Viktor Shklovsky: Their Moment

This poetic word is a dance, a move made at the instant of a psychic shift; it is not a move made to accomplish a task. An artistic work in which an aesthetically differentiated sensibility lies beyond the word--where the word is neglected, where it is unsensed or no longer sensed--is possible. The discord may be then transferred to the interior of the word itself.

Hans Jenny Jahnn: Evening

The 17th of November.  A dreary day, filled with empty shadows.  The clouds are shapeless; they hang against the sky like burlap.  Evening comes early, numb, in a fogless haze.  The world is quiet; only   the sound of people is loud.  You go out walking, you ask yourself questions -- you ask whether there will ever be another day like this one -- one just as vague and dim -- with the same beginnings, those born today, the deaths, the innumerable acts of lustful procreation, the reckonings of fate, the coincidences, the recently launched endeavors and decisions.  You get no answer.  You cannot provide an answer.

[From <i>Jeden ereilt es</i> (It Catches Up With Everyone), translated from the German by Adam Siegel.]