excerpts from the work of Bruno Schulz

My plan was to add some excerpts from Bruno Schulz's The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories while re-reading the book, for how many times? However, I am finding it difficult to dissect his work. Like a fractal, any part of the whole is complete and noteworthy, yet it is difficult for me to select any given slice, since the text on either side of my demarcation is just as profound as what I originally roped off. I find myself scooping up more and more border material until I am left holding the entire contents of the book. If you have never read the collection of stories, my suggestion is to purchase a copy and place it beside the bed. The following might give you an idea if this suggestion is appropriate.

An attempt:

Excerpts from Street Of Crocodiles and Other Stories by Bruno Schulz, translated by Celina Wieniewska

(from forward by Jonathan Safran Foer)
There are things Schulz wrote, "that cannot ever occur with any precision. They are too big and too magnificent to be contained in mere facts. They are merely trying to occur, they are checking whether the ground of reality can carry them. And they quickly withdraw, fearing to lose their integrity in the frailty of realization." Our lives, the big and magnificent lives we can just barely make out beneath the mere facts of our lifestyles, are always trying to occur. But save for a few rare occasions--falling in love, the birth of a child, the death of a parent, a revelatory moment in nature--they don't occur; the big magnificence is withdrawn. Stories rub at the facts of our lives. They give us access--if only for a few hours, if only in bed at the end of the day--to what's beneath.

But rub is too gentle a word for Schulz's writing. And what it uncovers is nothing like a fairy tale. I remember the first time I read The Street of Crocodiles. I loved the book, but didn't like it. The language was too heightened, the images too magical and precarious, the yearnings too dire, the sense of loss too palpable--everything was comedy or tragedy. The experience was too intense to be pleasant, in large part because it reminded me of how mundane--how unintense--my life was.

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(from introduction by David A Goldfarb)
Schulz maintains that, when viewed through the "poetic" imagination, any degraded scrap of reality-- anything that might be found in the world's tandeta, a Polish word describing goods that are shoddy, cast off, second-rate, or trashy--might reveal the qualities of the sublime.

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(from The Street of Crocodiles)
Once Adela took me to the old woman's house. It was early in the morning when we entered the small blue-walled room, with it's mud floor, lying in a patch of bright yellow sunlight in the still of the morning broken only by the frightening loud ticking of a cottage clock on the wall. In a straw-filled chest lay the foolish Maria, white as a wafer and motionless like a glove from which a hand had been withdrawn. And, as if taking advantage of her sleep, the silence talked, the yellow, bright, evil silence delivered it's monologue, argued, and loudly spoke its vulgar maniacal soliloquy. Maria's time--the time imprisoned in her soul--had left her and--terribly real--filled the room, vociferous and hellish in the bright silence of the morning, rising from the noisy mill of the clock like a cloud of bad flour, powdery flour, the stupid flour of madmen.

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a deer in headlights

For the most part, I stand stunned, caught between zeros and ones fashioned into deception, and the tight, unexpanding circle of vices and menial tasks that expose nothing.

hypochondriasol

cut to commercial

(chance meeting of two friends in line at grocery store. cut into ongoing conversation)

Friend 1: So, how have you been doing?
Friend 2 Oh about the same, I guess.

(freeze and pull back from conversation)

off camera voice: Do you have average health?
Are you concerned you might be sick even though you feel OK?
You may be suffering from Average Health Syndrome.
Average Health Syndrome is a condition with a specific set of symptoms that can be diagnosed by your doctor.
Studies show that over 80% of people with prescription drug coverage suffer from untreated Average Health Syndrome.
Now there might be help.

(cut to man in doctor suit)

Doctor: I am here to talk to you about a new medication. (hold up bottle) Hypochondriasol. In clinical studies, people with average health who took Hypochondriasol, and were asked if they felt better, were three times more likely to respond, "yes", or at least "I think so".
(new camera angle)
Hypochondriasol was designed by a person with average health, for a person with average health.
(new camera angle)
Only your doctor can determine if you have average health for your age, and if Hypochondriasol might be right for you.

(cut to very non-threatening view of children playing in a grassy park)

Really quick voice:Warning: Hypochondriasol is not for everyone. Hypochondriasol should not be taken by people who are really sick. This medication may cause headaches, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, bleeding from ears, or dry mouth. Discontinue this medication, and consult your doctor if you experience periods of elation lasting more than four hours, as this may be disruptive to future pharmaceutical ad campaigns, and also may be a symptom of a rare, but serious side effect which could cause your head to explode. Hypochondriasol should not be taken with other drugs that were developed before their corresponding illnesses were concocted.

