But not to turn toward Eurydice would be no less untrue. Not to look would be infidelity to the measureless, imprudent force of his [Orpheus’] movement, which does not want Eurydice in her daytime truth and her everyday appeal, but wants her in her nocturnal obscurity, her distance, with her closed body and sealed face—wants to see her not when she is visible, but when she is invisible, and not as the intimacy of an familiar life, but as the foreignness of what excludes all intimacy, and wants, not to make her live, but to have living in her the plenitude of her death…
text: invisiblestories:
image: memorybook
