Dr. Alex Moran is an SNSF Research Fellow at the Université de Fribourg and a Research Associate at Stockholm University. Before joining Fribourg, he held positions as a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at the University of Oxford (2019–21) and an IRC Research Fellow at Trinity College Dublin (2022–23). In Spring 2024, he was a Visiting Scholar at Princeton University. His research focuses primarily on the philosophy of mind and metaphysics, with additional interests in early analytic philosophy, early modern philosophy, meta-ethics, and the philosophy of religion. Dr. Moran earned his BA in Philosophy from University College London, completed the B.Phil. at the University of Oxford (University College), and received his PhD from the University of Cambridge (Queens’ College), supervised by Professor Tim Crane.
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By Alex Moran
For Florence Juliette
Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten; sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.
Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erde aus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit.
Wir alle fallen. Diese Hand da fällt. Und sieh dir andre an: es ist in allen.
Und doch ist Einer, welcher dieses Fallen unendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.[1]
Endless, gentle: held in both hands.
A love both soft and yet unbreakable,
a precious stone—so brittle and so
easily turned back to dust and sand,
two elements that will be here longer than you or I.
(For man is made of dust and sand,
and to these elements he will return.
Das heißt, vielleicht werden wir ewig leben,
Vielleicht nur in einer anderen Form
Und so wird unsere Liebe niemals sterben)
Most precious things are fragile.
We are apt to forget.
We play too vigorously, like children throwing pebbles at the beach.
And our apologies are empty
….and we throw our stones into the sea,
and they are lost forever, irretrievable, drowning now in deepest blue.
The one who holds love in his hand—but also holds:
First fear,
Then angst,
Then such foreboding…
as if calmness itself were suddenly verboten.
And through the heavy air, without a sound,
….the leaves drop down onto the sleeping ground—
Was kann man tun, was kann man tun,
nur eine Hand heben, ein offenes Herz darbieten.
And through the heavy air, without a sound,
the leaves drop down onto the sleeping ground—
each leaf falling as if it were the only one.
If the world were One, Parmedian, the World-All: then I would be yours,
and you would be mine.
For we would be Being itself.
So stürben wir, ungetrennt, Ewig einig – ohne Ende.[2]
Aber nein. Man sollte nicht sterben wünschen.
Man sollte nicht den Tod ersehnen
My whole life belongs to you.
Through your love, I will live always in peace I want to live forever,
but only through you. As long as you love, I will be true.
Ich brauch’ nur dich.
Deine Stimme, deine Augen
Ich will nur das, mein Leben lang.
Sometimes it feels this way: –
We are One, and so we cannot be apart. (For nothing can truly separate from itself.) The pain we feel when we’re apart
is the pain of Being rent from itself— reality torn asunder.
No wonder it breaks our bones.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle, Tu vois je n’ai pas oublié.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle, Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi,
Et le vent du nord les emporte, Dans la nuit froide de l’oubli.[3]
The leaves fall gently, yes,
reminding us that Time does not stand still. ..and yet, and yet,
I am like a god with mastery over it all.
I am a Dancing God.
(One should believe only in gods who care to dance. [3]
And yet there is One who holds this falling,
endlessly, gently, in his hands.
I am that One.
I am Time itself.
And if I choose to make Time stand still—
… I shall.
No power on earth is greater
than a lover with his arms outstretched.
No power on earth could keep the One from reuniting with itself.
[1] Rilke Herbst.
[2] Wagner, Tristan und Isold, Act II.
[3] Jacques Prévert – Les feuilles mortes
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