The Literature Express Europe 2000 - Le train litt�rature Europe 2000
In summer of the year 2000 Anita Konkka and Jacques Jouet
took part in the unique pan-European project called The Literature Express Europe
2000. The journey started on 4 June in Lisbon: the Literature Express ran the route of the
historic North-South Express, on board 107 authors from 45 countries. The train traversed
the continent in a great arc, crossing the Iberian peninsula, France, Belgium, Germany and
Poland, up to Baltic States and Russia, turning down again via Belorussia and Poland to
Berlin, where it arrived on 14 July. Eleven countries, 19 cities, countless events,
parties, forums discussions were behind. After the journey the authors contributed a
written piece to the book Europaexpress:Ein literarisches Reisebuch published in German by
Eichborn Verlag, Berlin in 2001. Anita Konkka and Jacques Jouet submitted a piece entitled
"Im dialog", translated from French and English by Doris Heimeman. Below is the
original contribution bilingually.
JACQUES JOUET ET/AND ANITA KONKKA
IN DIALOGUE
Paris, le 17 septembre 2000
Ch�re Anita,
Pour le voyage, j'avais emport� un conte.
Le conte disait qu'un jour les hommes inventent la brique et le mortier (donc bient�t
l'architecture) et ils construisent une tour pour aller voir un peu ce qui se passe
upstairs. La divinit�, qui n'aime pas cette pr�tention, condamne les hommes � deux
peines forc�es : la dispersion g�ographique et la pluralit� des langues. Elle est assez
monstrueuse, la divinit�, n'est-ce pas ? Mais elle ne saurait penser � tout : les hommes
r�agissent en inventant le voyage (le voyage en train) et la traduction. Ils d�couvrent
aussi qu'ils peuvent apprendre plusieurs langues.
Puis qu'on veut absolument qu'il soit rapport� quelque chose d'un voyage, ce conte, que
j'ai cont� � plusieurs reprises � diverses �tapes, j'ai l'impression de l'avoir
rapport� avec moi, et bien nourri. Il s'est us� moins vite que le savon et s'est vid�
moins vite que le dentifrice du tube.
Jacques
Helsinki, 18 September 2000
Dear Jacques,
I remember, that in those ancient days people journeyed east. They wanted to make them a
name, and built the tower. Familiar, isn't true? Godhead got a terrible fright, when he
saw the unfinished tower. He exclaimed: "Behold, the people is one, and they have all
one language, and this they begin to do: and now nothing will restrained from them, which
they have imagined to do. Go to, let us down, and there confound their language, that they
may not understand one another's speech." Divide et impera, Godhead thought. But it
was a vain attempt.
Indeed, men are inventive, as you said. One day a man invented the train of Babel.( In
Hebrew Babel resambles balal, that is: to mix in English) On the board there were 100
writers, and they spoke 98 languages, as it was written. And it was very true. They and
you and me were journeying from the edge of Europe towards the east. The tour lasted sex
weeks, oh sorry, I mean six. Sex is Swedish. All languages went in disorder, I lost the
tongue, and confusion still continues in my mind. On the tenth day of the journey I limped
along a street in Paris. Across the street there were a shop, and it was said in the
window, that "Une autre id�e du pain naturel" . My left foot was paining me
(blisters in the toes ). Heck, I thought, this is natural pain, if anything - but what
kind of idea Parisians have about pain? Might that be something more spiritual or
emotional than my pain?
Anita
Paris, le 19 septembre 2000
Si les �crivains �taient 100 (peut-�tre 103, mais d'accord, on peut arrondir) et qu'ils
parlaient 98 langues, c'est que 98 avaient leur langue propre compl�tement
ind�chiffrable et que 2 �taient muets : toi et moi. Tu exag�res toujours ! Et le conte
est un manteau trop vaste pour un seul r�el.
Le pain et la peine... D�s qu'un magasin annonce " une autre id�e de quelque chose
", la seule diff�rence incontestable entre l'id�e non-autre et l'id�e autre, c'est
que l'id�e autre est vendue plus cher que l'id�e non-autre. L'avantage avec la douleur,
c'est qu'elle ne se vend pas (voire…). Les varvas affect�s d'ampoules... mais le
voyage n'�tait pas un voyage � pied ! Comment as-tu fait pour attraper des ampoules aux
varvas (l'un des mots finlandais que je connais le mieux) ?
