Monday, April 28, 2014
Saturday, April 19, 2014
My Own Desert Places
"For the desert is simply that:… an ecstatic form of disappearance."-Jean Baudrillard
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"You don’t need me. What you really need is a mirror. Because any stranger is for you simply a mirror in which to reflect yourself. I don’t ever again want to return to such a desert of mirrors."-Kōbō Abe
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
You are there
for an instant Blue desert
with dunes of rain Thirst is granted
Space is a breach You burn in the night
whose walls are down I see by your oil
by the wick in the middle where a flame blossoms
for an instant Blue desert
with dunes of rain Thirst is granted
Space is a breach You burn in the night
whose walls are down I see by your oil
by the wick in the middle where a flame blossoms
-Edmond Jabès, excerpt from “After the Deluge,” If There Were Anywhere but Desert: The Selected Poems of Edmond Jabès
Image: Max Scheler, Art Class for Retired Ctizens, Sun Valley, Arizona, 1962Title: Robert Frost, “Desert Places”
Labels:
art,
deserts,
Edmond Jabès,
Jean Baudrillard,
Kōbō Abe,
Max Scheler,
mirrors,
Robert Frost,
the desert,
writing
Saturday, April 12, 2014
That Very Elsewhere
The mad state is, as he emphasizes over and over again, empty.
Teeming with emptiness. Knotted on emptiness. Immodest in its
emptiness. You can pull emptiness out of it by the handful.
“I am not here. I am not here and never will be.”
You can pull it out endlessly.
Teeming with emptiness. Knotted on emptiness. Immodest in its
emptiness. You can pull emptiness out of it by the handful.
“I am not here. I am not here and never will be.”
You can pull it out endlessly.
Anne Carson, from Semaine d’Artaud
Image: James Kao, Tablescape, 2004Title: Judith Butler on “the poetics of non-arrival,” excerpt from Who Owns Kafka?
Labels:
Anne Carson,
empty,
handfuls,
James Kao,
Judith Butler,
lit,
literature,
mad,
writing
Thursday, March 6, 2014
The rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall
I have rarely lost sight of myself; I have detested and adored myself — and so, we have grown old together.
-Paul Valéry, Selected Writings of Paul Valéry
Image: via
Title: Franz Kafka, The Blue Octavo Notebooks
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)