Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Reconstruction, har har (sure, why not)

Alexandra Heifetz:
...Among the real philosophers and career academics, things are worse. In 1989, Brian Leiter, now an analytic philosopher and law professor at the University of Texas at Austin, declared open war on continental philosophy by launching the Philosophical Gourmet Report. In the PGR, Leiter offered a ranking of the top philosophy programs in the US. At first hard copies of the rankings were distributed; then in 1996 the PGR went online. Geared toward prospective undergrads and based on the “quality of faculty” factor, the rankings were clearly, profoundly biased toward analytic programs. Some continental-leaning departments hung near the bottom of the list; most didn’t make it at all.

On the PGR website, which is now very fancy, there’s a section called “Continental vs. Analytic Philosophy,” a concise version of the introduction Leiter wrote for the book A Future for Philosophy. Here he distinguishes between them as two styles of doing philosophy, rather than categories for the kind of books to be read:

Continental philosophy is distinguished by its style (more literary, less analytical, sometimes just obscure), its concerns (more interested in actual political and cultural issues and, loosely speaking, the human situation and its “meaning”), and some of its substantive commitments (more self-conscious about the relation of philosophy to its historical situation).


Leiter seems to think he’s dropping a bomb—note the disparagements of “obscure” and “loosely speaking”—but the house of philosophy had begun to self-destruct half a century before. Since the 1950s analytic philosophers have made the same complaints: that continental philosophy has a messy literary quality, that it wastes time with “concepts-in-quotations,” and that it bothers itself with cultural things like genocide and the Internet. And yet, boom! Like a frantic seven-year-old, Leiter defends his kind of philosophy by pushing out people who don’t agree with him.

Not all continental scholars are concerned with historicity. Some are: the postmodernists, the feminists, the critical race theorists. But what the continental has tried to preserve (and what the analytic has tried to run from) is a sense that, even while pursuing self-preservation, philosophers should never give up on answering questions that are important and interesting to everyone. The analytic philosopher takes his scalpel to the concept of democracy; the continental presents us with an account of the brutal pacification of the east. One is not more philosophically interesting than the other, but certainly the second is more interesting to real people. And after all, there are still real people asking questions—for instance, the undergraduate who takes a course on ancient Greek philosophy and wonders why the platonic philosopher-king banished poetry while on television presidents use the highly poetic rhetoric of wartime. In universities with hard-core analytic cliques, like NYU or Princeton, continental philosophers end up outside of the philosophy department and find a home in comp lit, women’s, or African-American studies. In those settings they won’t be the ones to teach classes on the western philosophical tradition, and the task of teaching the ancients (and the recents) is left to the analytic philosophers. In their classrooms, “meaningful” words are more important than rhetoric, “sophomoric” everyday questions are banned, and in place of natural curiosity a student learns pragmatic methodology.

Continental philosophy isn’t obsolete. But the continental education, that ideal classroom in which Wittgenstein and Foucault are both taught, is becoming very difficult to find. This should worry us more than the fates of individual graduate students, whichever gang they choose. Today’s missiles are being dropped east of the Holland House Library.


Food for thought, as one revisits such things in turning to America.

Update: It has come to my attention that this polemic, excerpted above in the general interests of Internet communism, may be, as indeed polemics often are, slightly unfair, in this case to Brian Leiter, and furthermore that it may even contain factual inaccuracies of one degree or another. Please feel free to read his partly tangential, partly confirming, in any case blustering reply (linked several times by one "anonymous" soul in comments below) and come to your own well-nuanced and adult conclusions as always, needless to say.

Update 2: Also, dear fellow "random morons" if you will: please do take a look at this, and this. Thanks.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

SAGP

A placeholder (light posting for a spell)

More and more and more on global warming. One thing consistently bothering me about the whole Gore book/movie exposé/presentation is that he never seems to emphasize the implications of a delayed response – that it takes roughly 40 years (though this may be decreasing as things accelerate) to register the effects of current emmission levels, etc. You might think, then, that the fact things are melting exponentially faster practically by the year would be cause for even greater concern, that is, when realizing that whatever we do, nothing will begin to improve for at least forty years! What we are seeing now, in Gore's footage, is the direct consequence of our actions forty years ago. We have no idea how much worse it's going to get, only that it will be exponentially so, and inevitably (at least for n + 40 years). And so on. Oedipus, indeed.

Naturally the very possibility, that no matter what we do a new Ice Age may be coming (at least for Europe) is, how shall we say, a prospective truth a tad too inconvenient for any politician to dare emphasize. Better to just go home, buy that hybrid car, praise the adaptability of capitalism, and pray.

A translation.

• An interview.

• Jodi Dean on Theory Blogging.

• A disturbing article (via). And, meanwhile...speaking of whom.

• A typically excellent post by Michael Bérubé (how very common and tired, the "dissenting" straw man so habitually beloved of conservative opportunists does become). Bérubé's still riding Chomsky, too, for those of you wishing to have that debate (go there).

• So much for Civil Rights, say the reactionary ruling class, bunker-headed politicians (for those of you interested in tomorrow's news).

• A discussion ongoing, with interesting...tangents.

Happy Father's Day (to the tune of Dylan's #7 installment)

Monday, June 12, 2006

they're talking Schmitt

Very good discussion ongoing, at that Eclectic Australian/American/Canadian/French/Italian/Swedish/Brit blog, as you know. Germans more than welcome too, as it leaves the blog economy of interest orbit altogether, becoming-journal..

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Foster Wallace

From an interview, courtesy of wood s lot (link to latter of which being hardly necessary):
Look, if the contemporary condition is hopelessly shitty, insipid, materialistic, emotionally retarded, sadomasochistic, and stupid, then I (or any writer) can get away with slapping together stories with characters who are stupid, vapid, emotionally retarded, which is easy, because these sorts of characters require no development. With descriptions that are simply lists of brand-name consumer products. Where stupid people say insipid stuff to each other. If what's always distinguished bad writing--flat characters, a narrative world that's cliched and not recognizably human, etc.--is also a description of today's world, then bad writing becomes an ingenious mimesis of a bad world. If readers simply believe the world is stupid and shallow and mean, then Ellis can write a mean shallow stupid novel that becomes a mordant deadpan commentary on the badness of everything. Look man, we'd probably most of us agree that these are dark times, and stupid ones, but do we need fiction that does nothing but dramatize how dark and stupid everything is? In dark times, the definition of good art would seem to be art that locates and applies CPR to those elements of what's human and magical that still live and glow despite the times' darkness. Really good fiction could have as dark a worldview as it wished, but it'd find a way both to depict this world and to illuminate the possibilities for being alive and human in it. You can defend "Psycho" as being a sort of performative digest of late-eighties social problems, but it's no more than that.

LM: Are you saying that writers of your generation have an obligation not only to depict our condition but also to provide the solutions to these things?

DFW: I don't think I'm talking about conventionally political or social action-type solutions. That's not what fiction's about. Fiction's about what it is to be a fucking human being. If you operate, which most of us do, from the premise that there are things about the contemporary U.S. that make it distinctively hard to be a real human being, then maybe half of fiction's job is to dramatize what it is that makes it tough. The other half is to dramatize the fact that we still "are" human beings, now. Or can be. This isn't that it's fiction's duty to edify or teach, or to make us good little Christians or Republicans; I'm not trying to line up behind Tolstoy or Gardner. I just think that fiction that isn't exploring what it means to be human today isn't art. We've all got this "literary" fiction that simply monotones that we're all becoming less and less human, that presents characters without souls or love, characters who really are exhaustively describable in terms of what brands of stuff they wear, and we all buy the books and go like "Golly, what a mordantly effective commentary on contemporary materialism!" But we already "know" U.S. culture is materialistic. This diagnosis can be done in about two lines. It doesn't engage anybody. What's engaging and artistically real is, taking it as axiomatic that the present is grotesquely materialistic, how is it that we as human beings still have the capacity for joy, charity, genuine connections, for stuff that doesn't have a price? And can these capacities be made to thrive? And if so, how, and if not why not?

