"M. F. Simone Roberts's A Poetics of Being-Two is animated by a lively and engaging voice, drawing readers in with a sense of serious purpose working (delightfully) in tandem with a sense of humor. Roberts's aesthetics and her close readings of Yves Bonnefoy, St-John Perse, and Jorie Graham clearly demonstrate the literary effectiveness of Irigarayan sexual difference as an analytic trope, even as they emphasize the philosophical and political possibilities sexual difference opens up for feminism, environmentalism, and all levels (...) of contemporary cultural critique and activism."—Gail M. Schwab, Hofstra University -/- In An Ethics of Sexual Difference, Irigaray calls for a new poetics in the sense of both art and life. Rather than a critique from within philosophy, A Poetics of Being-Two tests Irigaray's ethics by extending it to other sites of cultural production. Where Irigaray's method finds stirrings and repressions of sexual difference in philosophy, this project explores that tension in poetics. Building from Irigaray's ethics, the book describes a poetics of being-two as concerns gendered subjectivity in literary poetics and then traces the on-going emergence of a poetics of being-two in the post-symbolist poetic tradition. Irigaray scholars will be interested in the sustained interpolation of Irigaray's ethical concepts as principles for a critical aesthetics and in their hermeneutic application in reading a literary tradition. Readers in comparative literature will find the first sustained feminist engagements with the major French poets Bonnefoy and Perse and an elucidation of their influence on the Pulitzer Prize winning poet Jorie Graham. (shrink)

This article is first within the Russian and Western art history to examine the concept of visual poetics as a separate subject of research. Based on the analysis of iconographic and theoretical searches of the masters of symbolism, which found reflection within the boundaries of expressive means of visual art, the author comes concludes on the poetic principles of symbolist artists as the fundamental sources of the formation of the style of Art Nouveau – a new sculptural language (...) of the XIX – early XX centuries. Detail characteristic of the philosophical-aesthetic content that underlies optical forms of the visual symbolist image, in its scientific origins leans on the capabilities of the art comparative-formal analysis, as well as iconological method adapted to the period under review. The innovative conceptual approach towards studying the art of symbolism lies in the fact that poetry as the concept is depicted beyond the literary sphere, as a specific type of artistic worldview that influenced the development of the visual language of art in the era of Art Nouveau. At the same time, visual poetics is compared to the complex system of internal images, which shape in with the works of the master throughout the entire path of his self-expression, and are directly related to profoundness of the poetic principle of the soul, lyrical and metaphorical intuition of the artist. This approach allows us broadening the representation on the aesthetic benchmarks of the symbolist artists, as well as designating the new methodological coordinates in the field of studying the art of symbolism in both national and international contexts. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 27.1 (2003) 188-195 [Access article in PDF] Wittgenstein and Poetic Language B. R. Tilghman ACCORDING TO RICHARD KUHNS there are certain important parallels between symbolist poetic theory, especially that of Paul Valéry, and Wittgenstein's picture of language developed in the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. 1 It strikes me that these parallels are strained and certainly unhelpful in illuminating either what Valéry says about poetry or his poetic (...) practice. In fact, I find certain things in Valéry that are closer in spirit to Wittgenstein's view of language in the Philosophical Investigations. 2 My concern here is not to criticize Kuhns's thesis nor to provide a systematic exposition of Valéry's thoughts about poetry so much as it is to use some of what they say as stepping stones to show the relevance of Wittgenstein's work for understanding at least some of what goes on in poetry.Kuhn says that "Linguistic forms fascinated both Valéry and Wittgenstein, and the possibility that language might achieve necessity in that it produced sentences held together by bonds of absolute security and irrevocability operates in the logical forms of the Tractatus as it does in Valéry's art. A poem, Valéry believed, must be wrought with such necessity of part to part, such fastness of interior design, that the reader be compelled by his reading to recognize all the implications of the sentences." 3 I set aside trying to make sense of the idea of language achieving necessity and assume that the analogue of the "bonds of absolute security and irrevocability" in the Tractatus is that a perspicuous [End Page 188] symbolism should immediately make clear all the logical implications of any proposition. The analogy between whatever it is that counts as poetic implications and logical implication, however, seems impossibly lame. The word "implication" applied to the sentences of poetry is not a technical term as is the word when used in logic and its meaning may not be altogether clear. Nevertheless, some of what it may mean can be brought out, I believe, in terms of examples. Consider T. S. Eliot's line that "April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land...," the full sense—implications—of the words are not realized until they are seen in the context of the rest of the poem where we can understand them as making a point about the constrained and empty lives of the dwellers in the waste land. The description of the spring as cruel will help to serve as the poem develops to reveal to us the resistance of people to open themselves to human emotion and reaction. There are too many differences between this kind of thing and logical implication to make the analogy helpful.At one point Valéry says that "A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state of mind by means of words." 4 To that statement Kuhns comments that "Valéry's idea that a poem is a machine for producing poetic states is analogous to Wittgenstein's idea that logic is a machine for making sense, that there exists a structure which is the structure of possible meanings." 5 Valéry apparently wanted a poetry in which there is something akin to a necessary connection between the images and tropes within a poem so that there is only one way to read it. Although it is by no means clear what success in such an enterprise would be, some sense can be made of the idea of a poem as a structure of meanings held together by a kind of necessity. I shall try to make this clear. A poem invites us to move in various directions as the force of some figure of speech comes home to us or various associations dawn on us. In music a certain chord progression seems to demand a resolution into the tonic as its completion. This could be described as a kind of necessity, but, of course, not a logical one. Given our... (shrink)

Many strategies for incorporating poetry into non-poetry classes, especially outside of English and associated disciplines, appear to make poetry subservient and secondary in relation to the prose content of the course. The poet under consideration becomes a kind of involuntary servant to one or more prose authors, forced to “speak only when spoken to,” and effectively prevented from challenging the ideas of the course’s prose writers, and thereby the instructor. Fortunately, this is not the only strategy for incorporating poetry into (...) prose-dominated courses. In this chapter, I will suggest an alternate approach which recognizes and facilitates the agency of poets and poetry per se, which I term “empowering poetic defiance.” In brief, this approach consists of the following four steps: (1) challenge one’s own poetic self-loathing (2) position the course’s poetry’s content to challenge the course’s non-poetic contents (3) position the course’s poetry’s forms to challenge your class’s non-poetic forms (4) comport oneself as interlocutor toward the poets featured in the course as the intellectual equals of oneself and the course’s prose writers. My first section will elaborate on these four steps, and my second section will flesh out the method further with a new reading of one of the most powerfully defiant poets in the Western canon, the nineteenth-century French Symbolist poet Charles Baudelaire, in dialogue with one of the most formidable challengers to the power of poetry, the eighteenth-century Prussian philosopher Immanuel Kant. (shrink)

The prominence and peculiarity of color in French symbolist verse have often been noted. Yet the dominance of color in symbolism is not the result of aesthetic preference or mere poetic technique, as has been previously argued; rather, color functions, with the synaesthetic poetic context of which it is an integral part, as the direct manifestation of a particular metaphysical stance. Color leads to the heart of what symbolism is, for it is the paradigmatic literary expression of a general (...) spiritual crisis—a crisis in epistemology. The nineteenth century extended seventeenth-century empiricism—an empiricism which had invented mathematical measurement as the gauge of reality and which resulted in a predilection to see most authentic knowledge as quantifiable. The logical corollary of such a predilection is that all sensory experience is regarded as suspect. Newtonian physics had rationalized the laws of the universe in reducing its properties to atomical structures and laws of motion. Nothing, it seemed, was left unexplained. Those areas of perception which remained unquantifiable were dispelled as illusion or attributed to the necessary limitations of the human mind. The theories of John Locke act as a kind of historical watershed in this regard: they are the classic philosophic expression of the disjunction between sensory experience and knowledge which, in its nineteenth-century versions, would lead to the symbolist revolt. Françoise Meltzer is a professor of French literature and of comparative literature at the University of Chicago. Her previous contribution to Critical Inquiry is the translation of Christian Metz's "Trucage and the Film" . She is the author of The Trial of Psychoanalysis, Salome and the Dance of Writing, and Hot Property: The Stakes and Claims of Literary Originality. (shrink)

This book is the second part of the second volume of Ricœur's projected three volume work, La Philosophie de la Volonté. The first volume has already been translated as The Voluntary and the Involuntary and the first part of the second volume, which is titled generally Finitude et Culpabilité, has been translated as Fallible Man. The third part of the second volume has been projected as an Empirics of the Will, while the third volume has been broadcast as a (...) class='Hi'>Poetics of the Will. The entire project moves from phenomenology to thought, in an attempt to give an account of man from the standpoint of Will, or more dramatically put, from the standpoint of human freedom and all the vicissitudes of existence that come with this freedom. Evil is one of the more portentous consequences of human freedom, and this book is concerned to explore it in a fashion which is initially phenomenological. But it moves toward the reflective thought that will emerge full blown in the Empirics. There Ricœur will offer a transcendental validation of the hermeneutic he has adopted to explain man through interpreting the way man presents himself to himself in his prereflective language and comportment with the world. In the first part of the book Ricœur picks up the leading symbols of evil, given through the phenomenon of confession, and follows them in their dialectical progression from evil as defilement, through evil as sin, to evil as guilt. His discussions of the Sumerian, Babylonian, and Hebrew writings, as they witness to these stages in the symbolization of evil, are exceptionally sensitive and thoroughly informed by the scholarship. Ricœur then turns his attention to the systematization of these symbols in the various archaic myths, giving first a typology of these myths and, finally, a dynamics of the myths. In the latter his Christian as well as his hermeneutical standpoints begin to assert themselves more explicitly. The preferred myth on evil, for Ricœur, is the Adamic myth, and he moves outward from there to the tragic myth, as expressed in the Greek dramatists, to the theogonic myth as expressed in Hesiod and the Sumerian and Babylonian literature, and finally to the orphic myth of the exiled soul. In addition to sustaining the development of the main thesis about the way in which a phenomenology of the symbols of evil gives rise to thought, Ricœur has many individual analyses and insights that are extremely exciting. His consideration of Plato's supposed dualism, which he interprets along the lines of Pauline dualism, which is to say, as not being an ontological dualism, is one of the more striking of these analyses. The combined rigor of argument and richness of material in this book signal a high place for it in the recent philosophical literature in general.--E. A. R. (shrink)

This book studies how poetic structure transforms verbal imitations of religious experience into concepts. The book investigates how such a conceptual language can convey such non-conceptual experiences as meditation, ecstasy or mystic insights. Briefly, it explores how the poet, by using words, can express the ‘ineffable’. It submits to close reading English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Armenian and Hebrew texts, from the Bible, through medieval, renaissance, metaphysical, and baroque poetry, to romantic and symbolistic poetry.

_Vortex/t _undertakes a hermeneutical exploration of symbolic turbulence in many canonical works of literature and philosophy. Charles Minahen's approach is diachronic to the degree that manifestations of the symbol are addressed chronologically, but his aim is not to establish a historical linking of cause and effect, even if such connections do appear. Rather, a synchrony of the symbol is reconstructed that places each discrete example of it in a vibrant intertext of patent and latent meanings. Symbolic turbulence first emerges in (...) ancient "whirls" that display a spiral, spiro-helical, or vertical configuration and usually have cosmic or religious significance. The first significant textual examples of vertical symbolism occur in the Boulak Papyrus, the Bible, and _The Odyssey_, where the destructive connotations of the symbol stand out. For the philosophers and poets of the ancient classical period, including certain Pre-Socrates, Plato, Epicurus, and Lucretius, the vortex is a universal structuring principle, although the underlying causes vary. For Dante, the emphasis is no longer on the dynamic cosmogonic role of the whirl, but on the gradations inherent in the vertical structure itself. Descartes and Blake associated the symbol with the transcendence of a mystical vision, which involves, for the latter, an epiphanal breakthrough. In Poe, the maelstrom excites conflicting feelings of horror in the face of death and curiosity about the "novel" beyond. Rimbaud develops Blake's and Poe's fascination with a transcendent vision, but for Mallarme, the vortex-symbol is Poesque in the more negative way. Not only is it a threatening destructive force, it is the specter of death itself, relentlessly drawing the shipwrecked mariner to ultimate extinction and nonentity. By analyzing, comparing, and contrasting these salient examples of vertical symbolism, _Vortex/t _attempts to uncover and explore the dynamics of emerging and receding meanings that constitute the paradigm's complexity. (shrink)

The process of conceptualization and creation of a film score heavily depends on the collaboration between the film director and composer. The harmony of the director’s and film composer’s ideas should provide an impetus for the synchronization of literature (the script and film narrative) and music (film score). This was mainly used as a guide in crafting the film score for the independent film Ang Panggagahasa kay Fe (The Rapture of Fe, 2009) directed by Alvin Yapan. This article explores how (...) the music is deployed to resonate with the mythic and folkloric sensibility of the film narrative. We chose to use the tambuleleng, a native lute instrument/chordophone from Bukidnon, Southern Philippines, that is a modern adaptation of three traditional instruments. In its invention, its crafting, and in the sounds it produces, the tambuleleng is an artful blending of tradition and modernity. The tambuleleng’s composition, its symbolism and function in native life and rituals, aside from the sound it creates, all became material in conveying the folkloric narrative, and articulating the issues presented in the film. Some concerns on Philippine film musical scoring are also tackled, mainly focusing on the constraints, as well as the liberties involved when operating within a limited budget for an independent movie production. (shrink)

