with soft feet, checking the bearings, the engines, the bilge, then up on deck clutching a warm mug of coffee and breathing slowly beneath the arching starred sky, the smell of the sea on the breeze, the soft rocking of the boat, the creaks in which it speaks. Nothing else is like nightwatch on a boat.

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Thoughts on Living in Prague III

Monday, September 24th, 2007

A young man approaches me at the tram stop, cigarette dangling from his lips as he rambles at me in Czech. “Nemluvím cesky,” I say with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. He pauses. “Nemluvite cesky,” he says, not a question so much as a doutful statement. His raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe me, but it’s true. An old lady approached me in the metro but I couldn’t help her, nor could I answer the grocer’s rapid-fire question. “Nemluvím cesky,” I’m always saying. “I don’t speak Czech. I don’t speak —” I dream in Czech, people with blurry faces spitting out mangled sentences as over and over I repeat “I don’t speak your language. Nemluvím cesky. No, I don’t speak, not at all.” They shake their heads at me, gesture impatiently, stride away. I want to run after them, to hear again and understand. It seems important somehow.

Everything’s modernized, the tram passes the church, but not so completely modernized, I realize, as the man beside me crosses himself as we pass by.

Get off the tram, walk by the church. The cool green-smelling air hits you from the small garden-park around the stone church walls. The chirping of little holy church birds.
My apartment, I stand before open window, the green and lilac glory of the park below, the church spires above, and the fly-by birds at eye level.

9:30 pm, walking from work to tram stop:
The church, the tower, the fingernail crescent moon overflowing with deep indigo sky, its aching silverness as sharp against the sky as the throbbing gold numbers of the tower clock are against the must stone bricks. Every time, the sign pierces my heart (as though by the sickle-blade moon), blood drips out and the whole of Prague-at-night rushes in, and I can’t hate it here; the times when I did are unsteady memories, appearing false. I can’t resist a good night air, I have a weakness for it. One touch and I turn over, belly up in surrender, caressed by breezes soaking up the stars, scenting the air. I allow myself to be folded in the night’s embrace, giddy from its intoxicating elements, inhibitions as vanished as the sunlight. Night, as a lover, is a sable panther, with yellow moon eyes and silver whiskers. The rumble in his throat vibrates my heart and I nearly choke on the beauty of it all.

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