Friday, June 02, 2006

Thursday, June 01, 2006

The Leiter Industry

Matt Christie
to Brian Leiter Aug 31 (23 hours ago)
From: Matt Christie Mailed-By: gmail.com
To: BLEITER@law.utexas.edu
Date: Aug 31, 2006 4:23 PM
Subject: please correct your post

Mr. Leiter-

While I understand your feelings of umbrage, which are indeed in this case to some degree justified, if not also desiring to be an institution unto themselves: if you are going to resort to calling names, and specifically to calling myself and those who frequent my site "random morons," twice now I do believe, kindly at least have the courtesy to link properly to my post!

Unless, of course, you are afraid for what free-thinking people may actually find?

I look forward to your productive participation in our upcoming symposium on Derrida, and in particular on the articles appearing in SubStance Magazine.

Yours bemusedly,

MC

Chris Marker

Films not yet seen:

- Chris Marker : Les Statues Meurent Aussi (1953, 30mn.)

- Chris Marker : Sunday in Peking ( 1956, 22mn.)

- Chris Marker : Dimanche à Pékin (1956, French Version, 22mn.)

- Chris Marker : Letter from Siberia (English version. 1957, 62mn.)

- Chris Marker : Description of a Struggle / d’un Combat (1960, Hebrew with english AND french subtitles, 60mn.)

- Chris Marker : Cuba Si (Original french version, some Spanish… 1961, 52mn.)

- Chris Marker : La Jetée (english or french version – 1962, 28mn.)

- Chris Marker : Al Valparaiso (English subs. 1962, 34mn.)

- Chris Marker : Le Mystère Koumiko (subtitled –1965, 54mn.)

- Chris Marker : La sixième face du pentagone (Original french version, 1968, 28 min.)

- Chris Marker : The Train Rolls On (1971, 32mn.)

- Chris Marker : The Embassy (English Version. 1973, 20mn.)

- Chris Marker : Sans Soleil / Sunless (english or french version – 1982, 110mn.)

& / Chris on Chris (documentary, 10mn.)

- Chris Marker : A.K. The Making of Ran (English Version 1985, 71mn.)

- Chris Marker : Le Tombeau d’Alexandre / The Last Bolshevik (1992, 2 x 60mn.Fench & english versions)

- Chris Marker : Level Five (English Subtitled. Upgraded ! 1997, 110mn.)

- Chris Marker : IMMEMORY CD-ROM (1997, hours of exquisite delights ! French PC)

- Chris Marker : One Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevitch (1999, 55mn.)

- Chris Marker : Chats Perchés (2004, 59mn) / Petit Bestiaire de Chris Marker includes 5 shorts : Chat écoutant la musique, An Owl is an Owl is an Owl, Zoo Piece, Bullfight in Okinawa & Slon Tango (26mn.)

- Chris Marker : Les Groupes Medvekine Box set : Chris. Marker et Slon etc. Coll. 243mn. On 4 DVD un-compressed : À bientôt, j’espère, La Charnière STDK, Classe de Lutte, Rhodia 4/8, Sochaux 11 juin, Les trois quart de la vie à Sochaux, Avec le sang des autres, Septembre Chilien

- Chris Marker : Olympia 52 (1952, 82mn.)

- Chris Marker : Owl’s Heritage (1989, 13x26mn.)

Any recommendations?

Eduardo Galeano



I was curious about Eduardo's new book of stories, having heard some things in the news lately. So, I decided to buy a copy.

Not here, precisely, but sometimes he looks rather like John Malkovich.

Latino Boom

Good news for literature is sometimes worth repeating. The recently released Latino Boom (now with its very own website!) is a unique and unprecedented anthology of Latino fiction, poetry, short stories and drama, and by all accounts an essential volume for any teacher in the complex and growing field. Or for that matter just any lover of literature. Anyway I've had the chance to read through a good portion of it, and it really is very good.

From the preface:
Latino Boom presents some of the best Latino Literature from the past 20 years. As the first anthology of its kind to supplement its selections with contextual background materials, it also maintians a holistic approach that distinguishes it...Based on our own firsthand experience as teachers...this work has been tested where it counts most...
Indeed, I can vouch for this, as one of the editors is my brother.
By maintaining this focus on recent writings, dating from 1985 to the present, we have been able to concentrate upon works in four major genres–the short story, poetry, drama, and the essay–and include selections our students have often found most enjoyable and fascinating. Yet we want to emphasize the fact that this anthology presents only the tail end of a long tradition of writing by Latinos, one that stretches back to the European conquest of the Americas in the early 1500s, and much of it written in Spanish.

Beyond the need to limit the scope of the book, we have chosen to concentrate on the modern period because it offers some of the richest literary achievements that have substantially changed the landscape of Latino writing. After all, it was not until the late 1980s and early 1990s that the labels themselves–Hispanic American literature and Latino literature–came into common use. All over the United States, prolific young Latino writers are reinventing the literary landscape. The explosion of South American literary works in the 1970s and 1980s–a period referred to as the "Latin American Literary Boom"–is now mirrored in the U.S. Latino literature.

Focusing on contemporary works also allows us to broaden the book's range to include Latino authors who have been underrepresented in anthologies and other collections, namely women and other less–well-known writers from a wide range of ethnic and cultural backgrounds. With an eye toward looking at works in their entirety, we have avoided excerpts from longer fiction such as novels. There are a few exceptions to this general guideline, however: Sandra Benítez's "Fulgencio Llanos: El Fotógrafo," and–it could be argued–Edgardo Vega Yunqué's "The Barbosa Express" are both stories and individual chapters in genre-bending novels composed of a series of connected short stories.



It's got a lovely cover, doesn't it?

In very short, the anthology renders a complex period bravely accessible, while steering admirably clear, in its conception, of such things as over-simplification and easy polemic. The approach is deeply pedagogical and literary, with careful outlines of various schools of reception, and detailed engagement with such questions as revolve today around narrative and autobiography, just to name a few. There is throughout a very native, deeply polyglot sense for this literature's often hybrid, heterogeneous origins and currents. As such, it is also a collection with a very real social conscience, and obviously unafraid to grapple with issues of cultural and historical context (there are wonderful, detailed maps and admirably unflinching, politically objective timelines detailing various U.S. invasions throughout the years, and so on). Needless to say, however, the literary is nowhere sacrificed purely to questions of mere politics. All in all, a highly original, and admirably-contextualized compilation. Clearly an indispensable volume not only for teachers, but for anyone concerned for the future of literature in the 21st century. There will no doubt be much more to come (provided, of course, we are to survive, to some day read about it, and in places other than the NYTBR.).


nb. Might I also direct your attention to some very wonderful scans, perhaps of related interest: A Nation of Poets: Writings from the Poetry Workshops of Nicaragua (courtesy of Mark Woods).

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

New International (v)

(nb. This post following on from here, and spurred on by AK's remarks today on "the ownership society," among other things.)