Through a study of Abhinavagupta’s deployment of the metaphor of a bee in search of nectar, this article reconstructs a model of religious education implicit in Abhinavagupta’s representation of his own career as a student and guru. Based on a brief examination of the symbolism of the bee in classical Sanskrit poetry, the article elucidates how Abhinavagupta creatively implements prominent themes in this trope. Abhinavagupta’s use of the bee motif powerfully evokes his own liberal engagement with the intellectual culture and (...) religious worlds of medieval Kashmir, and this educational ideal arguably carries prescriptive force for a qualified and sensitive audience. In considering the bee imagery across Abhinavagupta’s corpus, one encounters a vision of revelation that invites students to relish an all-encompassing truth present in all traditions as their essence, like a fragrance permeating a flower. (shrink)

Andrey Bely was an important member of the Russian symbolist movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This essay presents a summary of the development of his ideas regarding the origins of image and symbol in poetic language. For Bely language organizes chaos. The poet finds images in the internal world of dreams. Music has an organizing power beyond that of language, which language attempts to imitate. Under the influence of Vladimir Solovyov he looked to the union (...) of Divine Wisdom or Sophia with the Eternal Logos as the principle behind symbolic images. Later, under the spell of Rudolf Steiner, he found the source of inspiration in the eternal dwelling of the Logos from which the human ego descends into flesh. The task of the poet is to recover the memory of the time before he left the realm of the Logos and to return to that realm by participating in Christ's ascent to the Cross. The autobiographical novel Kotik Letaev gives an account of recovering memory from before birth and the need to be joined with Christ crucified. (shrink)

Poetry and philosophy have had a close but uneasy relationship in the western tradition. Both share an eschewal of the discovery of novel facts, but are somewhat opposed in that discovery is a central aim of poetry, but not at all the aim of philosophy. Through a close reading of W.H. Auden’s ‘In Memory of W.B. Yeats’ and a versification of part of G.E. Moore’s ‘A Defence of Common Sense’, I argue that what poetry shows corresponds, in a broadly (...) class='Hi'>symbolist sense, to Wittgenstein’s understanding of the miraculous nature of the world. In this regard, poetry can offer philosophy clarity, in the form of its tonal architecture, value, and ethics, and may also constitute a perspicuous representation. Poetry remains in a perpetual mode of potential, as well as being possessed of a vatic autonomy. (shrink)

This second installment in a chronologically arranged, three-part sequence continues the author's examination of Anglo-American literati who, in the later nineteenth and twentieth centuries, turned — in acts of combined xenophilia and xenophobia — to Russian literature and literary theory in order to escape the dominant influence of avant-garde movements in France. These Anglophone writers found in Russian exemplars a responsible, morally rigorous, and pragmatic, yet philosophically sophisticated, alternative to what they described as the amoral, superficial, and pretentious aestheticism of (...) French literary culture. Part 2 treats the poetry and criticism of the English “Movement” poet Donald Davie in light of his turn, in 1958, toward the example of Boris Pasternak as a way of escaping the influence of French Symbolist poetics and the post-Symbolist poetics of anglophone modernism. Although Davie understood that Pasternak was as much a modernist as T. S. Eliot or Ezra Pound, he also argued that the Russian's poetry, unlike theirs, sought, on explicitly moral grounds, to maintain conventional syntax and purity of diction, with the result that Pasternak's verse communicates with the reader more as prose than as music does. (shrink)

One measure of the validity of [Joseph] Frank's insight is the extent to which other versions of his ideas appear in other contexts: for if "spatial form" refers to something real, it cannot have escaped notice by other readers. One thinks, for example, of Northrop Frye's description of the critic viewing all the elements of the poem as a simultaneous array before him; or of Gaston Bachelard's evocative descriptions of The Poetics of Space. Or Pound's interest in ideographic script; (...) or the frequent critical association of modern literature with impressionist painting. Or Eliot's poet synthesizing Spinoza, the sound of the typewriter, and the smell of cookery into a unified whole. Or—at the root of it all, perhaps—Poe's insistence on the unified effect of the story or poem.1 All of these instances reflect a more or less casual assumption of the basic premise of Frank's essay. More recently another critic, Frank Kermode, has offered an alternative description of this general problem. In The Romantic Image2 he assesses symbolist poetic theory; here the verbal image , autonomous and autotelic, presumably unites meaning and feeling without intervening reflection or discourse: the "image" so hypostatized seems very close to a "spatial" form, and certainly the suppression of discourse, of reflection generally, follows from the disruption of syntax and narrative that results from the impulse toward "spatial" effects. Provisionally, we might say that Joseph Frank's essay is grounded in an essentially formalist conception of the literary work as artifact, and that the striking features of his argument result from an attempt to assimilate extended works to a theory basically lyric in its orientation: as corollary, we must assume that the modern writers he cites had themselves operationally defined the concept in the course of their writing. · 1. Northrop Frye, "Literary Criticism," in The Aims and Methods of Scholarship in Modern Languages and Literature, ed. James Thorpe , p.65. See also Fables of Identity: Studies in Poetic Mythology , p. 21. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas . Ernest Fenollosa, The Chinese Written Character as a Medium for Poetry, ed. Ezra Pound . T.S. Eliot, "The Metaphysical Poets," Selected Essays , p. 247. Edgar Allan Poe, review of Twice-Told Tales, in Works, 17 vols., ed. James A. Harrison 11: 104-13.· 2. Frank Kermode, The Romantic Image . William Holtz, professor of English at the University of Missouri-Columbia, is currently preparing an edition of an unpublished juvenile manuscript by Charlotte Brontë. (shrink)

Andrey Bely was an important member of the Russian symbolist movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This essay presents a summary of the development of his ideas regarding the origins of image and symbol in poetic language. For Bely language organizes chaos. The poet finds images in the internal world of dreams. Music has an organizing power beyond that of language, which language attempts to imitate. Under the influence of Vladimir Solovyov he looked to the union (...) of Divine Wisdom or Sophia with the Eternal Logos as the principle behind symbolic images. Later, under the spell of Rudolf Steiner, he found the source of inspiration in the eternal dwelling of the Logos from which the human ego descends into flesh. The task of the poet is to recover the memory of the time before he left the realm of the Logos and to return to that realm by participating in Christ's ascent to the Cross. The autobiographical novel Kotik Letaev gives an account of recovering memory from before birth and the need to be joined with Christ crucified. (shrink)

Arthur Rimbaud, a prominent figure in the late 19th-century literary scene, is often celebrated for his groundbreaking contributions to modernist poetry. His work, characterized by its experimental form and vivid imagery, embodies many of the philosophical tenets of modernism. This essay explores how the philosophy of modernism manifests in Rimbaud's poetry, focusing on themes of rebellion against tradition, fragmentation, subjectivity, symbolism, and alienation. -/- 1. Rebellion against Tradition -/- One of the hallmark features of modernist poetry is its defiance of (...) traditional forms and conventions. Rimbaud was a pioneer in this regard, rejecting the rigid structures of classical poetry in favor of free verse and unconventional rhythms. In works such as "A Season in Hell" ("Une Saison en Enfer"), Rimbaud employs a prose-poetic style that eschews the constraints of meter and rhyme, allowing for a more fluid and dynamic expression of thought. This rebellion against tradition reflects a broader modernist impulse to break free from the past and explore new artistic possibilities. -/- Fragmentation and Juxtaposition -/- Modernist poets often use fragmentation and juxtaposition to create complex layers of meaning and challenge readers' perceptions. Rimbaud's poetry is replete with abrupt shifts in imagery and tone, resulting in a disjointed yet evocative narrative. In "The Drunken Boat" ("Le Bateau Ivre"), for example, Rimbaud presents a series of vivid, seemingly unrelated images that collectively convey a sense of disorientation and liberation. This technique mirrors the fragmented nature of modern existence, as well as the modernist desire to capture the multiplicity of human experience. -/- 2. Subjectivity and Inner Experience -/- A key aspect of modernist philosophy is its emphasis on subjectivity and the inner workings of the mind. Rimbaud's poetry delves deeply into the realm of personal experience, exploring themes of identity, perception, and self-discovery. His work often blurs the line between reality and imagination, reflecting the modernist interest in the unconscious and the fluidity of human consciousness. In "A Season in Hell," Rimbaud's introspective journey becomes a vehicle for examining the complexities of the self and the elusive nature of truth. -/- Exploration of Identity and Self-Discovery -/- Rimbaud's poetry is marked by a profound introspection and a quest for self-discovery. In works such as "A Season in Hell" ("Une Saison en Enfer"), Rimbaud embarks on a journey of inner exploration, grappling with questions of identity and the nature of existence. The poem is a confessional and autobiographical narrative that delves into the poet's inner turmoil and existential angst. Through vivid and often surreal imagery, Rimbaud articulates the fragmented and fluid nature of the self, reflecting the modernist emphasis on the subjective experience of the individual. The theme of self-discovery is also evident in Rimbaud's famous assertion, "I is another" ("Je est un autre"), which encapsulates his belief in the multiplicity and fluidity of identity. This notion challenges the conventional understanding of a stable and coherent self, suggesting instead that identity is constantly shifting and evolving. Rimbaud's exploration of identity resonates with the modernist preoccupation with the inner life of the individual and the complexities of human consciousness. -/- Perception and the Unconscious Mind -/- Rimbaud's poetry often blurs the line between reality and imagination, reflecting his interest in the workings of the unconscious mind. His use of rich and evocative imagery invites readers to engage with his work on a deeply emotional and intuitive level. In "Illuminations," Rimbaud's prose poems are filled with dreamlike visions and hallucinatory landscapes that evoke the fluid and elusive nature of perception. The modernist fascination with the unconscious is evident in Rimbaud's exploration of altered states of consciousness. His poetry frequently delves into themes of intoxication, madness, and visionary experience, suggesting a desire to transcend the limitations of ordinary perception and access deeper layers of the mind. This exploration of the unconscious reflects the modernist belief in the power of art to reveal hidden truths and to illuminate the mysteries of the human psyche. -/- 3. Symbolism and Imagery -/- Rimbaud's use of rich, often surreal symbolism and imagery is a defining feature of his modernist sensibility. His poems are filled with metaphors and symbols that invite multiple interpretations and resonate on an emotional level. The imagery in "The Drunken Boat" is particularly striking, as Rimbaud conjures a kaleidoscopic vision of the natural world that transcends ordinary perception. This reliance on symbolism reflects the modernist belief in the power of art to evoke profound, often ineffable experiences. -/- Innovative Use of Imagery -/- Rimbaud's poetry is renowned for its striking and unconventional imagery, which often challenges readers to see the world in new and unexpected ways. In "The Drunken Boat" ("Le Bateau Ivre"), Rimbaud presents a series of vivid and hallucinatory images that evoke the disorienting experience of a boat adrift on the sea. The poem's imagery is rich and evocative, capturing the tumultuous and ever-changing nature of the protagonist's journey. For example, Rimbaud writes: > "I have seen the low-hanging sun spotted with mystic horrors, > Lighting up long violet coagulations > Like performers in very ancient dramas! > Waves rolling back the horizons and breaking forth in light." Through this kaleidoscopic vision, Rimbaud creates a sense of both wonder and disorientation, reflecting the fluid and unstable nature of reality. The imagery in "The Drunken Boat" serves to transport readers into a world of heightened perception, where ordinary experiences are transformed into extraordinary and often surreal visions. -/- Symbolism and Emotional Resonance -/- Rimbaud's use of symbolism is central to his poetic vision, allowing him to convey deep emotional and psychological truths through metaphor and allegory. In "A Season in Hell" ("Une Saison en Enfer"), Rimbaud employs a range of symbols to explore themes of suffering, redemption, and self-discovery. The poem's title itself is symbolic, suggesting a period of intense inner turmoil and transformation. -/- Throughout "A Season in Hell," Rimbaud uses symbolic imagery to represent his emotional state and spiritual journey. For example, the recurring motif of fire serves as a symbol of both destruction and purification. Rimbaud writes: > "I firmly intend to possess the truth and to behold the justice of victory! That will, is a ray of light! – Pride is the flame that devours me." Here, fire symbolizes the intense passion and inner conflict that drive the poet's quest for truth and self-understanding. The symbolic imagery in Rimbaud's poetry resonates on an emotional level, inviting readers to connect with the poet's inner experience and to reflect on their own journey of self-discovery. -/- . (shrink)

