Jean-Paul Sartre - Huis Clos (1944)
Garcin abandonne Estelle et fait quelques
pas dans la pièce. Il s'approche du bronze.
Le bronze .. . (Il le caresse.) Eh bien, voici le
moment. Le bronze est là, je le contemple et je
comprends que je suis en enfer. Je vous dis que
tout était prévu. Ils avaient prévu que je me
tiendrais devant cette cheminée, pressant ma
main sur ce bronze, avec tous ces regards sur
moi . Tous ces regards qui me mangent .. . (Il se
retourne brusquement.) Ha ! vous n'êtes que
deux ? Je vous croyais beaucoup plus nombreuses. (Il rit.) Alors, c'est ça l'enfer. Je n'aurais
jamais cru ... Vous vous rappelez : le soufre, le
bûcher, le gril... Ah ! quelle plaisanterie . Pas
besoin de gril : l'enfer, c'est les Autres.
T.S. Eliot - The Cocktail Party (1950)
Edward: There was a door
And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle.
Why could I not walk out of my prison?
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
Why could I not walk out of my prison?
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
YanıtlaSilTurn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
tiyes eliot gender studies kuplesi.
Silhttps://open.spotify.com/episode/4Y81uk6LTGWcWByXtPgW7s?si=Thvt4cWbSZWFvtQLnMJRkg
YanıtlaSil