David Selzer is a writer of poetry, prose fiction, screenplays and stage plays. He embraces digital platforms to share his work of more than fifty years… READ MORE


  • THE CHAIR

    Most second hand books, in my experience,

    except perhaps for a certain easement

    in their binding, show no perceptible signs of

    previous owners, and those that do offer

    only glimpses of the lives of others –

    a fatuous marginal note, a Madras

    curry stain. Some, however, present

    a mystery of sorts – for instance,

    I have arrived at page 15 of an English

    translation of José Saramago’s

    short story, The Chair – in his collection

    The Lives of Things – to find somebody

    has been there before me. A page corner –

    dreadful habit! – has been turned down or rather

    up, since it is the bottom corner,

    and so obscured some text. In addition

    the page has been marked by the stub of a ticket

    for the Pompidou Centre, Paris, France,

    11.40, March 1st, 2014.

     

    We are at the point in the story

    where the woodworm has thoroughly done its job.

    The chair finally collapses when

    the old man, whose chair it is, sits on it

    for what will be the last time. He begins

    to fall, and, on the next page, will bang his head

    on the floor, and thus begin his slow demise.

    The story ends: ‘Let us go to the window.

    What do you think of this month of September?

    We have not had such weather in a long time’.

     

    The tale, which is a sort of allegory,

    and also a protracted joke, is about

    the death of Oliveira Salazar,

    Portugal’s dictator of more than

    thirty five years.  Despite Saramago,

    however, there are some who claim a deck chair

    collapsed under the tyrants’ weight, others

    that he slipped in the bath. The haemorrhage

    that resulted from hitting his head

    took nearly two years to kill him. He believed,

    though he had been replaced by another

    the September he hit the floor,

    he was still in office. Power seems to be

    an illusion encouraged by others.

     

    For whatever reason the visitor

    to Centre Pompidou that Saturday

    will have learned none of this, not only

    leaving this particular yarn unfinished

    but the whole collection of which it is the first.

    Possibly he or she was distracted

    by the exhibition in Gallerie 3,

    PAPARAZZI! – the power of illusion.

     

     

     


    3 responses to “THE CHAIR”


    1. John Huddart Avatar
      John Huddart

      Exquisitely mysterious – a fine blend of truth and coincidence, and needing no explanation!

    2. Jeff Teasdale Avatar
      Jeff Teasdale

      Very, very evocative David, and on many levels and down many fascinating twists and turns.
      My English teacher, Frank Reid (“Reid by name, read by nature, boys”) collected old library books for us, many still sporting the layers of pages of return-by date stamps in them, and said that these, to him, were more interesting than new books, in that they had “history”, (smelling of old cabbage rather than Madras in 1958), just like an old chair.

      Eventually nearly everything falls over (and gets pulped), But let’s keep turning those pages for a good while longer (but I will now just go and have a precautionary inspection of my own chair).

      Many thanks…

    3. Mary Clark Avatar
      Mary Clark

      This poem has an eerie resemblance to dark thoughts in many minds these days. Will it be a broken chair? A slip in the bath? When all else fails, the desperate populace turn to the great arbiter of fate.

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