Foucault, of course, does not finally evade the label of "intellectual." All typical bad press (unless one is well-paid for hackery, of course) notwithstanding, he describes his role, in a rare candid moment, in the essay, "Useless to Revolt?" as follows:
...one must at the same time look closely, a bit beneath history, and what cleaves it and stirs it, and keep watch, a bit behind politics, over what must unconditionally limit it. After all, that is my work; I am not the first or the only one to do it. But that is what I chose. (Le Monde, 1979)


He is also optimistic. More precisely, thus:
There is an optimism that consists in saying, "In any case, it couldn't be better." My optimism would consist rather in saying, "So many things can be changed, being as fragile as they are, tied more to contingencies than to necessities, more to what is arbitrary than to what is rationally established, more to complex but transitory historical contingencies than to inevitable anthropological constants..." You know, to say that we are more recent than we thought is not a way of bring the whole weight of our history down on our shoulders. Rather, it is to make available for the work that we can do on ourselves the largest possible share of what is presented to us as unaccessible. ("So Is It Important to Think?" Libération, 1981)


But what I really wish to draw your attention to, dear patient reader, is this (on the occasion of "the announcement in Geneva of the creation of an International Committee against Piracy"....well whatever that was):
We are just private individuals here, with no other grounds for speaking, or for speaking together, than a certain shared difficulty in enduring what is taking place.
[...] Who appointed us, then? No one. And that is precisely what constitutes our right. It seems to me that we need to bear in mind three principles that, I believe, guide this initiative, and many others that have preceded it: the Île-de-Lumière, Cape Anamour, the Airplane for El Salvador, Terre des Hommes, Amnesty International.
1. There exists an international citizenship that has its rights and its duties, and that obliges one to speak out against every abuse of power, whoever its author, whoever its victims. After all, we are all members of the community of the governed, and thereby obliged to show mutual solidarity.

2. Because they claim to be concerned for the welfare of societies, governments arrogate to themselves the right to pass off as profit or loss the human unhappiness that their decisions provoke or their negligence permits. It is a duty of this international citizenship to always bring the testimony of people's suffering to the eyes and ears of governments, sufferings for which it's untrue that they are not responsible. The suffering of men must never be a silent residue of policy. It grounds an absolute right to stand up and speak to those who hold power.

3. We must reject the division of labor so often proposed to us: individuals can get indignant and talk; governments will reflect and act. It's true that good governments appreciate the holy indignation of the governed, provided it remains lyrical. I think we need to be aware that very often it is those who govern who talk, are capable only of talking, and want only to talk. Experience shows that one can and must refuse the theatrical role of pure and simple indignation that is proposed to us. Amnesty International, Terre des Hommes, and Médecins du monde are initiatives that have created this new right––that of private individuals to effectively intervene in the sphere of international policy and strategy. The will of individuals must make a place for itself in a reality of which governments have attempted to reserve a monopoly for themselves, that monopoly which we need to wrest from them little by little and day by day. ("Confronting Governments: Human Rights," Libération, 1984)

Just imagine, governments! Humoring the advice of its citizens? Hoarding realities? Monopolies on reality? Whatever was he on about.

That was 22 years ago. Thoughts now safely pronounced obsolete. (After all, the world is flat.) Surely, you say, the late Foucault is all just talk, talk, talk!

"Say it out for God's sake and have done with it."

Said William James to Henry.

And:
You never have music here, do you.
It makes me nervous.
-David Markson, This is Not a Novel

Is this latter a quote?

"How frequently was Anon. a woman?"

And:
An anthology of extraordinary suicide notes.
Or of any suicide notes. Is there such?
-David Markson, This is Not a Novel


Well, is there?

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Haditha Friedman

Lest it need be said, Haditha is not an abberation.  Only let's remember too, the folks who helped put us there.  If one only ever reads five things about Thomas Friedman, hack, let four of them be these (please click).

Tom Friedman
Tom Friedman
Tom Friedman
Tom Friedman

This bout of profoundly transformative netroots activism brought on by experiences mentioned in the post updated, below. Or maybe it was learning of Iraq's My Lai (here's Murtha one and two; and here's something even more honest). Or was it Afghanistan's My Lai. Whatever that means.  (We cite it precisely because we don't yet know.) 

One thing we do know:  a lot of people once quit the military because of (perceived) anti-soldier sentiment.  They went on to live longer, more complicated lives.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Save the Internet, George Plimpton's ghost, and other things

If you need a laugh...watch the video of novelist and comedian Robert Newman's "History of oil" (courtesy of This Space).

As Moveon.org implores us all to mention, watch it while you can. ((Though apparently, after a social weekend, I get all these highfalutin memos a day late.) In any case do save the Internet, dear legion readers in Congress, if you will.)

A (non-Congressional) reader helpfully writes in:
Yeah, it's potentially a big deal. I hope the efforts of the telcos to defeat net neutrality legislation will fail, and the excellent bill in the house to make price discrimination by ISPs an anti-trust violation will pass. But if it goes the other way, the big media giants could one day soon exert the same financial dominance over the net that they do over all other media channels -- TV, radio, music, print,

The problem is that while use of the net is a level playing field to players of all sizes today, it is already perturbed by the advantage giants such as google have in soaking up all the ad revenue, by virtue of their enormous central database, which gives them a huge information advantage. But at least they deliver something of value. Cable and ISP providers are sheer parasites, just trying to muscle in on the gravy.

A big telco and cable providers just use their monopoly control over the last mile to your home (and their collusive control over the cell phone market) to rake in high prices for slow acess that doesn't get faster, because there is no real competition. We could have had fiberoptic cables to the curb, and free nationwide wireless, by now, but they block any efforts to innovate on a large scale that would threaten their business models. They are poison. And make no mistake about it, all the voices on the side against net neutrality are bought and paid for by consortiums of telcos and media giants.

What they want is a precedent that allows them to charge differentially. Like the way United Airlines charges two people different prices for the same seat, based on how much the market will bear. They figure you have to fly tomorrow, you can be made to pay 10 times the price of someone who can wait until nest week. This is simple larceny, because it has no bearing on their cost of producing the service. But it will allow them to decide who prospers (their partners of course) and to skim a huge per centage of the profits from an industry they are actually retarding rather than helping. Rather like the music publishing industry. If we let them get a foothold in the net arena it's very very bad. If we don't they are probably doomed in the long run to technological obsolesence. Hence their desperate measures.

Of course the "we" in question here has, in truth, very little say in the matter, if at all. The ritual self-flattering of the over-informed and powerless "citizen" (assuming our reader is not a millionaire, i.e. effectual citizen) does grow rather stale, and practically by the minute.

But what to expect, really, in a world where activist dynasties increasingly rule the day, and must contend only with businessmen who sometimes acquire politics, like a hobby.

I attended a graduation over the weekend. The speaker was a young, well-meaning, neoliberal Senator, unapologetically, uncritically, and rather solely inspired by the repulsive folk-posturing, fauxnaif pop-wisdom, the tired euphorias and banal soundbites, the simplistic and irresponsible, excusing cocktail fantasies of renowned opportunist pro-war hack, Tom Friedman. Though somewhat more literary than Friedman (a questionable accomplishment) his speech was a tired insult to intelligence and global citizenship, and ideologically repulsive (it probably goes without saying). Forcing one to wonder, yet again, if ever in the history of political life have those in power been so philosophically impoverished.

