We must have some time to discuss things here.
So let me end this part of the reading
with a poem you were talking about, "Vermeer,"
and then we can have some talk.
I mean, I will not stand here talking without questions.
You have to ask something to start me.
This is a poem about the Dutch painter Jan Vermeer Van Delft.
And, as you know, he was a 17th-century painter
who had a very small production of paintings.
And they all have an enormous stillness about them,
and they are full of an inner light that's very convincing.
There are two paintings mentioned
in this poem and, especially, this one,
which has no name original, but often called
"Young woman reading a letter" or "the blue lady"
or "woman in blue reading a letter" et cetera.
It looks like this.
Well, nobody can see it except you.
Oh, Louis, you can see it.
Yeah
Very pretty.
It's a lady.
She's standing, in profile, in a wonderful blue dress reading
a letter, and the strange light is coming in.
Well, Vermeer has this fantastic quietness and luminous
intensity in his paintings.
But, actually, his life was full of stress.
He had 11 children.
He had a difficult mother-in-law.
He had a more difficult brother-in-law
who was completely psychopathic and who lived in the house.
And he also had a studio, probably,
in the upper floor of a tavern full of noise.
So that's the conditions for his wonderful paintings.
And it's a poem where I try to deal
with the relationship between life and art in general,
and it has a lot of personal involvement to it.
I'll read it, first, in Swedish.
Vermeer.
Ingen skyddad värld På andra sidan väggen börjar larmet,
börjar värdshuset med skratt och kvirr, tandrader, tårar,
klockornas dån och den sinnesrubbade svågern,
dödsbringaren som alla måste darra för.
Den stora explosionen och räddningens försenade tramp.
Båtarna som kråmar sig på redden,
pengarna som kryper ner i fickan på fel man.
Krav som staplas på krav.
Gapande röda blomkalkar som svettas föraningar om krig.
Därifrån och tvärs genom väggen in i den klara ateljén in i
sekunden som får leva i århundraden.
Tavlor som kallar sig "Musiklektionen"
eller "Kvinna i blått som läser ett brev" --
hon är i åttonde månaden, två hjärtan sparkar i henne.
På väggen bakom hänger en skrynklig karta över Terra
Incognita.
Andas lugnt En okänd blå materia är fastnaglad vid stolarna.
Guldnitarna flög in med oerhörd hastighet och tvärstannade som
om de aldrig varit annat än stillhet.
Det susar i öronen av antingen djup eller höjd.
Det är trycket från andra sidan väggen.
Det får varje faktum att sväva och gör penseln stadig.
Det gör ont att gå genom väggar, man blir sjuk av det men det är
nödvändigt.
Världen är en.
Men väggar Och väggen är en del av dig själv --
man vet det eller vet det inte men det är så för alla utom för
små barn.
För dem ingen vägg.
Den klara himlen har ställt sig på lut mot väggen.
Det är som en bön till det tomma.
Och det tomma vänder sitt ansikte till oss och viskar,
"Jag är inte tom, jag är öppen".
That's the poem you have on the roadside we sell for $2.
And I'll read it in another translation
than the one that's on the broadside.
"Vermeer."
"No protected world, just behind the wall, the noise begins.
The inn is there with laughter and bickering,
rows of teeth, tears, the den of bells,
and the deranged brother-in-law, the death-bringer,
we all must tremble for.
The big explosion and the tramp of rescue arriving late.
The boats preening themselves on the streets.
The money creeping down in the wrong man's pocket.
Demands stacked on demands.
Gaping, red flower heads sweating premonitions of war.
In from there and right through the wall into the clear studio,
into the second that's allowed to leave for centuries.
Pictures that call themselves 'the music
lesson' or 'woman in blue reading a letter.'
She's in her eighth month.
Two hearts kick inside her.
On the wall behind is a crumpled map of terra incognita.
Breathe calmly.
An unknown blue material nailed to the chairs.
The gold studs flew in with incredible speed
and stopped abruptly as if they had never
been other than stillness.
Ears sing from depth or height.
It's the pressure from the other side of the wall.
It makes each fact float and steadies the brush.
It hurts to go through walls.
It makes you ill, but it's necessary.
The world is one but walls, and the wall is part of yourself.
We know, or we don't know, but it's
true for us all, except for small children.
No walls for them.
The clear sky has leaned itself against the wall.
It's like a prayer to the emptiness.
And the emptiness turns its face to us and whispers,
I am not empty.
I am open."
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you.