Hidden History

I went to the Globe Bookstore today in Nove Mesto (first English-language bookstore in Prague, also a restaurant/bar/coffeeshop/expat hangout/publisher). Bought a book called "Hidden History" by Otokar Brezina. He was a well-known Czech poet, but this is a book of his "poetic essays" on the relationship of art to life, and body to spirit. It's very good, swelling with rich and mysterious language. I am constantly amazed by translations of Czech work. I hope my dad doesn't read this blog, I'm planning on giving him the book for Belated Father's Day.

"String after string snaps on the mysterious instrument on which life plays its song of the delight and the torment of innumerable beings, but the remaining strings take on the entire legacy of the snapped ones, the entire breadth of their intervals, and ever more bold and difficult, dangerous and complex is the playing, of ever-greater art is the original high tones of life's radiance, ever more spiritual and hidden are the variations of one and the same theme, developing through the millennia."

Language, I love you.

Today, I woke up at 4 and went to the Charles Bridge to watch the sun come up. A couple asked me, in English to take their picture. They were American, from Utah, Sherry and Chris. Expecting a baby girl in a month and a half. They were suffering from jetlag and insomnia, and had also come to watch the sunrise. Chris is in Czech for a conference on animal rights law. He's a vegetarian, so they appreciated my recommendations for places to eat. We watched the sunrise together, talked about Prague, and separated. Very nice people.

Sunrise at Karluv Most.

I went back to Vysehrad tonight to get pictures for Site-Specific. Clouds started moving in fast. The six o' clock bells were drowned by the sound of thunder from all directions. The opaque curtain of distant rain and the corn-yellow sky made a backdrop for paddleboats soaring across the water, away from the storm. They all left v-shaped trails of water in their wake. Lightning.

Vysehrad means "High Castle," even though there is no castle there. But what if there was?
This is the question I am starting to devise with. What if there was a Libuse, and she stood on these stones and looked out on the river and saw a great city whose glory would touch the stars? I am in love with this myth of "the making of Prague," the building of a threshold. The other three students in my group have all agreed upon Site-Specific for our final performance. I'm excited.

Storm rolling in at Vysehrad.