Well yeah, you say, at least Al Gore, in his sybaritic retirement, has "just discovered" Habermas. ("Why hadn't I heard of him before?" Gore asks. We wonder too.) And if Foucault can make an appearance on President Sheen's bookshelf...then maybe there's hope yet. Not for our politicians to be thinking men, but at least for their children's pop-culture to one day grow out of Baudrillard. Still there has to be a better way. (Until then, it's cardboard platitudes, and if we're very lucky, a dash of Habermas.)

But speaking of The Bill of Far Rights, The New York Review of Books has reprinted Orhan Pamuk's speech.
But to change one's words and package them in a way that will be acceptable to everyone in a repressed culture, and to become skilled in this arena, is a bit like smuggling forbidden goods through customs, and as such, it is shaming and degrading.


I am currently stuck, half-way through The New Life. Which resides on top a half-read This is Not a Novel, atop a half-read Reckoning with Life, atop a mostly re-read Politics of Friendship. Et cetera. (Unnaturally, but essentially, I despise this sort of bland and personal, dare one say habitual confession/lit-blog listing/excuse for a post. As should you. Blogs that become predictable are of little use to the imagination; they remain parasitic on a sick beast (most political/"professional" and literary blogs are so). Well at least it's not an ill-conceived lecture (though fast becoming one).)

Most important, the George Plimpton project has launched a Haiku contest:
Judged by Billy Collins, David Lehman, and Denise Duhamel.

The haiku should be somehow related to or inspired by the life or
work or philosophy of George Plimpton*.

The Grand Prize is $200. (cash!)

The Deadline is September 15, 2006

Submissions should be sent to toby@plimptonproject.org.

Do not be fooled by the seemingly whimsical nature of the contest,
haiku of serious and thoughtful tone will be weighed with the utmost
respect.

Submissions should be sent to toby@plimptonproject.org

*We suggest you investigate his books (Paper Lion, Shadow Box, Out of My League, etc.) his great and legendary publication "The Paris Review" and his minor appearances in TV and Film (Reds, Good Will Hunting, The Simpsons.) You could also wait for the upcoming oral biography of Plimpton, which is scheduled to come out next spring and promises to be an excellent read, but by then the deadline for this contest will have passed. Or, you could simply listen to the winner of The George Plimpton Song Contest, Jonathan Coulton's excellent composition "A Talk With George." Check it out here.

(kind courtesy of Toby Barlow)

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Bob

The reticent one. And strange beautiful (thanks for that).
"Don't you ever just sit, man?"

Not being aware his birthday was just around the corner..."Masked and Anonymous" again the other night. A good bad movie, of course (and obviously, outrageously so). Is it insulting? Or flattering? Eh.
The long spanning, unapologetic, documentary camera's gaze, odd without guilt, on Katrina-like crowds of ordinary suffering, poor people. Even when hurrying, solitary and waiting (for the miracle to come, maybe)...an unapologetic tempting of cliché, but given the closeness to reality, not-quite sentimental gazing. The glimpses into Dylan's gently subdued movie-personality (as always, playing the cryptic cowboy), a certain enigmatic patience with the oddness of people and things, prodded along by bits of ironic (though hardly cynical) folk-sounding wisdom...such things were noted. And how he upstages everyone, almost without trying.

Wood s lot expresses typical good taste in recommending this by Brian Doherty. To which one may as well add this by David Hayes.

Monday, May 22, 2006

pharmakon

From Blanchot, "The Pursuit of the Zero Point" (1953):
Literature is only a domain of coherence and a common region as long as it does not exist, as long as it does not exist for itself and conceals itself. As soon as it appears in the distant presentiment of what it seems to be, it flies into pieces, it sets out on the path to dispersion in which it refuses to be recognized by precise, identifiable signs. As, at the same time, traditions remain powerful, humanism continues to seek the assistance of art, prose still wants to fight for the world, there results a confusion in which, at first sight, one cannot reasonably try to decide what is at issue. In general, limited causes and secondary explanations are found for this disintegration. The blame is laid on individualism: each writer is said to write in accordance with a self whose purpose is to be distinct from all others.[1] Blame is also laid on the loss of common values, the profound divisions in the world, the break-up of ideals and of reason.[2] Or else, to re-establish a little clarity, the distinctions of prose and poetry are restored: poetry is consigned to the disorder of the unpredictable, but it is noted that the novel nowadays dominates literature, and that the latter, in the novel form, remains faithful to the everyday, social designs of language, remains within the limits of a circumscribed genre, capable of channelling and specifying it. The novel is often said to be monstrous but, with a few exceptions, it is a well-bred, highly domesticated monster. The novel is identifiable by clear signs which do not lend themselves to misunderstanding. The predominance of the novel, with its apparent freedom, its audacities which do not imperil the genre, the unobtrusive reliability of its conventions, the richness of its humanist content, is, as formerly the predominance of formally regular poetry, the expression of the need we feel to protect ourselves from what makes literature dangerous: as if, at the same time as its poison, literature urgently sought to dispense for our benefit the antidote which alone allows its untroubled, lasting consumption. But perhaps what makes literature innocuous also spells its doom.

In answer to this quest for subordinate causes, we must reply that the break-up of literature is essential and that the dispersion to which it is succumbing also marks the moment at which it approaches itself.


1. There are none the less complaints about the monotony of talent and the uniformity or impersonality of works.

2. But there is virtually nothing which, in literary terms, distinguishes the Catholic novelist from the Communist novelist, and the Nobel prize and the Stalin prize reward the same practices, the same literary signs.


-Maurice Blanchot, translated by Ian Maclachlan, in Michael Holland, ed., 144-45.

A supplement.

it's the radio


lovable old fart

Sunday, May 21, 2006

After The Academy/Jargon (#772)

Professor VJ on Poly-Ticks (just something found browsing referrer logs to LS):

It's funny, but whenever I start talking about digital narrative and the use of new media technologies, most colleagues in the field immediately want to start talking about the available technologies that are being experimented with and then, once they have their tech-jargon credibility established, they inevitably drift into mimicking the by-now canned theory that has been established around the tech-jargon. And yet, when it comes to discussing the actual formal innovation of the narrative, the meaning-making apparatus that defamiliarizes the story being told, or the way a work constructs identity or digital persona, most of the time the interlocutor's eyes get that "glazed over" look of "I have no idea what you're talking about" and an attempt is made to get back on track -- and in this case, on track means referring to the by now established techno-theory that somehow informs the development of weak new media art created for the express purpose of justifying that techno-theory's existence. Of course, this approach is back asswards and just like most of That 80's Show gender and identity politics killed the potential of art in the worst of possible ways, now new media art is quickly beginning to show its structurally insecure spots as well. This essential weakness in the international new media scene has made it less palatable to a lot of artists I know who first got their start in this field, myself included. How to break away from this institutionalization, academicization, and "scientificating" [scientific-pontificating] that is now suffocating so much of the new media arts?

The first thing you have to do is break the cycle of co-dependency. This means that you may have to diss the academy, diss the scientific community, and even diss a good portion of the curatorial apparatus and/or festival directors who are busy building their sand castles so that they can attract funds to pay for the mega-events they are coordinating. That's not easy, especially when networking is such an essential element of the new media art scene. And when there is a lot less pie to go around than in the mid-to-late 90s, and the pie that is being made is oftentimes only possible thanks to the largess of mainstream academic, scientific, and governmental organizations (and in the US, there's very little of that to go around), the cycle of co-dependency creates lots of competition to become even trendier so that you and your work will stand out as the newest of the new media artist-trendsetter crowd.