Introduction: The poetic topos of the doctrine of transmigration -- Genealogy of the doctrine of transmigration -- Beyond mysticism and science : symbolism and philosophical magic -- The emergence of mystic cults and the immortal soul -- Philolaus and the question of pythagorean harmony -- The alleged critique of Pythagoras by Parmenides -- Between the earth and the sky : on the pythagorean divine -- The pythagorean bios and the doctrine of transmigration -- The path of the event -- The (...) path of remembrance or return -- The platonic rupture : writing and difference -- Plotinus : the ascent of the soul toward the one -- Plotinus as neoplatonic mystic : letter to Flaccus -- Epilogue: The fate of the doctrine of transmigration. (shrink)

ABSTRACT The poetic interpretation of the symbolism of sacred places is a significant theme in the study of Kazakhstan’s cultural heritage, including its literature. This research aims to analyse the literary techniques and linguistic tactics through which Kazakhstani writers recreate and illustrate the symbolism and significance of holy sites. The primary method used is analytical, specifically semiotic analysis, formal analysis, and historical-cultural analysis. Other methods employed include comparative, methods of generalisation, and systematisation. The study found that sacred places play a (...) pivotal role in Kazakhstan’s national identification. Their poetic interpretation showcases a complex interweaving of historical memory, cultural traditions, and spiritual values of the Kazakh people. Analysis of literary works revealed that writers actively employ various stylistic and rhythmic techniques to convey the unique significance of these places. Metaphors, allegories, symbols, repetitions, and other linguistic tools are most commonly used to craft a multi-layered image of a sacred site. (shrink)

The anthropological and religious interest for the raven is present in Buddhism, in biblical stories, in North and Greek mythologies, in Arthurian legend and in Spanish epic. The occultism attributed to the raven the mission of guidance of dead human souls after death. This article tracks how the raven transfers its occult connotations to the poetic symbol analyzing the poem«The Raven» by EdgarAlan Poe in its cultural and aesthetic context. Charles Baudelaire and the French symbolists dignified the intertextual evolution of (...) Poe’s symbol and transferred it to LatinAmerican and Spanish modernists. These poets used the raven not only as a symbol but mainly as a recurrent motif or poetic topos. Even though the occultist influence appears ‘scattered’ in the process of the creative experience of this symbol, it does not take away its existence. The occultist influence of the raven explains the ultimatemeaning of some verses and clarifies the exceptions and contradictions that appear in many poems. (shrink)

This text is an edited version of my curatorial essay for `The More Things Change...', the 5th Bangkok Experimental Film Festival (BEFF 5). I introduce it here with some background on the political flux since the most recent coup d'etat (2006), from which Thailand's political system is yet to recover. I outline two key themes that emerged in BEFF 5's Thai programmes. The first concerns the cycles — `historical, biological and psycho-social' — that find expression in the country's repetitive political (...) narrative. The second concerns the poetics of reproduction in Thailand, an historical, economic and spiritual complex that connects everyday life and folk culture with sovereign and national symbolism. This article is not a comprehensive engagement with the films in BEFF 5, but rather seeks to establish a context in which non-mainstream Thai visual culture might be better understood. I also offer some reflections on the relationship between film and contemporary art in Thailand. (shrink)

This book considers the Chinese conception of beauty from a historical perspective with regard to its significant relation to human personality and human existence. It examines the etymological implications of the pictographic character mei, the totemic symbolism of beauty, the ferocious beauty of the bronzeware. Further on, it proceeds to look into the conceptual progression of beauty in such main schools of thought as Confucianism, Daoism and Chan Buddhism. Then, it goes on to illustrate through art and literature the leading (...) principles of equilibriumharmony, spontaneous naturalness, subtle void and synthetic possibilities. It also offers a discussion of modern change and transcultural creation conducted with particular reference to the theory of the poetic state par excellence and that of art as sedimentation. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Surfing the Sublime:Tim Winton's Breath and Eco-HeroismSteve Mentz (bio)The sublime represents an ecological problem. Breathing poses an entangled solution. Surfing, in which a human body stands upright inside a rotating barrel of unbreathable whitewater, provides a way to imagine the connection between these two things.The sublime has represented an elevated category of literary language since the classical writer Longinus's On the Sublime (~1st century CE). From the start, the (...) sublime captures grandeur and also an excess that challenges human thinking. Many of the essential Romantic and Post-Romantic tropes of the sublime that would later appear in dense philosophical accounts, from Edmund Burke and Immanuel Kant to Jean-Francois Lyotard and Jacques Derrida, show themselves embryonically in Longinus's brief classical description.1 The key force of sublime style, Longinus emphasizes, is irrationality: "A lofty passage does not convince the reason of the reader, but takes him out of himself. That which is admirable ever confounds our judgment" (1.4). The conceptual violence of the sublime strains our imaginations almost to breaking, and Longinus's intuition that sublimity always sits on the far side of human comprehension becomes a central feature of this idea in literary history. Although we know very little about Longinus the author–neither his name nor the century in which he lived are certain–he fingers the particular pleasurable pain and rupture of coherence that would become the signature of the sublime in modern poetics. The problem with the sublime perspective is that it craves rupture, centers the human imagination, and refuses to make space for nonhuman collaborators. The opposite of the sublime's imaginative conquest of the world may be simple breathing, the taking of alien air into one's lungs and body, and the environmental dependence each breath marks.The philosopher Graham Harman has recently traced the sublime lineage of Burke and Kant to Lyotard, Levinas, Derrida, and other twentieth-century thinkers, in order to reject the concept as fundamentally [End Page 79] anthropocentric. Harman instead advocates for a philosophy that does not require the shaping structures of human perspective. He argues for an ecological art that engages with the world beyond the merely human perspective, "art that explores unforeseen interactions between the different parts of the external world." What Harman terms "unsublime ecology" might reasonably be described as an inhuman ecological perspective. The philosopher reminds us that the sublime has always been, both from Longinus and in Harman's reading explicitly from Kant and Burke to Lyotard and Derrida, a ju-jitsu trick in which the imagination of a (white male) subject reintegrates what it cannot fully comprehend. The list of poetic works whose language most commonly appears as exemplary of the sublime–Milton's Paradise Lost, Shelley's "Mont Blanc," Shakespeare's King Lear, Wordsworth's The Prelude–suggest that the mode appeals to poetic egoists of a particularly masculinine type.2The heroic sublime of these poets and theorists falters on the physical fact of breathing. Each day of their lives, more than 20,000 times per day, every one of these men, even stern, blind Milton dictating his prophetic poem to dutiful daughters after his revolution had failed, drew nonhuman air into and out of his lungs, exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide. Each man's thinking continued, while their minds dwelled little on how their body's dependence on alien matter to suspire might impinge upon the heroic sense of self. Even prophets and geniuses, even Wordsworth and Derrida, depend on unconscious patterns. Even the greatest of poets breathes.That's where surfing comes in, in particular Tim Winton's 2008 surf novel Breath, which relates a minor-key epic of surfing against breathing. The novel's core figures devote themselves to intentional oxygen deprivation: our teenage narrator-hero Pikelet; his rebellious buddy Loonie; Sando, the Australian surf-seer they follow; and Sando's American one-time freestyle skier wife, Eva (note the unsubtle symbolism of her name), whose injured knee keeps her off the snow but does not prevent her from chasing sublimity through self-suffocating games that involve sex, a plastic bag, and eventually Pikelet. To court mortality by cutting... (shrink)

The ArgumentThe relation between alchemy and early chemistry is still open to debate. How did what is now often dismissed as a pseudo-science contribute to the emerging science of chemistry, a subject that by the late eighteenth century, was often held up as a model for other sciences? Alchemy may have bequeathed to chemistry some processes and apparatus; more fundamental, however, was a transformation in mentality. It was in the seventeenth century that much of this transformation took place.A study that (...) was deeply anthropomorphic, making constant use of allegories and symbolism, and with a language rejoicing in mystery and concealment, gradually became depersonalized, much more objective, and more open. Poetic descriptions, a moral dimension, and a hierarchical view of matter all disappeared. Practical considerations required a concern for greater purity of materials, necessary for the successful replication of experiments. A study of the series of seventeenth-century French textbooks of chemistry from Beguin to Lemery reveals a growing desire for practical results and plain speaking. Robert Boyle was particularly influential in urging the necessity of plain language. The creation of a suitable language to denote and differentiate among different chemical species was a crucial step in the development of early chemistry, thus preparing the way for the systematic names introduced in the following century and the full organization of the science on rational lines. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Knowing the EastPatti M. MarxsenKnowing the East. By Paul Claudel. Translated by James Lawler. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004. 136 pp.Fifty years after his death, Paul Claudel (1868–1955) is remembered for many things. Not only was he a major twentieth-century poet and playwright, he was an astute observer of Dutch, Spanish, and Japanese art. Not only was he the brother of sculptor Camille Claudel, he was a (...) diplomat who lived for nearly twenty years in Asia, including a stint as the French ambassador to Japan (1921–1927). When he was elected as a member of the Académie Française in 1946 at nearly 80 years of age he quipped, "For an academic, that is puberty." He died at 87, having lived large in two centuries and on three continents.Following an adolescence marked with indifference toward religion, Claudel experienced a profound conversion to Catholicism during a Christmas night service at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris at the age of 18. With Christianity at the center of his universe and under the influence of Symbolist poets Rimbaud and Mallarmé, he developed a response to the world that was at once poetic and spiritual. Through his poetry, plays, and essays, he insisted on a fundamental unity between matter and spirit, a harmonious and vast universe into which the human mind could enter. And, at least for him, the point of entry was the portal of the Church. He struggled at times, but never lost sight of his faith. For all this, he is often credited with the revival of French Catholicism in the wake of WWI. After all, if Paul Claudel could take religion seriously and find meaning in it, pourquoi pas the rest of us?The facts of his extraordinary biography form a peculiar background to the recent translation by James Lawler of Claudel's collection of prose poems titled Knowing [End Page 229] the East. First published in 1946 as Connaissance de l'est, these sixty-one texts were written between 1895 and 1905 during Claudel's first visits to China and Japan as a young vice-consul stationed in Shanghai. He was twenty-six and still finding his poetic voice. And though his stance in the world is decidedly Christian, the content of this intriguing work reveals an inner dialogue with Buddhist ideas of interconnection, harmony, the ongoing quest for a higher life condition, and the overwhelming impact of nature in the lives of mere humans.In "Pagoda," Claudel describes a seven-story Chinese pagoda as it "amplifies and multiplies the roof, exaggerates the horned corners that rise with an elegant surge, and turns their curves upward to the sky." This form that "does away with walls" and concentrates on the uplifting roof creates a space where "Buddha, Prince of Peace, dwells inside with all the gods." In this architecture he reads a structuring of physical and spiritual space, a kind of never ending upward movement divided into "the seven mystical heavens." The culminating effect is the heavenly achievement of the unknowable. And so, after going as far as he can go into the world of the spirit, he ends this prose poem with an abrupt return to temporal reality. "I have no more to say of the Pagoda. I do not know its name."Elsewhere, in "The Wanderer," he turns his sense of awe toward nature. "Every tree has its personality, every small beast its role, every voice its part in the symphony," he writes. "As one understands music, so I understand nature, like a detailed narrative of proper names; as my walk and the day advance, so does the elaboration of the doctrine." The "doctrine," it seems, is the idea of dependent origination, the interrelation of all life that springs from a single source. In the last line, he states, "I understand the world's harmony. When will I grasp its melody?"In "The Temple of Consciousness" Claudel climbs "the black rock's vertical wall, and only at this late afternoon hour do I know myself to be on the right track." Below, he observes golden rice fields. Ahead there is an "old stairway overlaid with hoary moss... (shrink)

I consider poetry composition from both the “inside” view of a poet and the “outside” view of a cognitive psychologist. From the perspective of a psychologist, I review behavioral and neural studies of the reception and generation of poetry, with emphasis on metaphor and symbolism. Taking the perspective of a poet, I discuss how the seeds for a poem may arise. Finally, I consider the prospects for future developments in a field of computational neurocognitive poetics.