Cette nuit, j'ai r�v� que j'�tais avec un cheval dans un ascenseur.
Jacques
Helsinki, 20 September 2000
Dear Jacques, not me but the Frenchmen are exaggerating. I read in the French program,
that there are "100 auteurs, 43 pays, 98 langues" in the train, and since then I
wondered who was the other one without the tongue. I would never have guessed, that you
was that "Autre".
How did I get blisters? you asked. That's another story. I have to confess, that I bought
new shoes, put them on, and went to diner and dance in the disco called Cabaret Sauvage.
That was a simple cause of my pains. My very old grandmother would have said:" that
serves you right, the wages of sin is suffering". So I limped next day along the
streets and fooled around the passageways of the metro. I should have needed the thread of
Ariadne to find the right exit. I had lost my bearings completely. Otherwise I felt at
home in Paris, a blackbird sang bluely in the yard of the hotel - it sounded as if
Hungarian, and I slept well without sleeping pills ( first time during the journey). I had
no bad dreams until in Dortmund. Some animal, maybe it was a bear or a bull tried to rape
me. It was very hairy. I think it must be the bear, because my name is not Europe. Nothing
like that has happened to me for years. I wonder, why that occurred just in Dortmund, in
such an ordinary German city, where everybody were sitting by the TV and watching the
world championship games of football.
Anita
Paris, le 20 septembre 2000
Tu me parles de Paris, quand je ne peux pas te r�pondre en te parlant d'Helsinki. C'est
� Tallin, n'est-ce pas, que nous en �tions le plus proche.
C'est curieux, nous dialoguons en deux langues, gr�ce � tes connaissances et � la
langue dite majoritaire. Mais l'Albanais n'est pas une langue minoritaire, puisqu'elle est
majoritaire en Albanie, et le roumain en Roumanie, mais pas le b�larus en B�larus, si
j'ai bien compris, puisqu'en B�larus la presse, la t�l�, l'�cole sont en russe.
Si je me suis gliss� par effraction dans la peau du deuxi�me muet parmi les 100 auteurs
(et je remarque que tu ne contestes pas que tu �tais la premi�re), c'est que le fait de
parler une seule langue, le fran�ais, ne me convient pas th�oriquement, quand je n'ai
jamais r�ussi � en parler s�rieusement une seconde. C'est une sorte d'infirmit�. Ne
savoir qu'une langue est n'en savoir aucune m�me celle-l�. Moi qui m'affirme volontiers
polygraphe, polyth�iste, polys�miste, polyphoniste et polygame, je reconnais que je
devrais bien commencer par �tre polyglotte. Parfois je fais semblant.
C'est quand m�me extraordinaire qu'il n'y ait pas une langue europ�enne, parce que, du
coup, il n'y a pas une litt�rature europ�enne. Babel est le paradis et je ne pardonnerai
jamais � Mallarm� d'avoir dit des langues du monde " imparfaites en cela que
plusieurs ". Ou vive, alors, l'imperfection et les impuret�s.
Jacques
Helsinki, 21 September 2000
Hey, hey Jacques, you are on your home ground, but don't forget that I am only a tourist
both in French and English. I do stupid mistakes. I neither know rules and manners nor the
connotations. I'm a word blind, I stumble along and over the words, I mishear, miswrite,
misconceive and misread ( when you write upstairs I read up stars). Mere misunderstandings
all life long. I'm not quite sure , what do you mean by saying you are "gliss� par
effraction dans la peau ". Maybe it is an idiom - nothing to do with slipping on the
skin? In this way we are "l'autre" for each other. There is always the language
barrier, you knocking on one side, and me on the other side of a wall.
The dialogue is going to be difficult, because I must get along with English, which
"is a simple, yet hard language. It consists entirely of foreign words pronounced
wrongly", as Kurt Tucholsky has said. I am not able to talk in the abstract way in
English. I can only communicate through stories, dreams and poems. They are mediums which
hide and show what's is hidden. I have in my mind one story about the interpreter and four
men, but it is not the European story, because it has been told by Rumi. But let's leave
it untold, because it does not belong to the European literature. Instead of it you could
tell something about "un train qui siffle dans la nuit/ C'est un sujet de
po�sie." Or something about Europe. Whose Europe?