[...]This is not to say that there are not new media artists who use the Internet space for largely political purposes. Think of the work of The Yes Men or even a straightforward comix artist like Tom Tomorrow. I use my forthcoming book META/DATA (MIT Press, 2007) to suggest alternative approaches to working in and with new media that will enable us to break out of the academic, scientific, and commercial molds that are debilitating the formerly refreshing and fruitful potential of this networked media art scene. Basically, my premise is that a great deal of the work being created in the new media art and theory fields is being wrapped up in an institutional straitjacket that is neutering our ability to have any real effect on the world we live in and that a great many new media artist-theorists are falling into this trap by willingly buying into the same forms of co-dependency that the predominantly academic-scientific communities have bought into long ago. In META/DATA, I don't address this issue dogmatically, wagging my finger at those who buy into the Big Lie, but by doing an end-run, mixing spontaneous theories with avant-pop fictions and self-effacing pseudo-academic essays that read more like poetry remixes than argumentative papers.

To my mind, this is all connected to one's political agenda. What does it say about your professional network, especially one so tied to the First Amendment like the artistic and academic communities are, when the huge symposiums and conferences that bring them all together, collectively ignore the big elephant in the room. And I mean ELEPHANT. The question is: How To Be A First Amendment Patriot while maintaining a healthy anarchic attitude toward organized politics in general? In the past, what made America unique among nations, was its practical implementation of the Bill of Rights. But now it looks as though we're giving it all up to those who would rather dictate a patriarchal Bill of Far Rights.

Except for the occasional sideshow, don't expect to find this as the primary point of discussion at any new media conferences or festivals.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

not mourning yet

Maybe I'm poorly versed in the "conspiracy theories" of the day, but I always thought the real question concerning the plane that hit the Pentagon wasn't whether it was a plane, that hit the Pentagon, but why it circled 270 degrees 'round to the side least likely to do harm. That just don't make sense. (Update: It seems I am poorly versed. By all indications - and this latest "proof" now hardly assuring otherwise - it was a cruise missile that hit the Pentagon (see comments). Well that's not cool. Who would do such a thing?)(Update II: Ellis Sharp begs to differ. The questions about Flight 93 are the most openly begging, I agree. Although there are certainly others, financial and diplomatic and having to do with various explosions causing steel buildings to self-demolish, all included.)


Thursday, May 11, 2006

Weinfield Minefield, no longer

RSB alerts us to new translations of Mallarmé. This is exciting news.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

state of: lost gravity, dreams vanish into day


Of course sometimes a blog is but an impoverished wunderkammer. A place to collect diverting 'things', or a semi-public (because always partly encoded) museum, of potential notes and sorts, fanciful and gay projections, postcards of future thoughts. (Good blogs sometimes must revisit themselves and seek, at least, to remain faithful to this potential, in my (perhaps unpopular) view. Even if only to declare like poor, endearing Krapp with his ginger, salty pride: "ach...drivel" or "stupid young bastard." Blogs that don't revisit tend to wear thin. While bloggers may not keep their promises, those that forget their promises as soon as they are made – indeed that make them precisely in order to forget – are boring. And that is to invoke both things, forgetfulness and boredom, in the very much banal or 'weak' sense, surely.

While boredom hasn't been an explicit theme here very often, still like the border collie's tilted ear, or the circuitous, Socratic polishing of an ever-elusive and slippery truth, or the more practiced, loving motion of an oily rag 'round the circumference of a certain glass, occassionally shaken until it snows...oh nevermind! Ray Davis will have understood.

I've been on vacation this past week, hiking countless miles, above treeline and within occasional reach of complacent, feral ponies. I've been walking ridges in the windswept clouds, with a million-pound backpack (and that's not even close to the price). How joyful to feel one's limbs, the surging of blood. The care of the body no longer mere nuissance, but rather an art. To look simultaneously within and significantly across, and down; Shopenhauer and progeny they would applaud!

Anyway, more postings shortly. Suffice to say, the Appalachian Trail is a good thing-in-the-world, and the woman I love is happily ensconced in its warm and friendly grip, not to be released 'til mid-summer. That I get to visit, often (and more often as she walks closer), choosing the most beautiful parts to share, is frankly, perfectly okay (as far as compromises go). A different rhythm to relations; indeed we've taken again to writing letters, in between.

I will say these few things:

Instant coffee (specifically of the Folgers, tea-bag variety) ought not be mixed with oatmeal and grapenuts, and then seven kinds of freeze-dried fruit, including pineapple.

Thru-hikers do not walk, they march (or rather, speed-walk, and down hills run).

Thru-hikers are composed primarily of college-headed, twenty-something white males, and forty-something white males, both fighting mid-life crises, and thirty-forty-something white females who failed to make the token thirty- or forty-something white female position for "Survivor." The forty-something males are half crazy (in a benign manner), if they've hiked the trail already. If not, they're splendid company. (Some of the twenty-somethings are okay as well...it's all a very social thing, there being only so many places along the way to sleep, or towns into which to get sucked.) The independent-minded women, in the 28-30 bracket, are naturally the most interesting, but they are rare, and very tough, as trail-creatures go.

To regular tourists, thru-hikers are foreign, bad-smelling gods. They are treated with due deference, as stewards of the path, and not a little fear (for verily blink and they are gone) They are short on words; sightings are over before they are begun. When not on the trail, they and their beards (or - at least - hairy legs) are to be contained, like goofy circus creatures, in a small and rustic hut, preferably in the center of "town" for the locals to ignore, while on their way to church. Conjugal visits are of course best spent at luxurious B&B's.

There is a place where anonymous and small, fuzzy white flowers grow like a sea of emeralds, on green moss, amidst short and craggy trees. Something like this:









Hiking is excellent on the eyes. As is watching violent rainstorms that approach for hours, exactly parallel to one's height and at a distance of some hundred miles, and noticeably by the second, closing. Clouds being generally better than TV, in more ways than one can ever hope to count.

Men often get in shape faster than women, which is not fair. Especially when the woman is grudging because mildly injured, but otherwise really incredibly very fit.

Boredom of a certain sort is nothing less than sheer exhilaration. And very clearing.

Tekhne. The congealing of experience, drained of boredom's register of time, into lucid, exalting talking points is both life and death (or at least hell) to memory.

Anyone considering military service for reasons of "optimal physical condition" should simply hike instead. Getting to know your country, Jesus-style, is very patriotic. The chances of learning something (not to mention, surviving), and of preserving something important (and private) of oneself, are far, far greater (Roger, you should really mention this).

Vacations are in fact wonderful, and people should "do" them entirely more often. To "return home, and know the place again, as if for the first time."


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --- -

•Via Ben, here is the epitomic BoringBoring.

•Less satirically, Jon has a typically thoughtful post, with many interesting links.

•The Beiderbecke Affair writes (twice) on Amis (laudingly, alas).

•One could certainly do worse than to return to Spurious.

•Finally I appreciate how Steve reads the Litblog Co-Op, so that I don't have to.

calling Kyoto


N+1:

"Our President has declared a perpetual borderless war as a consequence of a single unforeseen attack; even a much saner administration may become unhinged when nothing, least of all the weather from year to the next, can be relied on. Skirmishes or worse will flare as resources dwindle. Our isolation will grow as millions of fellow species become extinct. The suppressed nightmare of nuclear war will recur during daylight hours.

These are not worst-case scenarios. The worst-case scenarios are much worse.

