Once upon a time, there was always something to say. Now, saying it seems a transgression against the silence we so desperately need. Silence can heal or cure anything; especially the silence of the grave. To write from that kind of silence, without breaking that silence; to make ourselves felt and known from Hamlet’s undiscovered country — is that not the only writing there is left for us to do? Or are words such that there can never be enough of them, even when they fail, and go on failing, as if failure is their very purpose? By writing them, saying them, singing them, and participating in their failure, are we drawing closer to a time when they will no longer fail? And if they cease to fail, what need will we have of them then? Indeed; that, too, is an undiscovered country.
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[ 1950 ]
Categories: Someone Will Say
Tags: Death, Hamlet, Silence, The Undiscovered Country, Writing
William Michaelian 