There is not only one European literature, you said. C'est cela! But what is the European
literature? Books of yours, mine and me and many others. During our tour of Europe, I used
to drop into the book shops. I saw heaps of the book hamburgers. Throughout the continent
from the west to the east there were offered for sale just the same titles and names -
John Grisham, Stephen King, Colin Dexter etc. - as in the shopping centre of Munkkivuori (
the suburb of Helsinki where I live). In the back part of the shops there was the European
literature side by the side in a tight row on a bookcase, i.e. the French, German,
English, Spanish and Italian books in translations, but no copies of Estonian, Ukrainian,
Slovenian or Belorussian, to say nothing of Finnish literature. But does it matter
anything? I prefer the world literature. I 'm not a wholehearted European.
Anita
Paris, le 25 septembre 2000
Tu as raison, il n'est pas juste que le finnois ne soit pas utilis� dans ce dialogue. Si
tu m'�cris en finnois, j'en serai quitte pour aller � l'Institut culturel finlandais (�
dix minutes � pied de chez moi) pour mendier une traduction. C'est faisable. Il n'y a
jamais de " barri�re de la langue " du moment qu'on a envie de parler.
Je regrette l'apparition trop br�ve de Rumi. Qui a dit qu'on n'avait droit qu'aux contes
europ�ens?
Je n'ai pas dit qu'il n'y avait pas qu'une litt�rature europ�enne. C'est bien plus grave
que �a : il n'y a pas de litt�rature europ�enne du tout, puisque une litt�rature est
n�cessairement dans une langue, au moins au d�but. Je dis bien dans une langue, pas dans
une nation. Tiens, je vais faire un jeu de mots intraduisible : �a soufi comme �a, ces
id�ologies d'imp�rialisme universaliste litt�raire ! Quoi ? il faudrait que nos petites
crottes narratives ou po�tiques soient automatiquement valables pour 6 milliards d'�tres
humains ? �a ne me pla�t pas. J'ai envie d'illustrer la langue que je connais intimement
et je m'adresse prioritairement, bien s�r, � des lecteurs qui la connaissent aussi
intimement. �a n'a rien � voir avec la France, mais avec le fran�ais. Cela dit, j'ai
toute confiance en la traduction et en l'apprentissage (voir le conte de Babel).
J'ai encore un conte. Le conte dit que la Sphinge, � Th�bes, d�vorait peu � peu la
jeune g�n�ration. Nulle et nul ne savait r�pondre � sa question sur l'animal qui a
quatre pattes le matin, deux le midi et trois le soir. Un jour, un jeune imb�cile r�pond
que cet animal c'est l'homme et la Sphinge se tue. Et le jeune imb�cile s'imagine avoir
sauv� Th�bes. Mais il n'a fait que l'enfoncer dans le malheur de l'absence de question.
La seule r�ponse possible � la Sphinge de Th�bes est une pluralit� de r�ponses �
l'infini : cet animal, c'est potentiellement toute la nomenclature de Linn� (plus les
nouvelles esp�ces d�couvertes depuis) - par exemple le cheval parce qu'il court le
matin, rue � midi dans son ascenseur et se fait remplacer, le soir, un fer. Ainsi, la
question est permanente, la Sphinge reste en vie et questionne sans cesse, les jeunes gens
restent en vie et r�pondent sans cesse.
Jacques
Helsinki, 25 September 2000
As I see, in the evening the horse changes into a horseshoe and brings good luck. Among
other good omens, one of the most conspicuous is to meet a piebald (black-white spotted)
horse. Sometimes the horse may turn to be un Cheval qui tombe les quatre fers en l'air,
and then its name is Nightmare. But how on earth did the horse land in the lift? The
answer is not essential. Everything is possible in the dreams. One night I woke up when
the voice of a man said in plain Finnish: "Kaikki on mahdollista" ( i.e.