...Like Oedipus, we've been warned...The Nation devotes as much space to the dangers of global warming as anyone, but it also publishes "A 'Top Ten' List of Bold Ideas," which aims at "positive, aggresive post-Bush (and post-New Democrat) near- and long-term change"...the words global warming are nowhere to be found, and the weakly worded "investing in conservation and renewable energy" rates only an honorable mention.  This is as perverse as it is typical.  Imagine a historian in the year 2080, reading such lists as she researches the vexing question of how even educated, "progressive" people could have refused to face what was happening....in the case of global warming, our collective imagination has failed us utterly."

A prediction:  this is all about to change.  (For mighty TV, she hath caught the meme.)

"There seems to be a persistent if unstated resistance on the part of the left to the precepts of ecology...The most powerful and cogent critique that can currently be leveled against our mode of capitalism is that markets fail to account for ecological costs."

A conjecture:  given an optimistic projected income for a newly minted PhD'd white male, living in the United States (discounting any student debts), it will be safe to assume that, were one to decide to start a family, one's theoretical grandchildren would not be likely to face premature extinction within the next 80 or so years.  That is, they might live into their 50's, provided one starts having children now (and assuming said children progenerate in turn, efficiently, around age 30).

Of course, with neither a PhD (yet, or just for example) nor an income, nor any real desire to have children for another decade or so, at the least, one is unlikely at this moment to have grandchildren who survive past age 30.  Hence, great-grandchildren of any sort, for the current author's generation and general demographic are – as of now – highly unlikely.  And spoiled Europeans – should the Gulf Stream shut down, as the Pentagon openly speculates – are simply screwed.  Or rather, "deeply chilled:"
"...The authors go on to conclude that, while superior wealth and resources would allow the US to adapt moderately well to such a scenario, we would find ourselves in a world "where Europe will be struggling internally, large numbers of refugees are washing up on [US] shores, and Asia is in serious crisis over food and water.  Disruption and conflict will be endemic features of life." Such conclusions force us to consider the most cynical of all possible interpretations of our [i.e. the US's] indifference to global warming: on some level, we believe not only that we'll be fine, but that our relative advantage over other countries will actually increase.  Instead of yielding aspects of our dominance to bigger nations like China and India, we'll maintain our hold over a troubled world – an idea as unethical as it is dubious.

[...]

Maybe, as the Pentagon report suggests, the same privileged caste of people who engineered the coming disasters will live in fifty years much as they do now, buffered from harm by money and medicine and force of arms.  The weather will be an erratic and dangerous spectacle, economies and ecosystems will collapse, millions will die elsewhere in the world, but we'll seal our borders, abandon our ideas of nature, buy Canada ("the Saudi Arabia of freshwater"), and adapt.

Fifty years after that?  We won't be around.  Those who will be can fend for themselves, and call us what they like."

–Chad Harbach

Such is The Bush Legacy.

nb.  Following on from here.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

just play me John Coltrane

So What, live (via).

The bloglitical situation; Colbert is indeed funny

Michael Bérubé and Adam Kotsko and Stephen Colbert: how smart and funny go together.

Update: Despite the very best efforts of commenting blogdrones....as Markos says it best,"Colbert is now the number one album on iTunes [right next to Kos himself, I may add]. But remember, he wasn't funny."


Elsewhere, Blah-feme is really very good (for those who didn't know already). And I hope she or he continues. That is all.

Monday, May 08, 2006

soixante-huitards / casseurs

Two posts, worth a look (and especially in light of previous discussion elsewhere).

Meanwhile in Machiavellian French politics, Sarkozy may be replacing Villepin. Sort of a keep your enemies even closer kind of deal, apparently.

Friday, April 21, 2006

for Bill Knott

A reader draws attention to an article, wherein these two:

Poem

The only response
to a child's grave is
to lie down before it and play dead

Poem

I wrote under a pen name
One day I shook the pen trying to make the name come out
But no it's
Like me prefers clinging to the inner calypso

So I tossed the pen to my pet the
Wastebasket to eat
It'll vomit back the name
Names aren't fit
For unhuman consumption

But no again

It stayed down

I don't use a pen-name anymore
I don't use a pen anymore
I don't write anymore
I just sit looking at the wastebasket
With this alert intelligent look on my face


UPDATE: Fuck that other shit; Bill Knott has a blog, see here.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Rosebud

Jenny Diski (via):  "We’ll all go down babbling about some Rosebud or other..."
But nostalgia is a treacherous thing. It can make you teeter dangerously as you walk that thinnest of lines: on one side a clear-eyed assessment of how it was for all manner of people, on the other the pit of sentimentality. Merry Christmas everyone, and bless us one and all. The older I get, the less certain which side of the line I am on. Even less certain which side of the line I should be on. There’s something about nostalgia and its close cousin sentimentality that gives me the horrors, but also something that makes me suspect it needs a lot more serious attention than I’ve been prepared to give it. It’s a Wonderful Life enrages me – it’s not a wonderful life mostly, and James Stewart’s character is tragic, offered a simpering view of the good he has done to make up for never having got away from the town he longed his whole life to leave. A kind of Judeo-Christian-Islamic afterlife instead of, rather than after, life. Then again, while I rage at the movie, tears stream down my face. Got to get this sorted out before the last of the brain cell bubbles finally bursts...(more)

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

around Spivak

Having shilly-shallied the night away, more or less with Spivak, over here.  One ought not to write on that about which one knows, relatively, little. But sometimes one does.

Some intriguing contributions, thus far, and more on the way.  The carnival lasts all week. Your comments more than welcome.

Monday, April 17, 2006

rocking toward a free world

About the new new Neil Young album, Living With War, with the instant classic, "Impeach the President". Did he sleep during these three days or what? And has there ever been a "President" more fittingly judged by pop culture, ever. (UPDATE: Interview with Neil Young here, courtesy of Dialogic. And much more on the making of the album at Daily Kos.)

Of course the pop-culture-wars have always been structurally cartoonish (an increasing awareness of which is now reflected, with an irony that will, soon enough, become tired with itself, but also never vanish or in principle be finished). The culture "wars" are fraught with polemic on both sides (that's what pop does! it excites!). To be merely popophoric here, in any simplistic sense, will clearly not suffice.

But in relentlessly thematizing oppositions (often by exploding the unspoken, or under-spoken, because embarrassing), pop also, and precisely by risking the naturalization of these borders–that is, by taking political and popular speech too seriously, or rather, simply at its word–cannot help but raise the question of its own remove from the realm of political judgement. Pop strives to be about the questioning of taste, as abstracted from the sacred. The naiveté and forgetfulness pop embodies, and invokes, by taking political and popular speech (they are the same) at their very word, is precisely what makes those who insist on taking pop at its word–who so identify with caricatures and cartoons–so ridiculous.

Boy is it "fun", though. This will to mob-identification and distraction. The will to ceremonial 'wartime', the false eros of state-sanctioned murder, how enormously difficult to re-direct. Centuries of genetic memory and language are against it. Without re-questioning the filiations of 'friendship' and 'brotherhood', at their very (Christian) root and concept, such re-direction–or so some would argue–may go precisely nowhere.

(Of course one side in this ideologue-passion cartoon war is utterly repellent, and nowhere near approaching the league of Neil Young, whose work ultimately transcends the pop horizon altogether.)

via Rising Hegemon (via Cursor)

nb.
For the freak economies of interest. Something far more interesting.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Cannibal

A dear friend of mine has a good poem, published in the latest issue of Cannibal. So you should totally go over there and buy a copy.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Fresh Fetish

Following on from here.



