Luis Buñuel

Theorem


If from a point outside of a straight line we draw a parallel line, we will obtain a sunny autumn afternoon:

In fact:

The sky, all blue eyes, reflects the fishless dream of ponds, and these in turn tepidly bathe the laziness of the afternoon.

The blind trees pass by in a slow procession, and in their highest branches a straggling leaf chirps gold.

The streets want to leave en masse for a stroll in the country, but so slowly that the travelers soon leave them behind, trembling in the sun.

Yellowish fields climb hills and bluffs and stretch out there, legs spread, waiting for the night.  Only a few poplars, always restless, telegraph a Morse code of leaves.

Measured breathing of the afternoon, and all things beating to its rhythm.

Me, I carry in the palm of my hand my cane without leaves.

A breast sleeps purring in the sun.

All the windows have eyelashes like women.

The church tower, like a forefinger, points to the last tiny white cloud.

Silence after a hum, then Christ passes by selling voices.

The swallows kiss the beak of seven o'clock.

A volley of weathercocks in the air.

The ears of that mule - he himself can't be seen - reabsorb the evening.

The light goes out in my lapels.

It is the hour when the solitary birthing of street lamps begins.

Someone turns the switch to the starts.

Which is what we have not proposed to prove.


1925

trns. by Garrett White 


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