The Body at the Limits of Representation. The Theory of the Body and Painting in Merleau-PontyIn Eye and Mind,” Merleau-Ponty quotes a phrase from Valéry: “the painter brings his body with him.” He interprets the corporeal experience of the artist, not only as the center of a perceptual orientation or kinesthesis, but also as the inspiration for poets and for painters. In this sense, one can place his theory of body not only within the problematic of the phenomenological constitution of (...) the perceived object, but also in the context of the deconstruction of representation or in the genealogy of “de-representation” (Lyotard). By following Merleau-Ponty’s interpretation of the works of Cézanne and Klee, we are going to see how his theory of the experience of body and the formation of their works of art meet up in his consideration of the reversibility of the visible and the invisible. When Merleau-Ponty quotes Valéry’s phrase “the painter brings his body with him,” the body of the artist is no longer “subject-body” perceiving the world in a prosaic way; rather, the body is implicated in the anonymous vision at the source from which the painter’s expression emerges. Just as nature is recounted through the poet, it has the faculty of seeing itself through the painter. In the “Methods of Natural Research,” Klee says “the resonance surpasses all the optical foundations between myself and that which opposes me,” “the united anti-optic way of the root going out of the earth, which looks at me from down below all the way up to my eyes” and of the “united non-optic way of the universe come from above.” He demonstrates that this non-optic resonance, rather than a mirror and a black screen separating the light, allows the eye to be seen as a point of junction of non-optical things and thereby it constitutes a part of the circle created by the new nature of works (eine neue Natürlichkeit des Werkes). Following what is particular to Merleau-Ponty’s thought in which the body is conceived as a principle of de-representation, one sees, by means of his intention of assessing modern artistic creation as the deconstruction of classical ontology, the overcoming of the ontology of the object. In conclusion, we note that the theory of body and of painting in Merleau-Ponty brings to light the limit of the possibility of representation in modern art, by emphasizing especially the non-perception or the transcendence that one can discern in the perceptual field. By interrogating the body of the painter and the poet, that is, the poetic body or the body as symbolism, prior to its being diverted into being a result of the brain and of the libido where the body is no longer the body visible in the world, by doing this, Merleau-Ponty has found a way of placing the body beyond representation. Poièsis is no longer mimèsis in the banal sense of imitation, and the poetic body is not the representational body. But, he has found a way of placing it still in Visibility, as if there were a hinge in this border between the visible and the invisible, in this border between representation and de-representation, a border that one cannot definitively overcome by structuring it as a dichotomy. (De-representation, but the visible. Therefore the possibility of visible de-representation in the artistic creation, in poièsis.) This hinge, which denies us an alternation, is the body, the flesh, which is the condition of thought as ontological interrogation: an ontological interrogation in the age of ir-representation, in the age of the impossibility of representation (Vorstellung) and of poem (Dichtung), in the age of crowds where the image appears as one of my fellow creatures just like the shadow cast by existence.Il corpo ai limiti della rappresentazione. La teoria del corpo e della pittura di Merleau-PontyNe L’occhio e lo spirito Merleau-Ponty cita una frase di Valéry: “il pittore si dà con il suo corpo”. Egli interpreta l’esperienza corporea dell’artista non solo come il centro di un orientamento percettivo o cinestesico, ma anche come motivo d’ispirazione per poeti e per pittori. In questo senso, si può collocare la sua teoria del corpo non solo all’interno della problematica della costituzione fenomenologica dell’oggetto percepito, ma anche nel contesto della decostruzione della rappresentazione o nella genealogia della “derappresentazione” (Lyotard). Seguendo l’interpretazione merleaupontiana delle opere di Cézanne e di Klee, vedremo come la sua teoria dell’esperienza del corpo e la formazione delle loro opere d’arte convergano nella considerazione della reversibilità del visibilee dell’invisibile. Quando Merleau-Ponty cita la frase di Valéry “il pittore si dà con il suo corpo”, il corpo dell’artista non è più un corpo soggettivo che percepisce il mondo in modo prosaico; il corpo è piuttosto implicato nella visione anonima dell’origine dalla quale emerge l’espressione del pittore. In Wege des Naturstudiums, Klee afferma che “la risonanza sorpassa tutti i fondamenti ottici tra me e ciò che mi si oppone”. Egli dimostra che questa risonanza non-ottica, piuttosto che essere uno specchio o uno schermo nero che separa la luce, permette di vedere l’occhio come un punto di giunzione di cose non ottiche e ciò costituisce una parte del circolo creato dalla nuova natura delle opere (eine neue Natürlichkeit des Werkes). Seguendo la particolarità del pensiero merleaupontiano, secondo il quale il corpo è concepito come un principio di de-rappresentazione, si nota, in virtù della sua intenzione di interpretare la creazione nell’arte moderna come la decostruzione dell’ontologia classica, il superamento dell’ontologia oggettivistica. In conclusione, osserviamo come la teoria del corpo e della pittura di Merleau-Ponty chiarisca i limiti della possibilità della rappresentazione nell’arte moderna, enfatizzando l’impercezione o la trascendenza che si può distinguere nel campo percettivo. Interrogando il corpo del pittore e del poeta – il corpo poetico o il corpo come simbolismo, a monte del suo porsi come risultato della mente o della libido, là dove il corpo non è ancora corpo visibile nel mondo – Merleau-Ponty ha trovato il mondo di collocare il corpo al di là della rappresentazione. Poièsis non è più mimesis nel senso banale d’imitazione, e il corpo poetico non è il corpo rappresentativo. Egli ha trovato il modo di posizionare il corpo nella Visibilità, come se esistesse un punto di rovesciamento situato sul confi ne tra visibile ed invisibile, ovvero sul confine tra rappresentazione e de-rappresentazione: un confine che non si può definitivamente superare se lo si continua a strutturare come dicotomia. Questo punto, che ci nega un’alternativa, è il corpo, la carne, che è condizione del pensiero come interrogazione ontologica: un’interrogazione ontologica nell’era dell’ir-rappresentazione, nell’era dell’impossibilità di rappresentare (Vorstellung) o di creare poemi (Dichtung), nell’era delle masse, in cui l’immagine appare come uno dei miei simili, come l’ombra proiettata dall’esistenza. (shrink)

This collection brings together a selection of writings on art by the internationally acclaimed novelist, historian and critic Marina Warner. For 30 years Warner has published widely on a range of art-world subjects and objects, from contemporary installation and film works to paintings by Flemish and Italian Renaissance masters, through Victorian photography and twentieth-century political drawings and prints. Warner's extraordinary curiosity in art and culture is conveyed in writing that is at once poetic and playful, elegant and rigorous, training our (...) eyes on the smallest of details while painting a broad-brushstroke landscape of art past and present. Themes familiar to Warner's readers--myth and fantasy, psychic and sexual experience, the vast and marvelous expanse of the human imagination--are treated in the lectures and articles, stories, interviews and essays contained here, some of which are published for the first time or republished from out-of-print sources. For the first of two volumes, editor Vivian Sky Rehberg has assembled themed sections titled "Playing in the Dark," "Telling Tales" and "Phantom Technologies." Texts include interviews with Tacita Dean and Paula Rego; catalogue essays on Leonora Carrington, Henry Fuseli, Zarina Bhimji, Tony Oursler and Fischli/Weiss; articles on Tracy Emin, Marlene Dumas, Louise Bourgeois; stories for artist's books by Kiki Smith and Helen Douglas; and lectures on Francis Bacon, Hieronymous Bosch and William Kentridge. "The Symbol Gives Rise to Thought" invites us to explore new ways of seeing and engaging with the traces of our artistic heritage. Marina Warner is a writer of fiction, criticism and history. Holder of 12 honorary degrees and two honorary fellowships, Warner is a Fellow of the British Academy and of the Royal Society of Literature. She has judged the The Jerwood Drawing Prize and the Turner Prize; she is a regular broadcaster on the BBC, and has taught and given lectures worldwide, including the National Gallery and ICA, London and the Prado in Madrid; she has delivered the Presidential Lecture at Stanford University and the Carpenter Lecture at Harvard. She has been awarded a CBE, Chevalier de l'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, France and Commendatore dell'Ordine della Stella di Solidareità, Italy. Warner is a winner of the Aby Warburg Prize and a Getty Scholar. Vivian Sky Rehberg is an art historian and critic based in Paris and Rotterdam. A founding editor of "Journal of Visual Culture," she is a contributing editor of "Frieze," and has written for numerous contemporary art publications. Previously Chair of the department of Critical Studies at Parsons Paris School of Art + Design, where she taught modern and contemporary art, Rehberg is currently Course Director for the Masters in Fine Art at Piet Zwart Institute in Rotterdam.. (shrink)

ZusammenfassungTrakl konfrontiert ein materialistisches und ein idealistisches Wirklichkeitskonzept, um die Alltagsrealität als defizient zu kritisieren und auf poetische Weise eine geistige Gegenwirklichkeit orphischer Innerlichkeit zu gewinnen. Er benutzt dazu in Anlehnung an antike und christliche Vorbilder eine traditionelle Bildlichkeit, wonach der Tod als Schattenwelt, das Leben als Traum oder Theaterspiel erscheint, und eine in sich stimmige Symbolik. Zuletzt aber scheitert auch diese rein subjektive Sinnsuche der Erinnerung an bessere Zeiten an der unheilbaren Sinnlosigkeit der sozialen und kulturellen Gegenwart.Trakl confronts a (...) materialistic and an idealistic concept of reality in order to criticize everyday life as deficient and to poetically gain a spiritual counter-reality of orphic inwardness. He uses, based on antique and christian models, a traditional imagery, according to which death appears as a world of shadows, life as a dream or play, and a coherent symbolism. Ultimately, however, this purely subjective search for meaning through the memory of better times fails because of the incurable senselessness of the social and cultural present. (shrink)

If we return to the experiences of our youth, we perceive what had the power to awaken our curiosity and ambitions*. The non-conformism of the Surrealists was fostered by Romantic sources and every conceivable symbolism; even if in a roundabout manner, it was through them that the names of Klee and Kandinsky were first heard. The world of the marvellous, the only one decreed worthy of attention, opened out onto painting. The moderns of the group: Dali, Tanguy, Masson, received first (...) prize for poetic adventure, but they harked back to certain selected precursors—rightly or wrongly—for the same gifts that they had themselves: Uccello, Bosch, Dürer, Blake, and Gustave Moreau. And indeed, by retaining only the unexpected, the fantastic, and (often indulgently) the scandalous, a taste was maintained for emotional shock and association, as exemplified by the sustained style of André Breton, and the more supple prose of Aragon. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.1 (2001) 142-154 [Access article in PDF] Critical Discussions The Fortunes of Avant-Garde Poetry Mary Anne O'Neil Invisible Fences. Prose Poetry as a Genre in French and American Literature, by Steven Monte; xii & 298 pp. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000, $50.00. Modern Visual Poetry, by Willard Bohn; 321 pp. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2000, $47.00. The situation of French poetry at the turn (...) of the twenty-first century is far different from what it was during the last fin de siècle. In 1900, poetry was a booming art, and France was home to numerous poets of varied inspiration and expression. The religious verse of Claudel and Péguy shared the attention of the reading public with the philosophical poetry of Valéry and the futuristic celebrations of Paris and modern life found in Apollinaire's Alcools and Calligrammes. Long poems, short poems, poems written in standard verse, free verse, prose, and even published as drawings, suggested that the golden age of poetry begun in the early nineteenth century by the Romantics and continued after 1850 by Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud, and Mallarmé, would not soon come to an end. This indeed proved to be the case, for the heirs of the Symbolist tradition of the first decade of the twentieth century were soon followed by the Surrealist revolutionaries of the 1920s and 1930s, many of whom directed their talents to the composition of political verse at the time of the Second World War. Political poetry by and large disappeared from France after 1950, only to be [End Page 142] succeeded over the next two decades by two very different types of verse. On the one hand, writers like St. John Perse and Pierre Jean Jouve produced difficult works whose appeal was limited to a sophisticated audience, while lyricists, such as Jacques Prévert and even the songwriter Georges Brassens, made poetry more accessible to the general public, often through popular songs. The fact that, during the days of May 1968, students scrawled verses of the Surrealist-Communist poet Paul Eluard on the walls of the Sorbonne to encourage efforts to bring down the social order attests to the power exerted by poetry on the intellectual life of France well into the second half of the twentieth century. Such, however, is no longer the case today. There are only two well-known living French poets, Francis Ponge and Yves Bonnefoy. While reviews dedicated to original poetry do still exist, especially in the south of France where the poetic arm of the French Resistance was most active in the 1940s, poetry attracts many fewer readers--and fewer writers--than it did even fifty years ago.Such a radical change merits some reflection. What has happened to French poetry since the mid-twentieth century? In a sense, all good things must come to an end sometime, and a century and a half of inventiveness and poetic energy may simply have run its natural course. French publishing houses, well aware that prose sells better than verse, have done little to encourage young poets. However, certain trends in the subject matter and form of contemporary French poetry have probably contributed to the current lack of interest. Since the end of the Second World War, French poets have concerned themselves almost uniquely with everyday life--common objects, geographical locales, and ordinary people. This obsession with the ordinary has produced some excellent poetry, especially René Char's evocations of Provençal landscapes and Yves Bonnefoy's treatments of childhood. Yet, this concentration on everyday life has severed poetry from the traditional subjects that have sustained it ever since classical antiquity, such as the celebration of heroic figures and heroic deeds, philosophical and religious inquiry, love, loss, prophetic vision. This very narrow range of subject risks consigning poetry to the status of a minor art. At the turn of the twenty-first century, French poetry also finds itself at the end of a very long period of formal experimentation that began in the second half of the nineteenth century and which includes... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Crystal Order That Is Most Concrete:The Wittgenstein HouseHui Zou (bio)IntroductionIn the instruction of architectural history, some historical references have to be mentioned in terms of the relationship between building and language. In Chapter I, Book II, of The Ten Books on Architecture, the ancient Roman theorist Vitruvius discussed the "origin of the dwelling house." According to him, the "primitive hut" originated from the gathering of men around a (...) fire through communicating in language.1 In the primitive hut, the origin of architecture was co-presented with the origin of language; the language helped establish a harmonic relationship, which developed builders' construction collectivity. Such a language-collectivity relationship was witnessed in the record of the Tower of Babel in the biblical scripture where the Lord decided to stop the human beings' construction of the tower by "confus[ing] their language there."2 During the Renaissance, the alphabetic language and the design of buildings were correlated through the application of geometry that was supposed to embody the "divine proportion." In the Franciscan professor Luca Pacioli's book On Divine Proportion, letters of the alphabet were geometricized to become objects of contemplation for tracing "God's light."3 In Chinese gardens, there has been a long tradition of naming a specific view with a poetical phrase that thematicized the scene into a meaningful unity of the view and the viewer—jing.4 In all these historical cases, language and building were integrated into a cosmological picture grounded in divine transcendence.After the modernism in architectural history of the 1960s and 1970s, a loss of meaning in architecture was widely observed,5 and the interrelationship between language and architectural design began to emerge as a prominent issue. Several trends in architectural theories during the 1960s and 1970s studied how meaning was created through architectural design. One was the post-modern development in architecture that sought to apply classic architectural elements to the facades of new buildings as gestures to [End Page 22] the past.6 Another trend was phenomenological, which attempted to discover a common language of building contexts that led to building humanized living environments.7 Yet another trend was to apply linguistic approaches to the rational methodology of architectural analysis.8 The analogy of building with language was provoked by an impelling sense of the crisis that the traditional embodied order was being lost in the prevalent instrumentalized practice of architecture.The predicament of the loss of meaning in contemporary architecture can be traced as far back in philosophy as the splitting of mind and body proposed by René Descartes in the seventeenth century. This split began to distance architecture from its traditional embodiment of transcendental meanings in the second half of the eighteenth century9 and finally led to the division of the metaphysical and physical parts in modern architecture, especially after the industrialization of the nineteenth century. Correspondingly, language became an instrumental means for architecture to impose posterior "ideas" to the material bodies of buildings rather than acting as an inherent component of architectural design for the creation of meaning in architecture. The desire for meanings in modern architecture, based on the split of the metaphysical and physical, theoretically catered to linguistic research, such as semiotics, and tended to define architecture as a symbol. The linguistic structure of signifier-signified was, however, coarsely transplanted into architectural theory and reduced architectural symbolism to a simple dualism of idea and form in which the former was usually arbitrarily applied to the latter by a designer. Such an arbitrary imposition of external "meanings" onto an architectural form through language intensified their separation, which in turn produced nihilism in architecture.The lessons learned from the transplantation of linguistic studies into architectural theories remind us that we need to pay close attention to the historical events that could open up the interaction between language and building and reveal the "fundamental linguistic character of our experience of the world" in Gadamer's sense.10 A house designed and built by Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951) provides a unique case for us to contemplate this issue. My historical study of the Wittgenstein House is not to understand Wittgenstein's subjective intentions... (shrink)

