- x: Benjamin Fondane (1898-1944) (自體的心理學）（車行形上學）

Yes, the quote you provided is attributed to Benjamin Fondane (originally Benjamin Wechsler), a Romanian-French poet, existential philosopher, and filmmaker. It comes from his poem Exodus, which is part of his deeply moving and reflective works written during the Holocaust period.

Fondane, who was profoundly influenced by existential philosophy (particularly by Lev Shestov), often explored themes of human suffering, mortality, and the existential weight of being human. The lines express a universal plea for recognition of shared humanity in the face of suffering and mortality, resonating deeply with the existential and tragic conditions of his time.

The quote underscores his own experience as a victim of the Holocaust, emphasizing the individuality and humanity of those who were persecuted. Fondane himself was arrested and deported to Auschwitz in 1944, where he tragically perished.

This particular passage is remembered for its poignant and humanistic tone, encapsulating Fondane’s existential concerns and his literary legacy.

Exodus

Benjamin Fondane

It is to you I speak, antipodal men,

I speak man to man,

with the little in me of man that remains,

with the scrap of voice left in my throat,

my blood lies upon the roads, let it not, let it

not cry out for vengeance!

The death-note is sounded, the beasts hunted down,

let me speak to you with these very words

that have been our share-

few intelligible ones remain.

A day will come, surely, of thirst appeased,

we will be beyond memory, death

will have finished the works of hate,

I will be a clump of nettles beneath your feet,

-ah, then, know that I had a face

like you. A mouth that prayed, like you.

When a bit of dust, or a dream,

entered my eye, this eye shed its drop of salt. And when

a cruel thorn raked my skin

the blood flowed red as your own!

Yes, exactly like you I was cruel, I

yearned for tenderness, for power,

for gold, for pleasure and pain.

Like you I was mean and anguished,

solid in peacetime, drunk in victory,

and staggering, haggard, in the hour of failure.

Yes, I was a man like other men,

nourished on bread, on dreams, on despair. Oh, yes,

I loved, I wept, I hated, I suffered,

I bought flowers and did not always

pay my rent. Sundays I went to the country

to cast for unreal fish under the eye of God,

I bathed in the river

that sang among the rushes and I ate fried potatoes

in the evening. And afterwards, I came back for bedtime

tired, my heart weary and full of loneliness,

full of pity for myself,

full of pity for man,

searching, searching vainly upon a woman's belly

for that impossible peace we lost

some time ago, in a great orchard where,

flowering, at the center,

is the tree of life.

Like you I read all the papers, all the bestsellers,

and I have understood nothing of the world

and I have understood nothing of man,

though it often happened that I affirmed