Everything is possible) It was clearly worded - as the riddle of the Sphinx - but I had no
idea, what it indicated. This happened at Malbork. Maybe the voice hinted at the great
train tour, about which I dreamt ten years previously. There is no time in the dreams and
the myths, everything repeats itself, and young fools, as me (grin) try over and over
again to make a response to the riddle of the Sphinx. That is the basic European myth. In
other words, the identity quest and question: "Who am I". But if Oedipus had
known who he is, would it have been any better? Well, enough of that.
Let's Rumi come back. His story goes something like this: There was four men and they had
one coin. They went to the market. The Persian said: "I will buy some angur."
The Arab said: "No, because I want inab." The Turk said: I do not inab, I want
uz�m." The Greek said: "I want "stafil". These four started to fight,
because they did not know what was behind the names. They had information but no
knowledge. If there had been one wise man present, he would have known that each in his
own language wanted the same thing, grapes. Such a man could have reconciled them saying:
"I can fulfil the needs of all of you. If you give me your trust, your one coin will
become as four; and four at odds will become as one united."
Anita
Paris, le 29 septembre 2000
Oui, comment le cheval est-il arriv� dans l'ascenseur, ce train vertical ? Il veut se
hausser, dans l'�chelle animale, admettons. Il se redresse � midi sur ses pattes
arri�re, mais il ne tient pas longtemps. Il n'a pas le temps de composer son Kalevala,
ses Chants de Maldoror ou de se mettre � faire l'amour par devant.
Quand j'essaie de reconter le conte de la Sphinge de Th�bes, je refuse que ce soit le
conte de qui je suis, c'est celui de la langue ; je refuse que ce soit celui d'OEdipe,
c'est celui de la Sphinge. Il me suffit que dans le conte ce soient des jeunes femmes et
des jeunes hommes qui r�pondent � la Sphinge, et pas des chevaux ou des koalas.
C'est toujours cette affaire du mono-, de l'unit�, du un. Il faudrait que le monoth�isme
soit un progr�s sur le polyth�isme, que la langue originelle soit unique, que les
septante traduisant la Bible chacun de leur c�t� aboutissent miraculeusement � un texte
unique, que le Persan, le Turc, le Grec et l'Arabe cherchent tous quatre le m�me raisin,
que l'Europe soit une... Or, le cheval dans l'ascenseur ren�cle un peu � l'id�e d'union
europ�enne, je dois bien te l'avouer, mais il est, contradictoirement, farouchement
favorable � l'�largissement. Notre voyage �tait un voyage avec toutes les langues
d'Europe, pas seulement celles des riches. �a, c'�tait bien ! C'est dr�le en fran�ais,
ce mot d'�largissement. Car �largissement est un mot de la langue du droit qui veut dire
pr�cis�ment : " mise en libert� d'un d�tenu ". L'Europe des riches est en
prison, il faut d'urgence assurer son �largissement. Et quand elle sera une Europe �
quarante et quelque, on l'�largira encore.
Au fait, connais-tu le dicton camarguais que je viens tout juste d'inventer : � cheval
qui r�ve, c'est en langue cheval ?
Jacques
Helsinki, 4 October 2000
I agree with you on the idea of the European Union. It's dull like the marriage of
convenience. Doesn't inspire to write in the Mayakovskian way: " I take from the
pocket of my baggy trousers/ My purple-coated passport/ Read it, envy me/ I am a citizen
of the European Union".
Well, I'm back from St. Petersburg. I made a tour of the most impressive monstrosity I
have ever seen. It was a huge unfinished dyke constructed against the floods rising from
the Gulf of Finland. But the dyke construction stopped ten years ago, when the Soviet
Union collapsed. Now the site is an enormous wasteland, there's only grit and gravel,
concrete blocs and a dead bridge in two half. It's a highly inspiring place. The young
Russian film-makers like to direct cinemas and music videos in that area. I invented there
a story why there are floods in St. Petersburg, why "mysterious waters, now there
rise", as Pushkin chanted. History tells that they were Swedish prisoners who built
the town. The work was so hard, that ten thousand builders perished. But actually they
were Ingrains, my people, who lived in that area. The town were built upon their bones.
The Ingrian women lost their husbands and sons. Their sorrow was immense, but they dammed
up grief and put a charm upon the town ( those women were in bygone times rune singers and
well-known for their power to chant charms, there is in Kalevala lots of their charms).
