Original Text:
The Street by Perec, Georges (page 5, section 2)
I saw two blind people in the Rue Linné. They were walking holding one another by the arm. They both had long, exceedingly flexible sticks. One of the two was a woman of about fifty, the other quite a young man. The woman was feeling all the vertical obstacles that stood along the pavement with the tip of her stick, and guiding the young man’s stick so that he, too, touched them, indicating to him, very quickly and without ever being mistaken, what the obstacles consisted of: a street light, a bus stop, a telephone kiosk, a waste-paper bin, a post box, a road sign (she wasn’t able to specify what the sign said obviously), a red light. . .
Selected Reading in terms of it’s form:
Exercises In Style by Queneau, Raymond
Re-Presentation of The Street (page 5, section 2)
On a busy street called Rue Linné, during the daytime rush, I spotted two blind folks helping each other out. They held long sticks and walked side by side. There was a lady around fifty years old and a young man. The lady used her stick to check things sticking up from the sidewalk, and she guided the young man’s stick so he could feel them too. She quickly told him what they were touching – a streetlight, a bus stop, a phone booth, a trash can, a mailbox, a street sign (she didn’t know what it said), and a red light. Their sticks created a kind of written record of their journey through the street.
In Rue Linné, two individuals, visually impaired yet gracefully connected, traversed the charming avenue arm in arm. Their journey was marked by the elongated, sinuous wands they carried—remarkably flexible sticks that served as both guides and extensions of their perceptual world.
Among this duo, a lady approximately fifty, and a youth, seamlessly blended into the tapestry of the bustling environment. The cobbled pathway beneath their feet bore witness to their shared exploration. With delicate precision, the woman used the tip of her stick to decipher the vertical tapestry that adorned the pavement. A mesmerizing dance ensued as she, in her role as both navigator and mentor, guided the young man’s stick to engage with the unseen obstacles. The urban landscape unfolded before them like a rich tapestry, revealing the nuances of their surroundings.
On Rue Linné, in the daytime rush, I saw two blind folks helping each other. They had long sticks and walked together. A lady around fifty and a young man. The lady used her stick to check things sticking up, and she guided the young man’s stick to feel them too. She quickly told him what they were touching – a streetlight, a bus stop, a phone booth, a trash can, a mailbox, a street sign (she didn’t know what it said), and a red light. Their stick movements told a simple story of their journey through the street.
In the beautiful realm of Rue Linné, a performance unfolded before my eyes, starring two blind protagonists in a dance of tactile exploration. Arm in arm, they moved gracefully, wielding their elongated, pliable wands – the tools of their extraordinary craft. A seasoned actress of approximately fifty, and her youthful counterpart, collaborated seamlessly.
The stage, the pavement adorned with vertical challenges, became their canvas. The matron, akin to a master conductor, orchestrated with the tip of her stick, navigating the unseen obstacles. Simultaneously, she choreographed the movements of her young companion, ensuring his stick brushed against each element. With a swiftness bordering on the magical, she revealed the secrets of the urban landscape.
Behold, I chanced upon a sight most curious whilst traversing the Rue Linné. A pair of sightless souls, arm in arm, graced the thoroughfare. Each clutched in hand an elongated, remarkably supple cane. Of the twain, one was a lady of roughly fifty winters, the other a youth of tender age. The matron, with precision akin to an artisan’s craft, explored the vertical impediments that lined the promenade using the delicate tip of her cane. Simultaneously, she directed the youthful gentleman’s cane, ensuring he, too, brushed against these hindrances. Swiftly and unfailingly, she elucidated to him the nature of these obstacles: a luminescent streetlight, a station for buses, a telephonic kiosk, a receptacle for discarded papers, a repository for mail, a proclamation on the highway (its contents eluding her comprehension), and a crimson-hued beacon.
I was really surprised when I saw something unexpected on Rue Linné. Two blind people, a woman about fifty years old and a young man, were walking together, holding onto each other. They had these bendy sticks that surprised me – like secret tools for exploring. The woman was skilled with her stick, using it to figure out what was in front of them. But what really amazed me was how she guided the young man’s stick to touch the things around them. It was like they were discovering the city together, revealing the hidden parts.
Every touch happened quickly and confidently, uncovering the secrets of the city: a streetlight, a bus stop, a phone booth – each revealed surprisingly fast. My surprise grew as the lady showed the young man a series of unexpected things: a trash bin, a mailbox, a mysterious road sign (she didn’t know what it said), and, to top it off, a sudden encounter with a bright red light. The unpredictability of this blindfolded dance left me amazed, turning the ordinary into a thrilling show of the unexpected.