The article is devoted to the reconstitution of the mythological worldview of the well-known European Symbolist writer Maurice Maeterlinck based on his famous drama ‘Princess Maleine’ that made a great impact on the development of the ‘new drama’ in the end of the 19th century. This analysis is performed in the context of the study of the symbolist semiotic system in French-speaking tradition. The lingua-poetic and mythopoeic intertextual analysis done, we have found that the mythological model in the (...) play is functioning with a large system of mythological structures and semantic patterns. The locus of ‘Princess Maleine’ is marked as Hades World and its inhabitants are connoting the mythical concept BAD LUCK. Only two actors, the protagonists Maleine and Hjalmar are connoted not only by the morbid semantics but also as the correlates of the astral world. Their death in Hades makes possible the eschatological catastrophe leading to the neutralization of the killers whereas the infernal semantics is neutralized and the cosmos tends to the restoring of harmony symbolized by the coming of the new day and of the new year. Besides, the protagonists are considered to be the sacred sacrifice to change the semantics of the mythological concept BAD LUCK to the harmonized GOOD LUCK. Three mythological models are reconstructed: LIFE with positive connotation, LIFE with negative connotation and DEATH with positive connotation. The projection of the play is modeled by the movement from the positively and negatively connoted concept LIFE to the positively connoted concept DEATH that is a distinctive sign of Symbolist conception of ‘tragic optimism’ developed by Maeterlinck. (shrink)

The purpose of this article is to construct a critique of some works by the French artist Lucy Schwob, better known as Claude Cahun, who was active between 1910 and 1950. A writer and photographer, Cahun was at first very close to symbolist positions; later she was closer to the surrealist movement. Her work and her life, continually suspended between genders, and between ‘normality’ and ‘deviance’, have so far been analysed mainly through gender studies. This article attempts to restore (...) the inherent complexity of her poetic work and aesthetic. It tries to widen the field of study to deal with the representation of alterity, through reversing the stereotypical representation. (shrink)

Our greatest certainty and greatest mystery is our mortality. In this book, Steven M. Rosen explores the profound mystery of death and rebirth from psychological, philosophical, and alchemical perspectives. To model, embody, and contain the paradoxical transformations involved in the death-rebirth enigma, Rosen employs a paradoxical form of mathematics: the topology of the Moebius strip and Klein bottle. As we follow this alchemical odyssey, the author makes himself transparent through his dreams and brings himself tangibly into his text so as (...) to enact a dialectic of ego and Self. "In tackling the subject of death and rebirth Steven Rosen writes about our modern state of mind, how we got like this and where we need to go from here. He does all this with a psychotherapeutic insight that begins with his own subjectivity--and his own dreams--and ends with the subjectivity of the modern world. Using myths, dreams, and alchemical symbolism as well as psychological research and Jungian insights, Rosen speaks to us all from the self and the Self. A book to be read immediately, and then read again." --Christopher Hauke, Jungian analyst and author of Jung and the Postmodern: The Interpretation of Realities "How does a mental-spiritual ego, the creation of our post-Renaissance world, embrace the body as a living partner? In Dreams, Death, Rebirth, Steven M. Rosen offers a topological analysis that meets the challenge of this daunting endeavor. It is a remarkable accomplishment, and vital for the advancement of psychotherapy." --Nathan Schwartz-Salant, Jungian analyst and author of The Black Nightgown: The Fusional Complex and the Unlived Life Steven M. Rosen is professor emeritus of psychology at the College of Staten Island of the City University of New York. After receiving his PhD in psychology in 1971, he began exploring the foundations, frontiers, and poetics of science, and his work became transdisciplinary and philosophical in nature. His essays have appeared in journals and collections spanning the fields of psychology, philosophy, theoretical physics, education, semiotics, and ecology. He is the author of Science, Paradox, and the Moebius Principle (1994), Dimensions of Apeiron (2004), Topologies of the Flesh (2006), and The Self-Evolving Cosmos (2008). (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Notes and Discussions PARMENIDES THE PROPHET~ The latest word on Parmenides comes from a recent and exhaustive study by Leonardo Tar~n. 1 Among other illuminating and novel interpretations, Tarhn argues that Parmenides was not, after all, guilty of the confusion between the existential and copulative senses of "to be," that he did not identify thinking with Being, and that he had no conception of atemporal reality.~ In these and (...) other respects Tar~n's volume makes a valuable contribution to our understanding of Parmenides. One might judge, however, that Tars work is unusually insensitive to the religious element in Parmenides' poem, and in this respect his analysis seems to echo Reinhardt's unfortunate judgment which calls Parmenides "einen Denker, der keinen Wunsch kennt als Erkenntnis, keine Fessel ffihlt als Logik, den Gott und Geffihl gleichgiiltig lassen." s This inadequacy of TarAn's approach to Parmenides is evident in his treatment of the poem in general, and especially the prologue. The prologue to Parmenides' poem has always been a source of debate. After exploring and rejecting the allegorical interpretation of Sextus (the main source for the proem), Tar~n then systematically examines and rejects the modern interpretations which (among others) make it out to be a shamanistic rapture (Diels, Cornford), Orphic apocalypse (Burnet), religious revelation (Jaeger, Bowra), and mystical experience (Verdenius).4 TarAn judges that Parmenides did not intend his journey to be taken as a reality in any sense, largely on the grounds (1) that Parmenides speaks of his journey as a repeated experience. To take seriously the iterative expressions of the prologue (e.g. fr. 1, lines 1, 3, 8) is incompatible with interpretations which construe it to refer to a specific occasion.6 He supports the conclusion that the proem is nothing more than a literary device with the observations (2) that symbolic interpretations are incongruous with the fact that the goddess expounds her doctrine without symbols, and (3) that the appeal is to Logos, the rational, critical faculty; (4) that the goddess remains anonymous shows that she stands for no religious figure at all ("the 'revelation' is the truth discovered by Parmenides himself"); and (5) that Parmenides could hardly expect us to take seriously the reality of the goddess and other elements in the proem, the reality of which would be entirely incompatible with the thesis of the poem, viz. that reality is One and that all multiplicity and distinction is unreal. ~ z Parmenides: A Text with Translation, Commentary, and Critical Essays (Princeton, 1965). See my review of this work in The Classical Journal, LXII (1967),232ff. aParmenides und die Geschiehtc der griechischen Philosophic (Bonn, 1916),p. 256. 4TarGn,p. 17ft.Guthrie believes that Parmenides recognized an affinity between his search for truth, and his religious activity and mystical experience, and that he reflected this in his mystical-allegorical prologue (History of Greek Philosophy [Cambridge, 1965],II, 13). Guthrie was not, apparently, aware of Ta~n's work when he wrote his second volume; and on the matter of the prologue he favors the work of Mansfeld (Offenbarung des Parmenides und die menschlichc Welt [Assen, 1964],chap. IV), and Bowra ("The Proem of Parmenides," Classical Philology, XXXII [1987],97ff). Tar~n, p. 30. * P. 30f. [67] 68 HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY It is probably true that interpretations which find all sorts of religious elements in the proem (and the poem as a whole) go too far. On the other hand, Tar~n gives the impression that Parmenides was nothing more than a pedantic academician, and in this respect he tends to sin in the opposite direction. First, the possible religious significance of the prologue does not depend on its being taken to refer to a literal experience; but even if it did, it need not refer to a specific event; and even if that were so, it is a little forced to exclude a specific event in view of the iterative expressions which may be no more than a function of poetic style. As for his second charge, Tar~n seems unaware that the main part of the poem hardly lends itself to symbolic expression, and afortiori the prologue, with its symbolism, sets the religious mood for... (shrink)

The Culex remains the most bewildering of poems. The consensus of modern opinion holds that it is a deliberate forgery, post-Ovidian in date, purporting to be a work of the youthful Virgil and thus serving to fill the large biographical vacuum in the career of the poet before the publication of the Eclogues. If this is the case, it must be asked why the forger chose to fill that gap with a poem thematically and stylistically so idiosyncratic which nevertheless managed (...) to gain ready acceptance as Virgilian by the end of the first century A.D. This is a very large question, but in postulating the close dependence of parts of the poem on Cornelius Gallus , particularly on his symbolism of poetic inspiration , I hope to go some of the way towards providing an answer . If this article is directed primarily at the problem of the Culex, I would like to think it makes a contribution also to the much more important study of Gallus, whose reputation has suffered somewhat since the publication of those wretched lines from Qasr Ibrîm. Yet, if not a single line of his work had survived, the one thing we could say of his poetry with confidence is that it inspired. Anyone trying to make an assessment of Gallus' poetic achievement should first make a close study of Virgil's Sixth and Tenth Eclogues and then ask whether fragments have ever formed a firm basis for the evaluation of an author's work. Rehabilitation should not be necessary. (shrink)

This article explores a unique relationship between iconicity and metaphor: that seen in creative sign language, where iconic properties abound at all levels of linguistic representation. We use the idea of “iconic superstructure” to consider the way that metaphoric meaning is generated through the iconic properties of creative sign language. We focus on the interaction between the overall contextual force and individual elements that build up symbolism in sign language poetry. Evidence presented from the anthology of British Sign Language poetry (...) demonstrates that metaphoric meaning is not inherent in signs. What is inherent is iconic value—and purely iconic signs become metaphorical when situated in a certain poetic context. (shrink)