Mysterious waters are their tears. Every seventy years the tears are pouring out as four
meters high floods. Believe or not, that is true and the only explanation for the St.
Petersburgian floods.
During our babelian train tour there was no place that would have made such a great
impression on me as that dyke site did. Methinks the whole journey was like a long dream,
sometimes a bit boring like those countless cocktail-party, in which we were involved,
sometimes a bit nightmarish, particularly when I lost my way. And it got lost very often,
even in St. Petersburg! I was all the time so dumfused ( dump + confused) about the babel
of tongues. Somehow I felt that I had no time to learn anything about Europe. After all,
did it really exist?
Back to horses. You asked if I know Camarguan sayings. Unfortunately I have no good
dictionary of French sayings and idioms. And to be honest with you, I never heard of
Camargua before going to the library to read the Grande Larousse. At first I thought that
it was some fabulous hippoland full of talking and chanting horses. I agree that the lift
trip is too short for making great love or epic, but a warm blood horse can, at least,
fall in love in the lift of Ostankino on his/her way to Seventh Heaven.
Anita
Paris, le 5 octobre 2000
Tr�s ch�re Anita,
Je suis un mis�rable. Je continue � t'�crire dans mon confortable fran�ais. Non. S'il
te pla�t, r�ponds-moi en finnois, ou alors, je me mets � t'�crire en anglais, ou pire
en europanto : ich vais escribir ti in anglik or...
Pourquoi suis-je un mis�rable ? Mais parce que la Camargue (pr�s d'Arles, vers la
M�diterran�e) est habit�e par trois sortes d'autochtones : les chevaux (tu as
parfaitement raison, c'est un hippoland), le vent et les moustiques (les Camarguais vont
me tuer). C'est pourquoi le dicton, je l'ai invent�, parce que les moustiques et le vent
n'ont pas de dictons. Les chevaux, c'est moins s�r. J'adore inventer les dictons, parce
que c'est paradoxal. � moins que tous les dictons soient invent�s.
Moi, notre voyage m'a plu. Pourquoi ? D'abord, si tu m'assieds dans un train devant une
fen�tre, j'ouvre la bouche et huit, douze, vingt-quatre, deux cents heures plus tard, je
suis au m�me endroit la bouche ouverte. Je suis terriblement docile. (Tiens... un autre
dicton, que j'ai invent� : " Si t'as le nez qui pue, tout pue. " D�cid�ment,
je n'arriverai jamais � faire la r�volution...) Heureusement, tout de m�me, pendant ce
voyage, il fallait arriver, r�guli�rement, prendre ses bagages, checker-in avant de
checker-out, checker-out apr�s avoir check�-in, d�couvrir successivement 19 chambres
d'h�tel, sauf erreur (je compte les deux couchettes dans le train)... C'est
extraordinaire de fr�quenter 19 chambres d'h�tel en six semaines. �a ne m'�tait jamais
arriv�. J'ai envie de devenir parfaitement mobile.
Plus s�rieusement, je me rappelle l'ascenseur de Lisbonne ; je me rappelle les fromages
de Malagar ; je me rappelle le pavillon suisse de l'exposition de Hanovre ; je me rappelle
une longue discussion avec Fatos Kongoli � Kaliningrad � propos du Kosovo (nous aurions
pu l'avoir en Camargue, mais ce n'�tait pas indiff�rent que nous l'ayions en Russie) ;
je me rappelle, au march� de Riga les poissons s�ch�s pr�sent�s en bouquets comme des
gla�euls ; je me rappelle un long �change � Moscou sur les philosophies compar�es
russe et fran�aise avec une auditrice de la biblioth�que Tourgueniev ; je me rappelle �
Minsk les jeunes �crivains bi�lorusses et leurs a�n�s bloqu�s ; je me rappelle m�me,
� Minsk, avoir mang� des sieni� (l'un des mots finnois que je connais le mieux),
�tait-ce prudent ? etc, etc, etc, je me rappelle plein de choses que je ne me sens pas
forc�ment le droit de rendre public et qui ne me donnent aucune autorit� pour parler de
l'Europe culturelle.
