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Copyright © 2008 by Bruno Gullì and Cultural Logic, ISSN 1097-3087 

Hölderlin’s Window 

Bruno Gullì 

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“…and the philosophical light around my window is now my joy; 

 may I be able to keep on as I have thus far!” 

    – Friedrich Hölderlin  

       (letter to Boehlendorf, December 2, 1802) 

 

Nothing but being remains 

   When 

In the strong silence that doesn’t go 

Unheard 

The planes of time shift 

And thought appears 

In all its brightness: 

The plane of memory 

And the absent other – of the future. 

But moments and modes  

Of consolation are rare. 

We anxiously seek 

Thought on one side 

The word on the other 

In the void of time. 

Quiet was earlier 

Later there will be quiet. 

Behind the window this new light 

Exuberant with nature 

In the warm evening 

Finds us empty and cold 

In the time of indifference 

And revives us. 



 

Copyright © 2008 by Bruno Gullì and Cultural Logic, ISSN 1097-3087 

Perhaps a new thought  

From the forest and mountains, 

Perhaps in the crowded stations 

Of forlorn cities 

A young eternal face, 

Ancient in its gaze, 

Renews our passions, the fire 

That lights the evening sky. 

Yet simple are clothing and manners. 

Here on the train going downtown 

And losing itself into the woods 

Set on fire by the new sun, 

In the remote corners of the earth, 

Talks are simple, 

But high and real, 

Conversations between pariahs and gods, 

As to how war and blood and death 

Reign allover. 

The world sees no light. 

Neither in the sweatshops in Pakistan 

Or Thailand, nor those in New York 

Or California does the void of time bring 

New being. Laughter in Washington, London, 

And the other capitals. Neither on the streets of La Paz, 

Nor among the rubble in Baghdad is being nothing. 

The laughter that calls itself democratic 

     Doesn’t see 

The new coming freedom 

That flows like lava down the mountains, 

A river that breaks its banks. 

The absolute and free being which is coming, 



 

Copyright © 2008 by Bruno Gullì and Cultural Logic, ISSN 1097-3087 

With a wide brow, comes from the future. 

It carries with it immense spaces. 

Like a new god, it crushes 

Under its bare strong feet 

Temples of a fake intelligence. 

New cities arise everywhere in the world, 

New centers of life. To the crescendo of festivity, 

To the free coming and going of people 

The unexpected gift of a genuine word 

Adds itself, the presage, which is memory, 

     Of enlightenment. 

To the usual window, tired, I return 

Like he who due to a long absence 

Through an exhausting journey 

And a laborious search 

Has lost his mental strength, 

His bodily sense, to whom even rest 

Appears to be action and effort. 

Nor do you, thought, hide your presence. 

Sleep is good in these circumstances. 

It envelopes in the twilight the trembling walls  

Of houses, the sound of our steps, 

Solitude. 

 In this vortex 

Of memory and of that which to equal status 

Aspires, labor finds its elements. 

Upon waking, the light of thought, 

A new sun, floods eternal spaces. 

 

      (New York, June 2003) 

      Translated with Rosemary Manno 

      San Francisco and New York, June 2005