(new scene of friends in line at grocery store)

Friend 1: So, how have you been doing?
Friend 2 Oh about average..., actually..., maybe a little better than average.

(freeze image of friend 2 smiling)

off camera voice: Ask your doctor about Hypochondriasol.

duct tape

As yet another proof of the wonders of duct tape:

Remember the difficulties NASA encountered finding a material that would allow space shuttles to re-enter the earth's atmosphere without overheating and burning up?

A little known fact is that Russia had this problem solved nearly a decade earlier using an extract from ordinary duct tape. This compound, dubbed 'Factor D', has extraordinary insulation properties. A layer of Factor D one tenth of a millimeter thick has the same insulating properties as a stack of space shuttle tiles stacked over twenty feet thick.

To put this into perspective, if the surface of the sun was sprayed with a thin coat of Factor D, and hotdogs were placed on this protective layer, you would have to wait over 10,000 years before the wienies were warm enough to serve!

When two Factor D molecules touch, it is also nearly impossible to peel them apart - Factor D more than likely plays an important role in duct tape's adhesion.

Presently, the high cost of Factor D makes it's use impractical by the general public. (Nearly 8,000 cubic feet of duct tape must be refined to extract one milligram of pure Factor D). It is estimated, however, that the average single-family home, properly insulated with Factor D, would have a combined heating and cooling bill of US$0.11 per decade.

The Russian scientist, Dr. Alexander Morozov, who first discovered Factor D has authored two books on the subject that are now available in English, Finding 'D' - One Scientists Journey, and The Effects of Tape Adhesion on the Class Struggle.

wild rose

the starts and stops of summer's showers and droughts -
the cracks and freezes of winter -
fresh shoots from spring's plentiful rain
the rose wears it's history on it's weathered stalks

rain

it feels like it's raining all over the world

jep

Jep accepted most of the changes in spring weather with resignation, sleeping indoors with the coming of clouds and rain, strolling into the yard and napping when the warm spring sun peeked through the clouds - occasionally waking and halfheartedly barking at feline passers-by. He considered the harsher bouts of spring weather, however, as the greatest insult - the heavy winds and sleet that crept up from nowhere to shake and pummel the status-quo of the neighborhood. These general attacks on his character and residence would launch a barrage of retaliatory and sincere barking that reminded one of earlier days when he actively sought out worthy opponents to test his valor.

leon

Earlier in life, Leon Phillips was a school teacher until some sad event had necessitated a change in employment. Leon had then taken a job as a 'cook's helper' in an institution. Leon's primary job as cook's helper was to stir a large basin of steaming water. Into this basin was dumped a random selection of limp, aging vegetables which were boiled and stirred until any remaining flavor had yielded to the homogeneous mass.

Over the years, stirring the floor-level basin with a boat paddle, Leon's large body had conformed to the job at hand. His back had begun to slope permanently over the basin. His shoulders had curved inward toward his chest in an insect-like manner, adjusting to the task of making short, circular paddle strokes in the hot liquid. Leon stirred this basin of liquid with a melancholy, inward gaze until his early retirement for health reasons, at age 62 - Leon's work had over-exaggerated the unnatural bends in his posture until his body had found it difficult to perform other human activities, such as standing erect, or moving from one place to another.

After his retirement, Leon's body, rather than beginning the change back to normalcy, continued in it's journey to the 'something different' that the basin, the heat, the mindlessness of the task at hand, had begun. The curve in his back had developed into a skyward hump, pushing his head forwards and down. The forward arch of his shoulders had continued until it appeared that his body was now trying to encircle some invisible object pressed to his chest.

Leah was Leon's wife. Leah's appearance had refused to yield to any inevitable decay. Leah's heart was sick. As her weak, broken heart daily threatened to abandon it's vocation, her outward appearance maintained a gentle beauty. Her dark hair of earlier years had aged to a silver perfection. Her gentle smile was now reinforced with creases that spoke with confidence and warmth. Her demeanor barely revealed the efforts this, or any other task required.

locals

The locals are pathetic creatures, you have no idea what we must tolerate on a day-to-day basis. You cannot blame them, and, in a way, they can be sweet in their innocence. They consider us beautiful, and often say so. Imagine that. I suppose by their standards...