C'est bizarre, mais chaque fois que j'entends le mot Europe, je pense � mes copains
Africains et je calme mes ardeurs. C'est mon Ma�akovski � moi.
Je pense � toi et � ton Ostankino ??? qui est un cin�ma de l'Est
multi-salles-superpos�es accessibles par ascenseur, ou un personnage du Kalevala (je vais
aller v�rifier).
Jacques
Helsinki, 8 October 2000
My dear Jacques, don't ever think to write in English or Europanto or whatever. Humour is
the first thing to disappear in a foreign tongue. I like very much your puns, although je
n'y vois souvent que du bleu. Maybe we ought to write this duologue in Latin or Spanish.
Tres cosas hacen a los hombres sages: letras, a�os y viajes ( a Spanish proverb). Though
I 'm no wiser after six weeks tour in our brave new Europe. Otherwise Europe seemed to be
very fragile. There were much new glass buildings everywhere, especially in Bearlin.
By the way Camargue is like St. Petersburg as to mosquitos, winds and horses. I remember
throngs of mosquitoes keeping me awake in Oktyabarskaya hotel. And I remember a
sad-looking mare clattering along Nevsky Prospekt at midnight. I remember two metallic
horses flung out four hooves above Fontanka - originally there were four horses, but two
of them had run away from their pedestals just a couple of days before the literature
train arrived in the town. I remember the white nights, actually they were lurid yellowish
nights, when all horses, metallic and real as well as the whole city seemed to hover in
air, and I was so unhappy, my heels bleeding for long walking and searching for the house
where my grand-mother lived before she was expelled from the town. I simply couldn't
remember where the house was.
Well, we are committed ourselves to write on experiences of the trip and experiences with
Europe inter alia. I’m musing how to write about private experiences in public
without being fictional in form. I have never before tried at doing that. Ought to write
memoirs? Impossible, because to write memoirs of oneself is to write of the fellow
travelers as well, and then there is "the risk of invading their personal
privacy". Should I ask for your permission, if I'd like to write I remember you
swimming in the Baltic Sea at Svet - Svet - what was the name of that place near
Kaliningrad?
It was a strange experience to me to travel with others on so tight schedule. I'm in some
way a fl�neuse by nature. I used to travel alone around Europe by train and buss. Never
by air. Didn’t ever dare ascend Ostankino, Eiffel or any other tower either.
Therefore I have no high view about Europe, but perhaps it is a little wider after our
grand European hotel tour, even though the journey was so hurried and sometimes a. bit
troublesome like a led dance.
Anita
Paris, le 10 octobre 2000
Ce voyage, d'un certain point de vue, �tait terrible, nous avions une mission vague, dont
nous ne partagions pas forc�ment les attendus implicites : je me rappelle Bruxelles,
cette idiote r�ception sur les bancs de l'Europe comme si nous en �tions des �lus...
des singes �lus, bon... C'�tait compl�tement idiot. Nous avons souvent la faiblesse,
�crivains, de penser qu'il vaudrait mieux d'abord nous lire. Et c'est vrai, brandir un
�crivain sans l'avoir lu est une mauvaise action. Accepter d'�tre brandi ainsi en est
une autre. Mais peut-�tre bien que tu n'y �tais pas, d'ailleurs.
Je ne sais pas si nous avons besoin d'Europe, mais nous avons besoin de rapports entre
nous.
D'ailleurs, nous y sommes.
Aujourd'hui, j'ai re�u, par la bonne vieille poste, une lettre de Fatos. Et Aleksandar
Gatalica donne des nouvelles fra�ches de Belgrade.
Jacques
Helsinki, 21 October 2000
I was lucky enough not to be invited to that reception. You know I don’t feel happy
at the official receptions and cocktail parties, except garden parties. If Hell exists, it
is an everlasting EU reception. Meanwhile you were suffering in Bruselles ( as an
elevated, exalted ape… if not a horse?) I was enjoying my stay in Flandres meditating
under an old tree at Villa Mont- Noir and having a country dinner , peel potatoes and a
big pig roasted on a spit, at an open-air restaurant called Het Labyrinth. It was not a
hot or cramped place, regardless of the name.
