The alternatives are not placid servitude on the one hand and revolt against servitude on the other. There is a third way, chosen by thousands and millions of people every day. It is the way of quietism, of willed obscurity, of inner emigration.
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READIN
READIN started out as a place for me
to keep track of what I am reading, and to learn (slowly, slowly)
how to design a web site.
There has been some mission drift
here and there, but in general that's still what it is. Some of
the main things I write about here are
reading books,
listening to (and playing) music, and
watching the movies. Also I write about the
work I do with my hands and with my head; and of course about bringing up Sylvia.
The site is a bit of a work in progress. New features will come on-line now and then; and you will occasionally get error messages in place of the blog, for the forseeable future. Cut me some slack, I'm just doing it for fun! And if you see an error message you think I should know about, please drop me a line. READIN source code is PHP and CSS, and available on request, in case you want to see how it works.
See my reading list for what I'm interested in this year.
READIN has been visited approximately 236,737 times since October, 2007.
My experiences this past week or so with reading Beckett's Comment C'est were leading me to wonder where the distinction lies between poetry and novel -- in his introduction Richard Seaver refers to Beckett's work as a novel, but very soon after I started reading it I had the thought, this is not a novel, it's a long poem. What did I mean by saying that?
A key difficulty I have with long poems (not considering epic narrative verse here) is not being able to put them down and then pick them back up in the middle -- every time I pick up Comment C'est I commence on the first page, because there is not any story line for me to keep track of or characters (besides Beckett himself) or any of the sort of progression and development that I expect to see in a novel. This keeps me from getting anywhere with the book (beyond loving the opening pages anyways), because it is much too long to read all of in a single sitting.
In a sort of funny coincidence, I was having a similar problem with the much shorter long poem Canto de guerra de las cosas, by JoachÃn Pasos -- as I wrote below, it is simply too much imagery for me to absorb all at once... Likely a successful reading strategy for the Beckett piece would involve focusing on little bits of it at a time, not on trying prematurely to integrate the pieces together.
When I hit on that question -- what do I mean by calling the Beckett poetry "rather than" fiction -- my initial response was along the lines of, well, no plot, no characters, no development, the meat of the piece is its language and the imagery called forth. But, well, language and imagery are of primary importance in many of my favorite novels, ones that I categorize as fiction with no questions. Narrative quality is a key point -- Comment C'est is not a narrative in any sense that I can see. But there are poems (again disregarding epic) that tell stories, and that I don't hesitate to call poetry or confuse with fiction... I think where this is headed is that there is a wide space between the two categories, that individual works can be in one category but have attributes of the other. And somehow I always just seem to know instinctively which category the work I am reading belongs in.
Es un poema largo, 19 estrofas, 150 lÃneas, cada lÃnea (casà cada lÃnea) dibujando su propia imagen y cada estrofa surgiendo de estas imágenes en un cuadro complejo y múltiple. Todo junto es demasiado (para mÃ) para mantener...
Scruss built a banjo! A fretless banjo to be specific, with a gourd for a body: a genre of instrument I did not even know existed but which apparently has plenty of history behind it. Here he is playing "Black-eyed Suzy":
John and I have been tossing around Don Dixon's "Praying Mantis," playing it now and then for most of the time we've been jamming together. We're thinking of it now as one of the songs to play at the next open mic we play -- here's a version of it we recorded tonight:
For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time [are] not worthy [to be compared] with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God. For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected [the same] in hope, Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.
-- The letter of St. Paul to the Romans Chapter â…§: 18-22 King James version
For a long time I have been wondering how a translation of JoachÃn Pasos' Battle-song: The War of Things might best preserve the voice of the poet. Throughout the poem he is addressing vosotros, the explicitly familiar, explicitly plural second person which does not exist in English. Turns out the key is the epigraph to the poem.
For an epigraph, Pasos quotes from the Vulgate version of the above verses of Romans; but he prefaces the quotation with "Fratres:" -- "Brethren:", which is not part of these verses. Paul's letter is addressed to his brethren the Roman Christians, so this insertion makes good sense. And if you read Pasos' poem as a continuation of Paul's address to his brethren, then the familiar second-person plural is clear from context.
This morning I had what seems to me like a good idea for a non-literal translation of the poem's third stanza:
Give me a motor, a motor stronger than man's heart.
Give me a robot's brain, let me be murdered painlessly.
Give me a body, metal body without and within another metal body,
just like the leaden soldier's who never dies,
never begs oh Lord, your grace, let me not be disgraced among your works
like the soldier of mere flesh, our feeble pride,
who will offer, for your day, the light of his eyes,
who will take, for your metal, take a bullet in his chest,
who will give, for your water, give back his blood.
Who wants to be like a knife, like one no other knife can ever wound.
(With liberal borrowings from Steven F. White's more literal translation.) This poem reminds me strongly of León Ferrari's paintings of armaments. Remember that the poet is addressing his brethren: He is asking for these cybernetic enhancements not from his God but from his peers.
posted morning of June 4th, 2011: Respond ➳ More posts about Readings
so here it is you open it the book we're talking of the book you slide your eyes across the words across his words across Beckett's
no luck I see disjointed images my ear perks up
slide across the page his stream of consciousness his nasty nasty filthy flow he's talking to myself he's talking shame and talking darkness lack of ease and I I can't encompass it remember it from one page to the next
I say it as I hear it he says says Sam and when he says it your ears perk up eidetic narrative you think in your consciousness it could be only maybe not that might not be what he meant not at all
that's all it wasn't a dream that nor a memory I haven't been given memories this time it was an image the kind I see sometimes see in the mud part one sometimes saw
so trace his image in the filthy filthy mud and let his nasty words caress your ear and eyes and consciousness and think you're getting it then turn the page
something wrong there
nothing clicks you're frantic drooling imbecile it's still part one no Pim part one I mean to say before the flood perhaps before the storm before some character named Pim has entered we don't know him yet nor why we're waiting for him but abide abide and let Sam's words roll on
Another astronomy video -- looking down this time rather than up. Some beautiful images of the Earth as seen from the orbiting Space Shuttle -- including a view of northern Chile, where the VLT observatory is located:
A couple of my fave webcomix are coming out in book form soon: Kate Beaton's Hark! A Vagrant (with a fun new episode today about Brown Recluse Spider-Man) will be available in bookstores this October, and Jon Rosenberg's Scenes From a Multiverse does not yet have a delivery date but is ready to go. I'm glad there is a Topatoco. And completing the trinity, if you're around Ontario this summer you should try and get a chance to attend the Ottawa Fring Festival, where a stage adaptation of Winston Rowntree's Subnormality will be premiering.
posted morning of June second, 2011: 1 response ➳ More posts about Comix
Midway in between Taltal and Antofagasta, an array of four telescopes stands on a mountain in the Chilean desert, whirling through space under the clear skies of the Atacama. Take a look:
Full-screen display strongly recommended. (via PopSci, via Teresa's Particles at Making Light)
At Ivan Semeniuk’s Embedded Universe, you can read a couple of posts from the week he spent at the VLT observatory two years ago.
A la página del Hermano Cerdo, J.S. Montfort cuenta la historia de su hallazgo de un libro; y podrÃa ser sacado de las páginas de La sombra del viento...
here it is