The purpose of this article is to reflect on selected works of Aleksander Watt placed in the context of De imitatione Christi by Thomas à Kempis and to verify the view that suffering functions in the consciousness and poetic imagination of the writer as a value conducive to the spiritual development of the individual. The author analyzes the poet’s memoirs in order to show how reading the book he discovered during WWII, while exiled in Kazakhstan, influenced Wat’s choices and attitudes, (...) or his perception of the decisions he made. Then the article interprets the poetic texts that emphasize the theme of suffering and following Jesus Christ. The Wiersze somatyczne [Somatic Poems] cycle is discussed, on top of Wat’s works based on the symbolism of the crown of thorns and the death on the cross, the excerpts from his drama Kobiety z Monte Olivetto [The Women of Monte Olivetto], and the poem with the incipit “U szczytu antynomij….” [At the top of antinomies...], which is formed into the shape of the cross. The researcher reads them in a hermeneutical way in the course of which she analyzes the symbols and biblical allusions, associates literary metaphors with autobiographical traces of the poet’s experiences, and uncovers the connection between the texts of the two authors. The main thesis of the article is that in the discussed works, there is a dolorous theme – that is, one in which suffering is exposed and presented as an ethically valuable experience. A reading of a number of works in which pain, depicted in various ways, is at the same time a reminiscence of the poet’s own physical and mental anguish and a reference to the Passion of Christ, allows one to conclude that for the author of Wiersze śródziemnomorskie [The Mediterranean Poems], suffering is a state of spiritual transformation that brings man closer to the sphere of the sacred. The author ultimately concludes that, in light of the work of Thomas à Kempis, Wat’s dolorism appears as a modern interpretation of the idea of following Christ, marked by the necessity of being different from Him. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The War with God: Theomachy in Roman Imperial Poetry by Pramit ChaudhuriMartin T. DinterPramit Chaudhuri. The War with God: Theomachy in Roman Imperial Poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. xvi + 386 pp. Cloth, $74.We are all fighting our own demons, but some of us—so Chaudhuri tells us—are even fighting our own gods. Accordingly, a wide range of theomachs and their representation in classical literature fills the ranks (...) of this excellent book that will certainly elbow its way onto Mt. Olympus to sit comfortably next to divine Feeney (1991 and 1998) and sublime Hardie (1986 and 1993). Indeed, Chaudhuri transcends the scope of Feeney (1991) by including not only Senecan (and Attic) tragedy but also texts and contexts ranging from panegyric to philosophy and from lyric to historiography.Chaudhuri’s book falls into three parts. Its first three chapters cover theomachy in Greek poetry (Homer and Attic tragedy), as well as the development of theomachy in Augustan epic, with chapters on Lucretius and Vergil and Ovid. Here, Chaudhuri introduces some of the main patterns and contexts that will be developed in later imperial poetry. Chaudhuri also states clearly what will not be covered here at length: the voyage myths of the Odyssey and the Argonauts, Aristophanes’ Birds, and the (pseudo-) Aeschylean Prometheus Bound. Part 2 covers Neronian literature with Seneca’s Hercules Furens and Lucan, while Part 3 focuses on the Flavian era, with Silius and Statius. Statius’ Capaneus forms a highpoint amongst the theomachs and thus deservedly receives extra attention. Chaudhuri rounds off the Flavian section with a chapter on the politics [End Page 177] of theomachy, in which he samples theomachy as a trope for the confrontation between subject and ruler, ruler and god, rival emperors and the confrontation of dynasties. After all, the Flavian poets had witnessed the principate develop over time, the struggles for the throne, and the rise and fall of dynasties. This is followed by a titillating epilogue showcasing how the themes developed in the previous chapters that breach the divide between mortal and immortal (such as fame, equanimity, skepticism, and poetic and imperial apotheosis) echo through the centuries. Rarely, however, do we find simple didactic moralism. Instead, “the theomach is instrumental in generating a dialogue on the broader symbolism of fighting the gods, its stakes and implications” (323). Chaudhuri can but hint at the rich afterlife of the theomach across Europe from the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries, a subject that would fill a second volume. He nevertheless whets the reader’s appetite by pointing to Milton’s Paradise Lost and Samson Agonistes, Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, Christopher Marlowe’s Tamburlaine, Dante’s Inferno, and Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, as well as a host of epigraphs to each chapter, and concludes with a glance at the twentieth and twenty-first centuries with Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, Richard Dawkins versus God, and modern physicists’ search for a God particle.Chaudhuri sets the volume off by contrasting theomachy with gigantomachy. While the feats of the Giants “remain far distant in time from the activities of humankind … the theomach speaks the language of humanity … offering a richer context for his radical aspirations and … inviting the audience to adopt an alternative view on the theological status quo” (5). He also places theomachy in its cultural context when he follows Momigliano’s (1984) suggestion that under Augustus poetry replaced antiquarianism and philosophy as the primary genre in which to think about the gods. The figure of the contemptor divum (despiser of the gods) thus comes to embody the contrast between piety and impiety which itself is grounded in the empirical basis of Roman religion. But rather than testing methods of communication with the divine, as the Romans so often did with divinatory practices and ritual protocols, the contemptor divum tackles the question of whether it is possible to know the divine at all and whether the gods even exist. “By placing these conflicts at the heart of their works, the epic poets expanded the cultural conversation to include the testing of the divine in the Romans’ attempts to make sense of the epistemological, theological, and political concerns pertaining... (shrink)

Abstract:This article enquires into a transcultural aesthetic: bi-xing (inspired metaphor) in China and symbolic representation in the West, which share the common logic of correlative thinking. By examining its earliest provenance in the Zhouyi (Book of Changes) and Shijing(Book of Songs) in China's high antiquity in relation to divination, symbolization, and poetic creation in the West, it argues that this aesthetic arose from omen readings in divination, went through symbolism in linguistic representation, and became a poetic principle in aesthetic thought. (...) It concludes that correlative thinking was an approach to knowledge production and conception in traditional thought across cultures. (shrink)

The aim of this article is to show the influence of Jacques Maritain’s philosophical work Art et scolastique on the young Czesław Miłosz and his work, and how it shaped the poet’s views on art in subsequent years. The author analyzes Maritain’s work on art in the context of theology and Miłosz’s articles published between the two world wars. In terms of methodology, the article draws on the concept of intertextuality, pointing to the dependence of the poet’s thinking during this (...) period on that of the French philosopher. Maritain’s aesthetic creationism was seen by some inter-war literary critics, including Miłosz himself, as a third way between the mimetic aesthetics or art in the service of ideas and the “angelism” of symbolic art and art for art’s sake. In Maritain’s aesthetics, the writer found a system of concepts through which he opened himself up to issues related to human spirituality, ontology and religion. Maritain’s distinction between the purpose of the work and the purpose of the maker directed Miłosz’s attention to the author, as one that has been singled out as bound to strive for self-improvement and self-development. To a much lesser extent, this concept influenced his poetics. His works written in the twenty-year interwar period are saturated with dark symbolism and modernistic mannerisms. (shrink)

"Fractal" is a term coined by mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot to denote the geometry of nature, which traces inherent order in chaotic shapes and processes. Fractal concepts are part of our emerging vocabulary and can be useful in identifying patterns of human behavior, culture, and history, while enhancing our understanding of the nature of consciousness. According to William J. Jackson, the more one studies fractals, the more apparent their connections to the humanities become. In the recursive patterns of religious music, in (...) temple architecture in India, in cathedral structures in Europe and America, in the imagery of religious literature depicting infinity and abundance, and in poetic descriptions of the nature of consciousness, fractal-like configurations are pervasive. Recognition of this structure, which is also found in social organizations and ritual symbolism, requires only that one develop "an eye for fractals" by studying the work of researchers and observing nature. One then begins to see that the separation of humanities and science is convenient oversimplification, not an ultimate fact. Includes a DVD of animated fractals. (shrink)

Beyond the eras a dialogue seems to have been established between Bruegel the Elder (1525-1569) and Antonin Artaud (1896-1948). The poet’s wonder at the « painting of the North », both realistic and emblematic, reveals his deepest ideal as an artist : painting, a « magical » operation, deploys a power of expression based on signs and no longer on words, which the theatre is also called upon to seize. The juxtaposition of Bruegel’s Triumph of Death and a famous drawing (...) by Artaud, Le Théâtre de la cruauté [The Theatre of Cruelty], highlights the striking convergences between the two artists. Through their pictorial works, both of them renew over the centuries the funerary and mythical symbolism of death, inherited from the macabre scenes of medieval paintings, but also from ancient times. Studying the references to theatrical iconography in Bruegel’s painting, where carnival and crudity of death reinforce each other, allows us to deepen the meaning of these resonances. For the two artists, form and poetic momentum meet so that representation, as a structure common to painting and theatre, fixes a moment of the world, while animating that moment to infinity, thanks to signs conceived as « true hieroglyphs » (Artaud), a problem that Michel Foucault associated with the strongest truth that the experience of madness carries. (shrink)

Research on the relation between sound and meaning in language has reported substantial evidence for implicit associations between articulatory–acoustic characteristics of phonemes and emotions. In the present study, we specifically tested the relation between the acoustic properties of a text and its emotional tone as perceived by readers. To this end, we asked participants to assess the emotional tone of single stanzas extracted from a large variety of poems. The selected stanzas had either an extremely high, a neutral, or an (...) extremely low average formant dispersion. To assess the average formant dispersion per stanza, all words were phonetically transcribed and the distance between the first and second formant per vowel was calculated. Building on a long tradition of research on associations between sound frequency on the one hand and non‐acoustic concepts such as size, strength, or happiness on the other hand, we hypothesized that stanzas with an extremely high average formant dispersion would be rated lower on items referring to Potency (dominance) and higher on items referring to Activity (arousal) and Evaluation (emotional valence). The results confirmed our hypotheses for the dimensions of Potency and Evaluation, but not for the dimension of Activity. We conclude that, at least in poetic language, extreme values of acoustic features of vowels are a significant predictor for the emotional tone of a text. (shrink)