An opening section of Paper Machine (recently translated into English by Rachel Bowlby), may be enough to give any honest blogger pause. The book is an excellent, extraordinary collection of short pieces, well suited even for those predisposed–through lack of exposure–to short attention spans when it comes to Derrida. So many of these later publications are extremely rich indeed:
It was well before computers that I risked the most refractory texts in relation ot the norms of linear writings. It would be easier for me now to do this work of dislocation or typographical invention–of graftings, insertions, cuttings, and pastings–but I'm not very interested in that any more from that point of view and in that form. That was theorized and that was done–then. The path was broken experimentally for these new typographies long ago, and today it has become ordinary. So we must invent other "disorders," ones that are more discreet, less self-congratulatory and exhibitionist, and this time contemporary with the computer. What I was able to try to change in the matter of page formatting I did in the archaic age, if I can call it that, when I was still writing by hand or with the old typewriter. In 1979 I wrote The Post Card on an electric typewriter (even though I'm already talking a lot in it about computers and software), but Glas–whose unusual page format also appeared as a short treatise on the organ, sketching a history of organology up to the present–was written on a little mechanical Olivetti.

[...]

Even the computer belonging to the "great writer" or "great thinker" will be fetishized, like Nietzsche's typewriter. No history of technology has wiped out that photograph of Nietzsche's typewriter. On the contrary, it is becoming ever more precious and sublime, protected by a new aura, this time that of the means of "mechanical reproduction"; and that would not necessarily contradict the theory of mechanical reproduction put forward by Benjamin. Some computers will become museum pieces. The fetishizing drive has no limits, by definition; it will never let go.

[...]

Today, everything can be launched in the public sphere and considered, at least by some people, as publishable, and so having the classic value, the virtually universal and even holy value of a public thing. That can give rise to all sorts of mystifications, and you can already see it, even though I have only very limited experience of what happens on the internet. Say about deconstruction, these international Web sites welcome and juxtapose extremely serious discussions, or ones that are publishable, and then chitchat that is not just dreary but also without any possible future. (It is true, and don't let's ever forget it, that that can also happen at conferences or in journals, academic and otherwise.)....A new freeing up of the flow can both let through anything at all, and also give air to critical possibilities that used to be limited or inhibited by the old mechanisms of legitimation–which are also, in their own way, word-processing mechanisms. (Derrida, 29-32)

















And from the suitably brief chapter entitled, "Sokal and Bricmont Aren't Serious":
Le Monde asks for my comments on Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont's book Impostures intellectuelles, although they consider that I am much less badly treated in it than some other French thinkers. Here is my response:

This is all rather sad, don't you think? For poor Sokal, to begin with. His name remains linked to a hoax–"the Sokal hoax,"–as they say in the United States–and not to scientific work. Sad too because the chance of serious reflection seems to have been ruined, at least in a broad public forum that deserves better.

It would have been interesting to make a scrupulous study of the so-called scientific "metaphors"–their role, their status, their effects in the discourses that are under attack. Not only in the case of "the French"! and not only in the case of these French writers! That would have required that a certain number of difficult discourses be read seriously, in terms of their theoretical effects and strategies. That was not done.

As to my modest "case," since you make a point of mentioning that I was "much less badly treated" than some others, this is even more ridiculous, not to say weird. In the United States, at the beginning of the imposture, after Sokal had sent his hoax article to Social Text, I was initially one of the favorite targets, particularly in the newspapers (there's a lot I could say about this). Because they had to do their utmost, at any cost, on the spot, to discredit what is considered the exorbitant and cumbersome "credit" of a foreign professor. And the entire operation was based on the few words of an off-the-cuff response in a conference that took place more than thirty years ago (in 1966!), and in which I was picking up the terms of a question that had been asked by Jean Hyppolite. Nothing else, absolutely nothing! And what is more, my response was not easy to attack.
Plenty of scientists pointed this out to the practical joker in publications that are available in the United States, and Sokal and Bricmont seem to recognize this now in the French version of their book–though what contortions this involves...

I am always sparing and prudent in the use of scientific references, and I have written on this issue on more than one occassion. Explicitly.

...One of the falsifications that most shocked me consists in their saying now that they have never had anything against me...So in France, Sokal and Bricmont added my name to the list of honorable philosophers at the last minute, as a response to embarrassing objections. Context and tactics obligent! More opportunism! These people aren't serious.

As for the "relativism" they are supposed to be worried about–well, even if this word has a rigorous philosophical meaning, there's not a trace of it in my writing. Nor of a critique of Reason and the Enlightenment. Quite the contrary. But what I do take more seriously is the wider context–the American context and the political context–that we can't begin to approach here, given the limits of space: and also the theoretical issues that have been so badly dealt with.

These debates have a complex history: libraries full of epistemological works! Before setting up a contrast between the savants, the experts, and the others, they divide up the field of science itself. And the field of philosophical thought. Sometimes, for fun, I also take seriously the symptoms of a campaign, or even of a hunt, in which badly trained horsemen sometimes have trouble identifying the prey. And initially the field.

What interest is involved for those who launched this operation in a particular academic world and, often very close to that, in publishing or the press? For instance, a news weekly printed two images of me (a photo and a caricature) to illustrate a whole "dossier" in which my name did not appear once! Is that serious? Is it decent? In whose interest was it to go for a quick practical joke rather than taking part in the work which, sadly, it replaced? This work has been going on for a long time and will continue elsewhere and differently, I hope, and with dignity: at the level of the issues involved. (Derrida, Paper Machine, 70-72)

There would also be a short chapter entitled, "My Sunday 'Humanities.'"

Saturday, April 08, 2006

No Pasarán....Peace to the Cottages!












When
when bloom, when,
when bloom the, hoomendibloom,
hoohedibloo, yes them, the
September-
roses?

Hoo–on tue. . . when then?

When, whenwhen,
manywhens, yes mania–
brother

-from Paul Celan, "Huhediblu", translated by Joshua Wilner*

Following on from here, a new post for Long Sunday.

*If anyone happens to know where the *full* translation may be found online, I would be most grateful.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Happy Deathday


America


America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back
it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday
somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle
Max after he came over from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-
men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
individual as his automobiles more so they're
all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and
sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
cere you have no idea what a good thing the
party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power
mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'
Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us
all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes
in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and
psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.




-Allen Ginsberg, courtesy of PoemHunter.com (with a reminder from s lot). Moby Lives has more.




As does Greil Marcus in The NY Times (courtesy of s lot).

Monday, April 03, 2006

more music!

here...

• John Berger on undefeated despair and sharing time "between moments." And more, on Chirac's address to France (via Bat).

Decline, The speaks its mind on "the philosophy of pop" conversations, inadvertently causing Mark Greif to be the second most blogged-about writer after Zizek.
Indeed, one must be absolutely clear about this point: the Philosophy of Pop, if it is anything, is not the juxtaposition of our "top 5 albums for a desert island." Does it fucking matter if you like Counting Crows or not?
Indeed, it does not. A most tasteful polemic; read the rest.

• More fallout: Mountain 7 weighs in twice, here and (more seriously) here. The music critics (or those who would speak for the critics) demand to know why a "philosophy" is called for. I'm not sure the distinction is absolute, though it may be worth commenting on further.

• The Beiderbecke Affair issues the perhaps necessary "you're-full- of-shit, Matt,-if-only-I--could-understand-a-word-of-it" rejoinder (see comments).

• A new issue of the very excellent Janus Head

Nolan Stewart

There is an element of both Chinese and Japanese landscape painting in Nolan Stewart's artwork. When I venture that it recalls Qi Bashi, he replies by comparing himself to Rembrandt, but it was late at night and we had had some wine.

