Proust says . . .

Proust says memory is of two kinds.

There is the daily struggle to recall

where we put our reading glasses

 


and there is a deeper gust of longing

that comes up from the bottom

of the heart

involuntarily

At sudden times

For surprise reasons.

 

Here is an excerpt from a letter Proust wrote

In 1913

We think we no longer love our dead

 

But that is because we do not remember them;

Suddenly

We catch sight of an old glove

 

And burst into tears.

 

– Anne Carson, Float

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