Abstract

This essay dedicates itself to poetically think about childhood, philosophy and solitude. By using some literary images, it provokes us to think of childhood beyond chronology, linear time, life phases, investing in the potentiality of the minimum, of the tiniest, of the minutiae as a force that can move us from the common places of thought, to expose or disturb our ways of seeing, of understanding, of thinking. Childhood, literature, philosophy and solitude keep alive the flame of unfinishing, of incompleteness, making the wheel of life spin: poetry is made of everything that easily breaks, of the unusable, which lasts just a little less than an instant wich is, in it’s turn, minimal, is what undoes the civilization of gold, the merchandise of blasphemy, including what can not be remembered, the least, the odd, the insufficient. Thus, this essay is an invitation so that we can look attentively, calmly, at the unseemly things, at the almost silent words, at the minimal gestures and then to be able to listen and to see, perhaps, another poetic of the childhood and the philosophy, a distinct relationship with the childhood, the literature, the philosophy and the solitude in such a way that we can say: yes, childhood has a voice; yes, childhood without a voice is a disgrace.