If I remember correctly, it was Rembrandt's patience that truly became synonymous with his name, or something of the trembling infusion of time into "ordinary" objects. Which for me never fails to recall a certain anxiety as well, one that in Nolan's work may even resonate in something of a distinctively contemporary manner. On the level of cells and auto-immunity, no less.

That is, there often seems to be a deliberate confrontation or staging taking place between the artist and such forces (at once cancerous, internal and inescapable)–namely, what might appear at first glance as an attempt to master them(selves). Though with this last statement I'm not at all sure he would agree.

Citing the playful and serious rebellion of his primary influence, one of whose trademark gestures is a radical re-working/re-casting of the question and politics of time, Nolan is inclined to emphasize the meditative balance between serendipity and (what I would call) Thoreauvian attention to detail in his work, the poetics of chaos, or the gesture of love toward the madness of the (originary) event, you might even say, especially if you had had some wine. But above all his work is aesthetically coherent, provocative and pleasing. In the artist's own words, then:
My work is process based, created by the visual record of physical interaction with a surface. I start by making large, physical, gestural, body sized, spontaneous, explosive mark(s). Then balance these marks with, time consuming, meditative, slow, careful, small and detailed marks. This process evolved form the examination of repetitive mark making. Just small, meditative marks would result in a very calm unbalanced physical record. In order to create a balanced image something large, involving the whole body and not just the hand is necessary. The directness and simplicity of the work allows the speed of the process to be easily read, this invites the viewer to experience the meditative pace of the work. Sometimes the image created looks like microscope photography, stellar clusters.


For a sampling and a link to his webpage please see The blog (not) beyond, where such things accumulate.






nb.
One shouldn't complicate things for the pleasure of complicating, but one should also never simplify or pretend to be sure of such simplicity where there is none. If things were simple, word would have gotten around, as you say in English. There you have one of my mottos, one quite appropriate for what I take to be the spirit of the type of 'enlightenment' granted our time. Those who wish to simplify at all costs and who raise a hue and cry about obscurity because they do not recognize the unclarity of their good old Aufklarung are in my eyes dangerous dogmatists and tedious obscurantists. No less dangerous (for instance, in politics) are those who wish to purify at all costs."(Limited Inc., 119)

Saturday, April 01, 2006

looking for the re-storable in Eliot, part two

From "Tradition and Individual Talent:"
Yet if the only form of tradition, of handing down, consisted in following the ways of the immediate generation before us in a blind or timid adherence to its successes, "tradition" should positively be discouraged. We have seen many such simple currents soon lost in the sand; and novelty is better than repetition. Tradition is a matter of much wider significance. It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labour. It involves, in the first place, the historical sense, which we may call nearly indispensable to anyone who would continue to be a poet beyond his twenty-fifth year; and the historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence; the historical sense compels a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a feeling that the whole of the literature of Europe from homer and within it the whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and composes a simultaneous order. This historical sense, which is a sense of the timeless and of the temporal together, is what makes a writer traditional. And it is at the same time what makes a writer most acutely conscious of his place in time, of his contemporaneity.


Similarly, from "The Possibility of a Poetic Drama:"
By losing tradition, we lose our hold on the present; but so far as there was any dramatic tradition in Shelley's day there was nothing worth the keeping. There is all the difference between preservation and restoration.


-T.S. Eliot, in The Sacred Wood


And how to read these remarks today, with the proper 'historical sense', no less? Is it not the case that reducing them to apparent rubble with snide remarks about unifying narratives, nationalism, or even Europe would fall rather grossly beside the point? And not least of all because 85 years have now passed?  "A writer always addresses himself to a community of others, both living and dead..."  "Ruins...what else is there to love, really?"

looking for the salvageable in Eliot, part one

Of an ill-formed series taking issue, circuitous and oblique, with Terry Eagleton; why not? Lots of people bash New Critics; these people don't always entirely convince. Fight for yourselves, New Critics! Here then, is potential ammunition (beware of smug, ye Agambenians):

From "Tradition and Individual Talent:"
The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all. And emotions which he has never experienced will serve his turn as well as those familiar to him. Consequently, we must believe that "emotion recollected in tranquillity" is an inexact formula. For it is neither emotion, nor recollection, nor, without distortion of meaning, tranquillity. It is a concentration which does not happen consciously or of deliberation. These experiences are not "recollected," and they finally unite in an atmosphere which is "tranquil" only in that it is a passive attending upon the event. Of course this is not quite the whole story. There is a great deal, in the writing of poetry, which must be conscious and deliberate. In fact, the bad poet is usually unconscious where he ought to be conscious, and conscious where he ought to be unconscious. Both errors tend to make him, "personal." Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things...

To divert interest from the poet to the poetry is a laudable aim: for it would conduce to a juster estimation of actual poetry, good and bad. There are many people who appreciate the expression of sincere emotion in verse, and there is a smaller number of people who can appreciate technical excellence. But very few know when there is expression of significant emotion, emotion which has its life in the poem and not in the history of the poet. The emotion of art is impersonal. And the poet cannot reach this impersonality without surrendering himself wholly to the work to be done. And he is not likely to know what is to be done unless he lives in what is not merely the present, but the present moment of the past, unless he is conscious, not of what is dead, but of what is already living.


-T.S. Eliot, in The Sacred Wood

See what you have gone and ruined, even smugger age of (hyper-cyber-crypto-uber) analysis.

Spivak blog-event

Long Sunday will be reading Spivak in April, and you are certainly welcome to join in.

on classicism and critics

A blockquote (from Michael Holland's Blanchot Reader):

Nevertheless it is impossible to ignore the preoccupations of a number of critics, whose passion is expressed not only in opinions drawn from everyday convention, but also through hasty and superficial theories, which are the vacuous mirrors of their own disarray. The are unstinting in their warnings and their advice. They aim, with that fine zeal which comes of living for the moment, to reform genres, impose subjects and mould the whole of intellectual life according to the dictates of their current preferences. What do they want? Must writers and artists become the illustrators of whatever happens to be the theory of the day? Theirs are the precepts of fragile minds, eager to imitate rather than to be.

[...] When one sees those critics who talk endlessly of a return to classicism reserving their praise for the most mediocre and insipid efforts, the product of unstudied imitation, one wonders what weakness of imagination, what banality of form is to be found, for them, in the works of the great creative periods, which were all great periods of rupture. What on earth, to their minds, are these classics that they admire and wish to imitate? And what can this imitation be, if they conceive of it as sterile observance, as the preservation of a form whose justification has vanished? Whereas it is crystal clear that classical works only found themselves in harmony with an almost interminable duration because they appeared to come from somewhere higher than their time, tearing through it and burning it up with an extreme concentration that united in itself the past, the present and the future.

To this the reply from some quarters is that there are many weaknesses in these novice works, and that there is even an element of imitation in their experiments. That is quite possible and also perfectly natural. How can one expect a serene and definitive perfection from artists who set themselves formidably difficult problems, in an effort for which they deprive themselves of all the facilities of realism? In addition to the fact that they are not all equally talented and that some of them, incapable of creating forms, are content to borrow those that recent models place at their disposal, it goes without saying that their endeavours lay them open to all sorts of failure, error and even unconscious repetition. The ambition they are confronting threatens to destroy them at every instant. They are to some extent belittled by the difficulty of their task.  (Blanchot, "The Search for Tradition", 1941)