Happy Birthday, Gaston Bachelard!



I am a dreamer of words, of written words.
I think I am reading; a word stops me.
I leave the page.
The syllables of the word begin to move around.
Stressed accents begin to invert.
The word abandons its meaning
like an overload which is too heavy and prevents dreaming.
Then words take on other meanings
as if they had the right to be young.
And the words wander away,
looking in the nooks and crannies of vocabulary
for new company,
bad company.

- The Poetics of Reverie, 1960

viz : wood s