Calvino, Italo; William Weaver (tr.);
Invisible Cities [Le città invisibili, 1972]
Harcourt Brace 1974/1978, 165 pages
ISBN 0156453800
topics: | fiction | poetry | italian | semantics
Lyrical prose poems, each covering the unique soul of different cities in Kublai Khan's empire as Marco Polo describes them to him. Possibly some of the greatest leaps of imagnation in modern poetry.
In the lives of emperors there is a moment which follows pride in the boundless extension of territories we have conquered, and the melancholy and relief of knowing we shall soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them. There is a sense of emptiness that comes over us at evening, with the odor of the elephants after the rain and the sandalwood ashes growing cold in the braziers, a dizziness that makes rivers and mountains tremble on the fallow curves of the planispheres where they are portrayed, and rolls up, one after the other, the despatches announcing to us the collapse of the last enemy troops, from defeat to defeat, and flakes the wax of the seals of obscure kings who beseech our armies' protection, offering in exchange annual tributes of precious metals, tanned hides, and tortoise shell. It is the desperate moment when we discover that this empire, which had seemed to us the sum of all wonders, is an endless, formless ruin, that corruption's gangrene has spread too far to be healed by our scepter, that the triumph over enemy sovereigns has made us the heirs of their long undoing. - p.5, describing Kublai Khan's empire the lighted ground-floor windows, each with a woman combing her hair. - p.17
Newly arrived and ignorant of the Levantine languages, Marco Polo could express himself only with gestures, leaps, cries of wonder and of horror, animal barkings or hootings, or with objects he took from his knapsacks - ostrich plumes, pea-shooters, quartzes - which he arranged in front of him like chessmen. ... one city was depicted by the leap of a fish escaping the cormorant's beak to fall into a net; another city by a naked man running through fire unscorched; a third by a skull, its tree green with mold, clutching a round, white, pearl. ... But, obscure or obvious as it might be, everything Marco displayed had the power of emblems, which, once seen, cannot be forgotten or confused. ... [eventually Marco Polo masters the language] "On the day when I know all the emblems," [Kublai] asked Marco, shall I be able to possess my empire, at last?" And the Venetian answered: "Sire, do not believe it. On that day you will be an emblem among emblems." - p.21-23
"The other ambassadors warn me of famines, extortions, conspiracies, or else they inform me of newly discovered turquoise mines, advantageous prices in marten furs, suggestions for supplying damascened blades. And you?" the Great Khan asked Polo, "you return from lands equally distant and you can tell me only the thoughts that come to a man who sits on his doorstep at evening to enjoy the cool air. What is the use, then, of all your traveling?" "It is evening. We are seated on the steps of your palace, There is a slight breeze," Marco Polo answered. "Whatever country my words may evoke around you, you will see it from such a vantage point, even if instead of the palace there is a village on pilings and the breeze carries with it the stench of a muddy estuary." (p.28) You cross archipelagos, tundras, mountain ranges. You would do as well never moving from here. (p.28) At this point Kublai Khan interrupted him or imagined interrupting him, or Marco Polo imagined himself interrupted, with a question... - p. 27-29, much on imagination. 'Journeys to relive your past?' was the Khan's question at this point, a question which could also have been formulated: 'Journeys to recover your future?' And Marco's answer was: 'Elsewhere is a negative mirror. The traveller recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have. 29
In the center of Fedora, that gray stone metropolis, stands a metal building with a crystal globe in every room. Looking into each globe, you see a blue city, the model of a different Fedora. These are the forms the city could have taken if, for one reason or another, it had not become what we see today. In every age someone, looking at Fedora as it was, imagined a way of making it the ideal city, but while he constructed his miniature model, Fedora was already no longer the same as before, and what had been until yesterday a possible future became only a toy in a glass globe. (p.32) When the camel driver sees, at the horizon of the tableland, the pinnacles of the skyscrapers come into view, the radar antennae, the white and red windsocks flapping, the chimney belching smoke, he thinks of a ship; he knows it is a city, but he thinks of it as a vessel that will take him away from the desert, a windjammer about to cast off, with the breeze already swelling the sails, not yet unfurled... (p. 17)
The ancients built Valdrada on the shores of a lake, with houses all verandas one above the other, and high streets whose railed parapets look out over the water. Thus the traveler, arriving, sees two cities: one erect above the lake, and the other reflected, upside down. Nothing exists or happens in the one Valdrada that the other Valdrada does not repeat. p.53 ... Olivia, a city rich in products and in profits. I can indicate its prosperity only by speaking of filigree palaces with fringed cushions on the seats by the mullioned windows. Beyond the screen of a patio, spinning jets water a lawn where a white peacock spreads its tail. But from these words you realize at once how Olivia is shrouded in a cloud of soot and grease that sticks to the houses, that in the brawling streets, the shifting trailers crush pedestrians against the walls. (p.61)
On the day when Eutropia's inhabitants feel the grip of weariness and no one can bear any longer his job, his relatives, his house and his life debts, the people he must greet or who greet him, then the whole citizenry decides to move to the next city, which is there waiting for them, empty and good as new; there each will take up a new job, a different wife, will see another landscape on opening his window, and will spend his time with different pastimes, friends, gossip. (p.64) [Kublai khan's dream:] I saw from a distance the spires of a city rise, slender pinnacles, made in such a way that the moon in her journey can rest now on one, now on another, or sway from the cables of the cranes. And Polo says: The city of your dream is Lalage. (p.74)
The city of Leonia refashions itself every day: every morning the people wake between fresh sheets, wash with just-unwrapped cakes of soap, wear brand-new clothing, take from the latest model refrigerator still unopened tins, listening to the last-minute jingles from the most up-to- date radio. ... Street cleaners are welcomed like angels, and their task of removing the residue of yesterday;s existence is surrounded by a respectful silence, like the ritual that inspires devotion, perhaps only because once things have been cast off nobody wants to have to think about them any further. Nobody wonders where, each day, they carry their load of refuse. ... The more Leonia expels its goods, the more it accumulates them. The scales of its past are soldered into a cuirass that cannot be removed. (p.114-115) --- Irene is a name for a city in the distance, and if you approach, it changes. (p.125)
In the city of Cecilia, an illustrious city, I met once a goatherd, driving a tinkling flock along the walls. "Man blessed by heaven," he asked me, stopping, "can you tell me the name of the city in which we are?" "May the gods accompany you!" I cried. "How can you fail to recognize the illustrious city of Cecilia?" "Bear with me." that man answered. "I am a wandering herdsman. Sometimes my goats and I have to pass through cities but we are unable to distinguish them. Ask me the names of the grazing lands: I know them all, the Meadow between the Cliffs, the Green slope, the Shadowed Grass. Cities have no name for me; they are places without leaves, separating one pasture from another, and where the goats are frightened at street corners and scatter." ....
[later on, Marco Polo encounters the same goatherd, lost in Cecilia] "The places must have mingled," the goatherd said. "Cecilia is everywhere. Here, once upon a time, there must have been the Meadow of the Low Sage. My goats recognize the grass on the traffic island." (p.153)
blurb: In a garden sit the aged Kublai Khan and the young Marco Polo--Tartar emperor and Venetian traveler. Kublai Khan has sensed the end of his empire coming soon. Marco Polo diverts the emperor with tales of the cities he has seen in his travels around the empire: cities and memory, cities and desire, cities and designs, cities and the dead, cities and the sky, trading cities, hidden cities. Soon it becomes clear that each of these fantastic places is really the same place.