Reproduced with the kind permission of the author. Currently available in the collection I Looked Alive . © 2010 The Brooklyn Rail/Black Square Editions | ISBN 978-1934029-07-7 Originally published 2003 Four Walls Eight Windows. continent. 1.1 (2011): 43-51. Introduction Ben Segal What interests me is instigated language, language dishabituated from its ordinary doings, language startled by itself. I don't know where that sort of interest locates me, or leaves me, but a lot of the books I see in the stores (...) seem to lack language entirely. Gary Lutz (2006). This issue of continent.'s fiction section features a reprint of “This Is Nice of You” from the first edition of Gary Lutz's collection I Looked Alive . That book was originally released by Four Walls Eight Windows in 2003 and has since been reissued in 2010 by The Brooklyn Rail/Black Square Editions. Calamari Press has also reissued Lutz's Stories in the Worst Way (originally published by Knopf, largely forgotten and dismissed, and then re-issued by the too-short-lived 3rd Bed). “This Is Nice of You” was edited for the re-issue of I Looked Alive and, as the original book is out of print, the earlier version of the story has been hard to come by for some time. This initial version is a bit longer than the new version—Lutz is a master of tightening down his texts to their most linguistically intensified cores—but it is in no way sloppy. It is a great privilege for continent. to be able to make available rare texts of (first) aesthetic and (second) scholarly value. For those readers unfamiliar with Gary Lutz, I believe this story will serve as a worthy introduction. Like Raymond Carver, Diane Williams, Christine Schutt, and so many other important twentieth century and contemporary short story writers, Lutz studied with and was edited by Gordon Lish. This connection is apparent in his attention to sound and the sentence as compositional unit, but Lutz's is a unique voice. “This Is Nice of You” bears Lutz's trademark torqued and turning syntax, his sexed-but-nameless characters, his rendering of the human body and its emissions as utterly discomfiting. Lutz's preoccupations with the mundane raise ordinariness, via startling language and observation, to grandiosity and grotesquery. In the fall of 2008, Lutz delivered a lecture entitled “The Sentence is a Lonely Place” to writing students at Columbia University. The lecture was later printed in The Believer (and is linked below). In it, he spoke about the importance of the sentence as a compositional unit, as even the distinguishing formal characteristic of prose. Specifically, Lutz explained that, from Lish, he had developed a "poetics of the sentence." Accordingly, Lutz constructs his stories at the level of the sentence, paying extreme attention to the material of words- their letters and their sounds- and the way they abut one another and interact on this material level even before they are employed in the service of traditional aims of fiction like meaning or story. Lutz often uses a(n almost constraint-related) technique called consecution. Letters or sounds from one word are carried forward into the following, producing drama and movement in the language itself at a level entirely apart from that of plot. For example, you can see how the 't's in the first sentence of “This Is Nice of You” repeat fast and hard through met and then soften into the 'th's of brothers and they. This close attention to the specific material and characteristic conditions of prose means that Gary Lutz's work always involves both a happening in language and of language. “This Is Nice of You” has a richness and depth that is hidden not in symbolism or obscure reference but on the surface of the page, in the language of every sentence. FURTHER READING Lutz, Gary. “ The Sentence Is a Lonely Place. ” The Believer January, 2009. Web. Short stories and excerpts at Web del Sol . Web. Taylor, Justin. “ An Interview with Gary Lutz .” Bookslut. July, 2006. Web. THIS IS NICE OF YOU [156] [1] I was a man dropping already well through my forties, filthy with myself, when, taking a turn at the toilets one afternoon, I met two brothers-they said they were brothers-who swore they had a sister, a schoolteacher, an officer of instruction at the county college, a whirlwind midlife turmoil of everything already put to ruin, who had gone off from a new marriage in an old car, an upkept and ennobling sedan, but had returned now to the apartment and [157] was living there alone with the little runoff there was from the marriage-some outcurved appliances, apparently, and low-posted furniture promoting its own mystery but becoming figurable in certain concentrations of TV light-and, above all, a telephone (on a pedestal, they insisted), the handpiece of which she gripped in lieu of exercise, or in fury, and I thus let out my little, reliable cry that I was in fact a student of the telephone, that it was a debasing apparatus in the main, with its meager economy of bells and tones, and the intimacy of the mouthpiece that sent your breath, tiny aftervapors of it, back toward your lips, so that regardless of the party accepting the outgoing products of your voice, you were, at most, in a further, rivaling exchange with yourself alone, and this is what must have brought the two of them around, the men who proclaimed brotherhood with the woman, because they offered me her phone number, put it at my disposal on a piece of paper one of them had already committed it to, a tearing from a menu, and the looks the men were now giving me had deletions in them, already, of my exact, beanpole shape and size. So off I went to a pay phone, the nearest canopied one I could find. The woman answered after the second ring and said she needed a lift right that very moment into the little, unlevel city close by. She was idling in the doorway of the building when I pulled up in front, and I helped her into the car, then got back in myself. I had always had a way of not having to look at people that nonetheless brought them to me in full, and so I still am certain of the susceptive and impressible comp-[158]lexion, the shimmer on the mouth, a lipstick of low brilliance, a difficulty around the eyes, the hair short and rayed out exclamation ally, skin bagged up over the elbow bone, conflict even in how her arms stayed at her sides—in sum, a spinal loveliness for me, an off-blonde quantity with shadowed, thumbworn hollows that put me out of as much as I might have ever known of women before. I set the two of us into the narrow traffic, and I remember telling her, by way of explaining the little burden which I had shifted, by now, from the shelf of the dashboard and onto my lap, that when you lived in filth, as I then did, a daily newspaper came to count for a lot, although instead of the thick-supplemented local paper I bought a trimmer one from a backlying town—not, of course, for any affluences of native data it carried, but as an article of house ware: a rough immaculacy in four lank sections, a set of fresh, hygienic surfaces to come between the table, say, and whatever I had going for me at the table, if the table was where I was going forward—because what else so cheap comes so clean and far-spreading? The woman told me that her own trouble with paper was that through a modest hole, no larger than a quarter, that had been drilled a foot or so above the floor (the standard height, she had reasoned, of legitimate electrical outlets), and by means of which her faculty office had at last gained communication with the roomier but unoccupied office next door, more and more often shot a single sheet of paper, plain copier paper she had rolled just barely into a tube, [159] so that after landing on the floor of the neighboring office the paper would preserve little if any of the curl, and there would be nothing written or typed on it, of course, and it was always a blank sheet that had been ageing on her desk for some time and had already been moved around, or advanced, from station to station on the desktop, coming into further creaselets and crimps and other infirmities—paper, in short, still too bare and unfraught to be thrown responsibly and forgettably away, and yet too seasoned and beset with irritations of the surface (a molelike blemish, say, or what looked like a tiny hair, an eyelash, sunk into it, or frecklings, or notational pressings of a fingernail), too wrought, in sum, for the paper to be appointed to any secure curricular purpose. Her office, she claimed, was in fact full of such paper, much-handled and singularized sheets of it by the loose, functionless hundred. I had to get it across to the woman that I myself no longer had an office, or any other place to divide me reliably from everybody else, and that for much of the daylight I thus appeared to be among people because I kept putting myself where people came together into even closer-fitting assortments, the viewing areas and showrooms and rotundas and such: I took in the lean-to look of the women, the tongues coming and going in what the men kept thinking of to say—whole families of low knees for me to bark my shins against during the crowded and involving way out. At home afterward, in the one room where my life was packed down, I would keep my nose stuck in the safehold of the phone [160] book, where the names of people suffered reduction to mere episodes of the alphabet and underwent humbling declensions down every column (Lail, Lain, Laine, Lainerd), and he names of streets, of the towns and townships, got docked in crude, heedless abbreviations (the vowels almost always the first to get poked out), and I would run my eyes over the telephone numbers themselves, each sequence of digits another fallible run of the infinite. I thus corrected my feelings for people and assembled myself emotionally into whatever else I had at hand—the obligating arms of the clothes hangers, usually, or the keen-angled understructure, the guardian legginess, of the ironing board. The woman said that in her case, though, it was more a matter of making slow circuits of the classroom where she had to put across the Emporial Sciences, retail theory and methods, to heat-giving and suggestive young women, some of them world cruelties already. There was the cooing of empty stomachs in the hour just before lunch, and the braying and fizzle of loaded stomachs in the low hours of the afternoon. She would recite her notes in a voice barely loyal to anyone octave, a tiny alluvium of slaver hardening at the corners of her mouth on the days she gave the glassy lozenges a slow, warming suck, and she would take lowering notice of how whatever she said succumbed at once to freak spellings and razzing paraphrase in the big, dividered notebooks; and because in midafternoon light the world looked as thorough, as filled in, as it was ever going to get, a better way to set about ruining her eyes was to review how hair had [161] established itself on the arms of the young women, because almost every arm had brought across itself a welcome and diversifying shadow. On one girl it would be a fine, driftless haze afloat above the white of the arm, never seeming to touch down on the skin itself. (An atmosphere, at most, of chestnut brown.) On another, it was as if copper wire, the narrowmost lengthlets of it, had been stuck into the fleshy batter of the thick, freckled forearms. On a third: a field of it–wheat-colored, thin-spun. On a fourth; a differencing, darkish updrift that shaded off as it approached the inner bend of the elbow, then re-emerged at the base of the upper arm as whiskery fringe. On others it was a brassy or rust-colored frizz, or it was as coarse as cornsilk, or it looked fussed on, as if the arm had been slowly stroked with charcoal. But here the woman broke off, or I may well have made an interruption of my own—I think I must have asked whether she was hungry, and she said if I was, and so on one of the lesser streets I parked the car and led her down into a belowstairs eating house I still remembered. Sandwiches were presently lowered in front of us. I watched her remove the festooned toothpick from hers and then play her fingers over the toasted planes before she took a fond first bite. "This is nice of you," she said. I must have looked at her in the way I then had of getting people to speak so they would not seem to be dwelling any longer on my features, because if on the well-set face the mouth and eyes are said to seem frozen in elegant orbit about the til) of the nose, then mine was a face that behold-[162]ers, regarders, could not help trying to round off with greater success, to goad the particulars of it back into the arcs they had wandered away from—the mouth, for instance, having been pursed and pinched suchwise that it seemed resident more on one side of the face than the other—and there were other signs of original strife to be busied with (slapdash eyebrows unbunched, it appeared, from reserves of hair elsewhere on my person; a showing of adult acne, a shrivelly little relevance of it, confined to the declivity of my nose); and so to be polite, the woman thus sank her gaze into her sandwich, and told me, in a voice lowered accordingly, that, one late-childhood summer, she had devoted herself to collecting postage stamps: it was a tongue-involving sideline to early-arriving puberty, and she liked having to lick the pale, gummed hinges instead of the sticky backs of the stamps themselves before entering everything into the hosting album; and once, during some foul weather between her and a brother (the older, thrown-over one, who had already made a habit of fooling the underside of his arm across the top of hers and calling her "pussified"), she reached for the shoe box in which she had let duplicate stamps accumulate—Spanish ones, mostly, of a fading orange—and sent the box slooshing through the lower air so that the stamps showered onto the brother's bare legs with a full, delicate harm. The woman was now touching up the surface of her iced tea with tiny activities, initiatives, of the longspun spoon. I myself was good at getting my touch onto things, although in a way that seemed to mix up the motive atoms inside [163] them, but I was satisfied that for the moment my sandwich, the unbitten-at half of it, was displayable and fit and local to my plate. The woman went on to say that, as a child, she had been bundled off, many an afternoon, to the slope-ceilinged quarters of a bachelor uncle who, when speaking of anybody not immediately present, could not bring himself to use the person's name but instead would say "an acquaintance of mine in ..." and then mention the name of some lapsed homeland, or little-loved rural orchestra, or backset building about to come down; and it was never a riddle, this device of his (not once could the girl have been expected to identify any of the subjects), and no matter how often and aloud he insisted that particularizing persons any further—bringing even a first name down upon anyone of them—would have been indecent, he claimed, much like doing things to people while they slept, the girl accepted all of the uncle's prim and extravagant evasion for what he surely must have intended it to be: a neat, protective trick to space the world out a little further in her favor, to scatter the population so that wherever her hand might at last come down, it would have to be on herself alone. And here I could sense that the woman wanted from my mouth an account of as much as I myself might have ever managed of attachment, so I told her I had once owned a house (a rising, really, of much-fingered, handwrought architecture that amounted to a little family of rooms above garages: a boxlike building with a rattly thorax of downspouts [164] and drainpipes and an unfolded but full-toned fire escape), and I had had for a time a boarder, a student, a high-colored, loose-packed representative of declining girlhood, hung with necklaces and barrettes, a girl of precise but shifting leanings and inclinations; and the afternoon she had come round to ask after the room, I stood in the entranceway, handshaken and asweat, and from what would later be my memory of the girl, I made off with, first, how every pore of her nose seemed to be sheltering within itself a tiny dark seedlet, a grain of something immediately, enormously valuable. And an almost lipless mouth (just a slit, practically), the teeth inside looking wet, watered-it was my life's chore, at that instant, to keep from sending the back of my thumb blotterlike across the line of them (I was later to learn she drank everything cold and through the narrowest of straws). And her hair: it was tea-colored hair she had, long and reachful, an unstopped downcome of it. Tall for a girl, but she managed to stay out of much of her height and put herself across as somebody backward, or behind. I must have told the girl, as best I could, that I of course had a wife, a full-faced, imperishable partner, though for the moment she was gone otherwhere in the marriage, and here the woman, my present companion, my tablemate, whose feet were now parked, in parallel, on the grade of my upper leg, interrupted to say that her husband, too, had been such a liar, and what could I bring up by way of reply other than that a lie is a truth struck through with other, further truth, or that a lie is the present multiplied by the past or that a lie [165] is an outcry of borrowed hope? The woman gave me an allowed look of disgust, her eyes lowered but still popular with me, and on I went with what had now become the girl of my story. For there had been a great, gainful carpet in the room I put the girl into, a matty expanse of coarse, grabby piles, an engrossing affair that took things into itself and held them tight, misered them, and I of course insisted that the girl not bother herself with its upkeep, that I enjoyed weekly access to a prestigious, upstanding vacuum cleaner; but no sooner was the girl out of the house each morning than I would withdraw from my room, where time was unportionable, and loose myself into the ticktock impertinence of the girl's room and get down on my knees, and, going after the carpet first with my fingers, then with a forceps, and finally by unspooling lengths of clear package-sealing tape and pressing them against the tufts in neat rectangles to catch what I might have missed, I brought vast tracts of the carpet to depletion, recovering not simply the girlinesses, the girleries, one would expect (buttons, straight pins, downed jewelry), but flirtier personalia in the form, say, of a stray confetto brought into the world when a page had been wrung with out caution from a spiral-bound notebook, or some pleated paper shells of the chocolates she required, or one of the bargain antihistamines she took to get her naps going, or a trash-bag tie ragged enough to show the kinked line of the wire within (this I would get wound around my finger), or a cough drop enwrapped like a bonbon (I would undo the [166] wings of the wrapper and have to decide whether to suck the drop all down or begin chewing it midway)—I became the following, the public, that these things, these off-faIlings, had come to have; but mostly there was hair, afloat above the uppermost pushings of the fabric of the carpet an almost continuous haziness of loose hairs of all lengths and sources, and I would have to set them out on a fresh sheet of paper and assort them according to the regions of the body they had taken their departure from, and in no time I had nest-like filiations of broken filaments and smaller involvements of the hairs that made me think of hooks, of barbs, of treble clefs, and each pile required a separate envelope, to be filed in a separate shoe box for every sector of the body until, I hoped, the boxes themselves would no longer be enough and I would have raised something semblable, brought up something equal in volume to the comprehensive girl herself. And her wastebasket! For every bit of rubbish, every dreariment she tossed into the thing, I would, in secret, deposit a reciprocal discard of my own, matching a spotted, confessory tissue of hers with a lurid throwaway after my own heart–the cardboard substructions of a fresh parcel of underwear, maybe, or tearings from pantyhose I now and again pressed against a span of my forearm to work onto it the complications of female shading I otherwise made do, choosily, without. I thus built the two of us up together in her trash! One afternoon-it was another of those lifeful, unsam-[167]pled days on which the world humors us each a little differently to keep us nicely on our last legs—I discovered in the wastebasket an inch-deep textbook of hers, a paperback with a celery-colored cover that had come partly unglued, and this dilapidation I paired off, naturally, with a name-your baby guide to whose pages, during my recurrent turnings of them, in bed or at table, I had contributed dried produces of my person, a chemical splendor entirely mine. This coupling sent a sudden spigoty thrill from me that forced an unbuckling and an unzipping and a cleanup with a handkerchief I then ventured responsively into the wastebasket as well. It was in the bathroom afterward that I found a suds-clouded puddle on the unlevel floor of the tub, a little undrained remainder, rimmed with offscum, of the girl's prolonged early-morning soak, and this was as much as I needed to get on my hands; I pressed them flat against the wet porcelain, then flapped them around in the air, and that was when I noticed it—in the amphitheater of the toilet bowl, an orange-yellow tint, or value, to the waters. When the girl arrived home that evening, I told her, of course, that I had discovered fresh, unforeseen trouble within the tank of thelet (a misalignment of the trip lever, a waywardness of the float ball, a ulation of the lift wires, kinks and defects, really, throughout the entire system) and that in fine it was an apparatus now operable only by means of advanced and strenuous equilibrial manipulations that it would be unseemly, inhospitable, of me to pre-[168]sume to burd to burden her with–so that from here on out, following any leak or evacuation she need merely lower the lid and then, before quitting the room, ring the handbell that had been placed on the would seeeverythinghing else. But the bell never rang, not even once, and from my window the next morning I watched the girl carry from the house a little plastic bag distended balloonishly, much like those bags you will remember having seen in the hands of children bearing homeward their solitary carnival-prize goldfish. In fact, I never ran across the likes of the girl again. The man who came to collect her things-not the father, apparently, but an advocate, an upholder-l found to be dull-eared and lax in his speech, and the better part of his face seemed to have already begun making tiny, rotational departures from whatever it was that the eyes, themselves impressively mobile, were just that moment having to take in. (Was there a lamp in the house that was not that night slopping its wattage over everything?) I guess I was waiting for the man to take a laggard, last-minute interest in me, and by now I was pushing everything out into the paired first person–it was, I said, “Our night shot,” and I began including the two of us in whatever it might be doing out, the expected sprinkles and such—but he was no friendship buff, and he paid no heed to my telling him that the only dress of hers I'd ever twidged myself into even part of the way had been the simplest of them all, a large-buttoned wonder of depthless blue, and then only on the principle that one naturally fits whatever one has into whatever somebody else [169] had first, or how else would the world keep getting any taller with people? The man just went about the removal of the girl's things without having to be reminded too noticeably, I guess, of how every dick hangs by a thread. My listener, though, had by this time brought about some becoming slowings of her arm—it was an arm inclinable to langorous diagonals and magicianly swoops through the air above the tabletop—but it no longer was involving itself with her plate, so I suggested we shove off, I made payment for the food, and on our way to the car, and then in the car as I took to following her pointings, the directional tilts of her head, she said that you naturally kept putting more and more of yourself into another person, at first wondering how much she can take, how much of you is accumulable and how much she can hold, and you're letting things out, disbursing yourself, and you've soon got things set up in her, and room is being made for even more of you, and if you bring this off with enough people, even two or three, what you've got is at first a comfort, because you can pass yourself along and move a little more widely through the world and leave it to these others to man your grievances, your disappointments; and what brought this to mind, the woman said, was a term of financial hardship she had contrived for herself a few years back, an unpaid leave of absence from scrupling letter grades onto quiz papers (propped-up As, and upended Bs made to look, rather, like fannies; all As and Bs, no Cs or anything lower, the difference between an A and a B having less to do with the accuracy of whatever facts might [170] have been impounded in provided for an answer than with anything recallable about the way the enrollee ad conformed her body to the confining perpendiculars of her chair and the navel-level writing surface that projected from it, or the way there might one day have been an unignorable blush on the instep of a once-moseying foot, disburdened of its shoe, that had got itself trapped in the grillwork of that cagelike involvement, intended for books, that was welded to, or otherwise schemed into, the underworks of the chair)—this had been a duration, in short, of controlled difficulty when the misexpenditure of even a twenty-dollar bill had set her thrilling, gloating, over everything she would miss out on, and one afternoon she had made an engagement for a haircut, just a trim, and very early in the session the haircutter, a woman ill-defined in the face but otherwise full of conspicuities of emotion, set down the prevailing scissors and pressed the flat of a lukewarm hand against the woman's cheek, held it there for a good minute or longer, while the other hand eventually found its way into a drawer, a shallow treasury of slender specialty scissors, one pair of which the cutter withdrew and began routing deductively through the woman's hair, the other hand staying put on the cheek, longer and longer, and the woman went home and for afterward the bathtub was now a more likely destination than any of the upright furniture, and it got easier to fill the tub with further clarifying volumes than to clear space on the difficult heights of the sofa, and she was hardly claiming to have become a cleaner [171] person in result—she in fact would often discover, voyaging about her body, a browned, fractionary detail of a larger crepe of toilet tissue that must have got itself stuck in some assy crevice and was impossible to get plucked out of the revolving suds—she was saying only that she spent more and more of her time thus immersed, ill off in water, and the haircutter had surely had a hand in it, the woman was doing some of the cutter's life now, coming into some of its wrong, because you sometimes have to look to somebody else's life to get dimensions set back even part of the way around your own, and it should not have to be any less your own life when it comes from somebody else, and you could surely fudge a society out of anyone available person and get this person doubling for the many, so that in the little run of things perpetuable from one person to the next, every loose moment stood to become a complete, active finality. But by now this was a new day, with only an hour or so off it already, and the place the woman had made me bring us to, the man's place, with a promise that the man was elsewhere—this was on a little offshoot of a street, a stewy efficiency apartment the color had long ago gone out of; and when, once in bed, still clothed, I found among the sheets and blankets a spoiling pair of the man's underpants, one of the leg openings of which was puckered into an avid, sloppy mouth, I held myself accountable for redisposing the fabric until I got a befitting featurelessness back onto it; but all the while, I am sure I had to make myself go over again in my mind that if the body is the porter of as many organs of affec-[172]tion as there might one day turn out to be, then the idea was to let the thing carry you to where you would otherwise never have any reason to arrive, because I listened for the unmelodiof the the thede ofthe woman's zipper, and then the woman made me put myself out of my own clothes, the attritional corduroys and overshirt, and got herself up at last onto the topic not of the man whose apartment it was (because his story was scarcely the story of how the boy who decides he is half a girl no sooner starts to worry about where the other half might than he gets careless with where he rests his eyes, or what he gives even the feeblest of fingerholds to, and anything, even a crumbly triangle of pie offered on a saucer instead of on a pie plate proper, comes in easy, ready, wronging answer), but of her husband, and how, no more than a couple of months into the marriage, he had begun snugging away in his undershorts a little source of chanc, reliable frictions to nudge him onward through the workday—anything company-keeping that could be counted on not to slide out of the elasticky leg holes: a half-dollar packet of chocolate tittles, maybe, that was barely noticeable in the baggy surround of the widecut trousers so popular at the time. For by now the woman had at last brought what is usually called the other mouth to within only inches of my lips, but it is not a mouth, obviously, although I let myself go along with the goodwill behind the comparison, the way I will remain loyal to anything deliberately and faithfully misunderstood, and I fussed my tongue against the vital trifles hung inside of her, as much of the curtailed finery as I could find, [173] and gave the whole insimplicity of it a slow-circling, examinational lick, until I was taking a sudden tepid downwash on the tongue. It was a familiar, latrine in dribble that must have tasted, no doubt, like trouble just starting out.p [1] Editor's Note: Original pagination from first edition print denoted with bracketed page numbers. (shrink)