For some time I have had at back of my mind the word �largissement you mentioned to mean
also "mise en libert� d'un d�tenu". Oh yes, it makes sense, I think, of course
the enlargement means setting free a prisoner. But I don’t think about the
enlargement of EU. My angle is slightly different. I remember a Midsummer’ s night
dream I had during our journey. I was a guard woman transporting prisoners by train. They
run away from the train at one station and I couldn’t stop them, inexperienced as I
was in my new occupation. The train left and I remained on the platform. There was a
ticket machine and above it a text: "This machine works only in the rain." The
sun was shining. I took off the station with a forbidden book under my arm and went for a
bath in a river. That happened at a Latvian village. But in reality I was in Kaliningrad.
On the previous day I was going to check on Immanuel Kant’s dilemma how to cross
seven bridges of K�ningsberg without stepping twice on the same bridge. I ever got to
none of those bridges, but landed in a large park. It was like a land of living, a lot of
people spent there Saturday ( Saint Jean) evening dancing, singing, playing accordion and
drinking vodka. They were at large (en fuite) from their poor and dull everyday life. The
Russians (not everybody) are wide-screen people. They are at their best when they have a
lot of room, time and freedom. They say : poguljat na vole, vyjti na volju, "to
celebrate in freedom and to get to freedom." Probably the enlargement means for them
above all to set the soul free by celebrating, travelling and drinking lots of vodka.
In some sense, or maybe in several senses, our journey was d’ �largissement ,
wasn’t it? But as regards the mission you mentioned, I think that the writers are not
good missionaries, thank heavens!
Anita
Paris, le 25 octobre 2000
Ch�re Anita,
Proposition : La litt�rature est une activit� collective. Qu’en penses-tu ?
Jacques
Helsinki, 25 October 2000
We are just about to finish our joint venture, and you ask if the literature is a
collective activity. Dear Jacques, what else could it be? You have acted as a catalyst for
me, and I have given impulses to you, isn't true? Maybe the final outcome is not that we
expected or imagined, but anyway it is some kind of literature, at least I think so. One
thing is for sure, the literature is always collective - as collective as the language and
dreams are - because no one is writing or dreaming in a vacuum. When I am writing, I am in
a dialogue with the living and the dead writers from the classic Chinese and Russian
writers to the modern French or Finnish writers.
Before we put the end to our dialogue, I'd like to return back to your story about the
Sphinx. Some days ago I read purely coincidentally a poem about the Russian Sphinx written
by Alexander Blok. That Sphinx was quite different from the Western Sphinx, who always
asks rationalistic riddles. But the Russian Sphinx according Blok is emotional and
ambivalent. She never asks, she is mute, "grieving and exulting, and bleeding black
and bloody tears, and she stares at you, adoring and insulting with love that turns to
hate, and hate - to love." Maybe there will always be a large gap between Western and
Eastern Europeans, because of two completely different Sphinxes - and I'm always hovering
on the boundary of those two worlds. Sometimes I understand the riddles Western Sphinx,
sometimes not, but as you said, it is stupid and dangerous to try to solve riddles. Am I
right?
Anita
Paris, le 26 octobre 2000
Ch�re Anita,
Hier, je me suis dit : tiens, je vais lancer une question � Anita, qui est d�sormais
pour moi une amie dans les lettres et dans l'esprit. Anita r�pondra � la question et
nous aurons fini notre premier travail � deux. Mais rien ne se passe jamais comme on se
le dit. Alors, Anita r�pond � ma question mais termine en m'en retournant une nouvelle.
� cette nouvelle question, je r�ponds nettement par la n�gative. Ce n'est pas d'essayer
qui est stupide et dangereux, c'est de s'imaginer avoir r�ussi.
Jacques
Helsinki, 31 October 2000
Dear Jacques,
Marvellous to be your friend 1300 years after Li Po. What you have said, I will consider.
I have nothing more to add. For last words are mostly beside the point.
Anita
PS. Imagine that! There are just now 10 000 plastic bears decorating the street Unter den
Linden in Berlin. The artist is planning to show the bears in Paris to find an answer to
his question " how the boulevards of this world could communicate with each
other."
� Jacques Jouet, Anita Konkka
