Memoria House / Huset Memoria - haibun

Memoria House

”It's raining hammers, it's raining nails, it's true there's nothing left for you down here.” You add yours to a song about time as you ring the bell of the Memoria House. Asylum, rather. Refuge or Retreat if you buy into the lingo of the their journal. It's a place for people buried in their past, reluctant to deal with the present. It's an anonymous structure. A little fog and you would have missed it all together. For a long time nothing happens but then you hear soft steps approaching. A narrow slot in the door opens and you're handed the proofing print for the next issue of the journal. People in this house only writes down what they remember, or what they think they remember, from times long gone. It's occupational therapy but the inhabitants don't know that. They're writing down induced memories, not their own. They think they're storytellers, historians, novelists and what have you. But you cannot tell them they're not and why would you? They're happy that way and it's none of your business anyway.

below the new white the old black

Your job is to take that print to some editor across town. You haven't met him either but rumour has it that he's almost as far gone as the inhabitant of Memoria House. Not quite, but almost. “Bring what you receive at Memoria House to this address and take the rest of the day off,” was the message. No more, no less. The rain keeps up its vigour and you imagine it building a structure reaching above the smog, a structure that would support a brand new city shiny and flawless … but Buster Keaton enters the scene and nothing gets completed.

at the end of the string the idea of a kite

Huset Memoria

”It's raining hammers, it's raining nails, it's true there's nothing left for you down here.” Du lægger lidt af dit eget til en sang om tid, mens du ringer på hos Huset Memoria. Asylhjemmet, er måske mere passende. Refugium eller Retrætehus, hvis du køber sproget i deres tidsskrift. Det er et sted for mennesker begravede i deres fortid og modvillige med hensyn til at forholde sig til nutiden. Det er en anonym bygning. En smule tåge og du ville være gået forbi den. I lang tid sker der ikke noget, men så hører du bløde skridt nærme sig. En smal låge i døren åbnes, og du får rakt korrekturtrykket for det næste nummer af tidsskriftet. Menneskene i dette hus skriver kun, hvad de kan huske, eller det de tror, de kan huske fra tider, der for længst er borte. Det er beskæftigelsesterapi, men det véd beboerne ikke. De nedfælder plantede erindringer, ikke deres egne. De tror, de er historiefortællere, romanforfattere, historikere og hvad véd jeg. Men du kan ikke fortælle dem, at det ikke er sandt, og hvorfor skulle du? De er glade for det, de gør, og de rager i det hele taget ikke dig.

under det nye hvide det gamle sorte

Dit job er at bringe det dér tryk til en eller anden redaktør i den anden ende af byen. Ham har du heller ikke mødt, men rygtet siger, at han er næsten ligeså langt ude, som beboerne i Huset Memoria. Ikke helt, men næsten. ”Tag imod, hvad du får overrakt ved Huset Memoria og aflevér det på denne adresse,” var beskeden. Hverken mere eller mindre. Regnen er i fuld vigør, og du forestiller dig, at den bygger en konstruktion, der kunne holde til en helt ny by over smoggen, ren og fejlfri … men Buster Keaton træder ind på scenen og ingenting bliver fuldført.

for enden af snoren ideen om en drage