Basque Shephard

This means blue, its roots not Armenian nor Germanic. This is a blue that needs no roots for it is the purest of its type and exists by means of suspension. Je ne connais pas Reno, he explained, je ne le connais pas du tout.

Moi non plus, je voulais le dire, je suis si bleu là.

He is here to research the Basque culture as it is constituted in Nevada. He speaks Spanish, Basque, French and Italian, but English rather poorly. I’ve seen him walking perdu dans ses pensées à l’université, toujours seul avec un fantôm d’un sourire autour de sa bouche. I’ve seen him once downtown, in the same style, a funny owl limping down the sidewalks with eyes only for his mind.

So observing I might catalogue son mien as I tend to catalogue color after color for their muting and their shine. Je pense de bleu dans mon lit, en train de se dormir, a conversation forming like rain upon a pane. Dors, je dis. Non, je dis.

Le bleu, c’est fleu. I dip from one language to the other. And you, dear man, what a jungle gym your thoughts must be. He’s here, having forged his academic destinies in northern Spain, to sand down the splinters on the bridge separating the old world from the new. Son but, pour moi, rest inconnu, mais je dirais fleu : un but qui va évoluer, une petite cellule divise en deux .

Le bleu, suspendu sur

a pale yellow sky.


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