One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back
into the darkness of the ark -- Kafka

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Agnes Nemes Nagy's "Concerning God"

Apparently a late work. An illness is in view. Very Jobian (IMHO). Stylistically, perhaps my favorite in The Night of Akhenaton.


Concerning God
The gravest of our deficiency-induced diseases

Admit it, Lord, this just won't do. This manner of creation simply will not do. To deposit this brittle eggshell of a world in the solar system, the brittle eggshell of life on earth, and then, to top it all, as if administering a mysterious mode of punishment, to grant it consciousness. This is both too little and too much. This is to lose all sense of proportion, Lord.

Why expect us to cram an entire universe into toy skulls two human hands can compass? Or will you do with us as you do with acorns which you cram with entire oaks?

I wouldn't use a dog as you use me.

Your existence is not so much a scientific as a moral absurdity. To postulate your existence as the creator of such a world is itself an act of blasphemy.

            You might at least have refrained from baiting the trap with so many delights. No one forced you to make clouds, or gratitude, or to crown the autumnal acacia with a head of gold. No one asked for the slender, greenish, sweeter-than-sweet taste of being. That sweet-limed twig of yours, Lord -- horrible!

Do you know what it's like to feel your blood-sugar sinking? Do you know what that faint small patch of leukoplakia is like when it grows? Do you know what fear is? Or bodily pain? Or disgrace? Can you tell how much electricity a murderer discharges?

Have you swum in a river? Eaten a crab-apple? Have you handled calipers, bricks, small slips of paper? Do you have fingernails? To scratch the living trees with, to carve nonsense on peeling plane trees with, while

above you the afternoon stretches ahead, on and on into the distance? Do you have an up there? Is there anything above you?

What did I say? Nothing.

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