The thesis of this book is that "wonder is the foundation of the whole of philosophy.... It is not only the beginning but also the end; it guides and accompanies thought. It is not only the first but also the last word." This is because "wonder is man’s attitude in the face of the mystery of things." That is, "in wonder, things are no longer what they were and it can thus be said that they lose their identity.... Only when (...) we decide to think no further do things acquire an apparent identity." Thought and wonder live only in the distance between the trivial identity of things and their infinitely deferred divine identity. Wonder, and therefore philosophy, are threatened on many sides: by a complacency which takes things as simply thus and so, by general education which equips one to converse about many things but gives knowledge of nothing, by haste which rushes by things without noticing them, by systematization and certitude impatient with identity deferred. The study of philosophy as an academic discipline is no guarantee of wonder and can even be its enemy. The author’s intent is to excite wonder, to provide an incitement to philosophy. The ten chapters of the book orchestrate his theme from different starting points and by different paths. The starting points are as different as the symbolism of the noonday sun, Plato’s myths, poetic response to a rose in bloom, and the nature of gift and festivity. The paths are lyrical, etymological, phenomenological. The cumulative effects are not so much clear and distinct ideas as paradoxes. The result is a provocative and often obscure book, which makes considerable demands upon the reader. As such, it hardly seems like the sort of book one would hand to an undergraduate who wanted to know what philosophy is about. Rather, it might better be thought of as a book for people who think they know what philosophy is about, a book which could serve to make one wonder if he does know what philosophy and many other things are and are not.—H. F. (shrink)

Modern scholarship has tended to separate literature and theology. Yet it is impossible to understand the ideas of such Victorian theologians as Hare and Maurice, Keble and Newman without reference to contemporary literary criticism - just as it is impossible to understand criticism of the period (and the sensibility it implies) isolated from its theology. This book is an attempt to reinterpret a whole theological tradition in the light of its members' views on language and poetry, and associated ideas of (...) imagination, myth and symbol. Dr Prickett argues that Coleridge and Wordsworth began a theological revolution by reintroducing to the Anglican Church a mode of thinking that had become submerged, or died out. "Their 'organic' aesthetics, with roots both in England and Germany, carried with them a theory of symbolism and of the unconscious, which, while originally derived from theology, provided an independent and parallel tradition to contemporary 'Paleyite' apologetic. From them Maurice, Keble and Newman were able to draw the conception of an 'idea' as living and creative, and of the Church itself as 'poetic'. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Summary Of The Spoken Responses By The Poets To Their CriticsJohn HollanderMark Strand responded to Charles Berger’s comments by mak-ing appreciative remarks about the kind of attention his work had received, adding that he did occasionally in writing perceive “glimmers, in the kind of attention I pay, to what Charles Berger has spoken of.” With regard to certain aspects of prior intention, he said that “vague formal imperatives got (...) fulfilled in the writing” and that knowing at the time “the rightness of what I’ve said,” I was nonetheless able to “know the meaning of what I’d said only weeks afterward.” He also acknowledged the kinds of allusiveness which Berger had adduced in his writing, speaking of how and when in the course of writing the resources of his particular sort of echo and allusion seemed to make themselves available.He then turned to the specific question of one of the sequences of poems that Berger had discussed, the “Great Dog Poem No. 2.” He averred that in choosing a dog as speaker he had “not just meant to be funny” [he avowed later on in his remarks that his poems frequently began with “dark humor”] but had also sought for a mode of introspection more original than the fashionably solemn ones of so much contemporary poetry: “I could look within and bark.” With respect to the final line, he observed “I like to finish with a flourish, to pretend I’m Laforgue or Rimbaud,” manifesting “a desire to be a symbolist poet.” With respect to that concluding verse, “I feel like the end of a gorgeous line,” he added that if a dog said that—particularly “a [End Page 189] platinum retriever”—it could not be self-pitying. He spoke in general of the relation of high and low in the poem (a dog named “Rex,” and so forth) and of the relation of this sequence to a much earlier poem of his called “Eating Poetry” in which the speaker is likewise a dog.With regard to formal design, he concluded by saying that in general he tended to start poems “with rough drafts in blank verse” which he then “roughened up” in various ways, preferring as he said “cadences” rather than “measure” in the framing of lines. But he added that in the De Chirico poems he had read, he felt that if one wrote a villanelle, one should keep strictly to the form, without changing words in the refrain lines, and keeping to the iambic meter, saying that “I don’t think you should cheat” under those circumstances.Strand concluded by thanking Berger for the precise nature of his critical attentiveness.John Hollander started out by acknowledging with pleasure that Eleanor Cook’s analysis of his “Owl” had certainly helped him to understand it better; he observed that he felt he had only started to write what he called “real poetry” in his third book, when he had first written a poem he could not understand at the time, and only came to understand years later. He remarked that “The relation of poet and critic as framed by this panel is this: good criticism is a poem’s best friend. We all depend on our friends to point out to us things about ourselves we may not know or acknowledge; although their cousins and other familial relations are other poems, our poems’ best friends are pieces of critical writing.”He was particularly grateful to Cook for pointing out things he hadn’t himself seen—such as the question of the terminal words in the first stanza—but which as a result of the critical insight he had to acknowledge. And this brought up the crucial question of intentionality at the practical rather than theoretical level: in the case of such observations by critics and acknowledgments by poets, it would seem that the writing of a poem could have an intention of which the writer would be unaware. Hollander adduced the analogy of dreaming to poetic composition, paralleling the question “Did you mean to write that?” with (to anyone reporting a dream) “Did you mean to dream that?”He then observed about the... (shrink)

The main subject of this research is the specificity of I. E. Repin's perception of the dynamics of artistic-aesthetic tasks formed under the influence of changing modernity. In view of this, one of the compositional centers of the research is the history of relationship that developed between I. E. Repin and the artists of the “first wave of symbolism” – members of the association “The World of Art”. Special attention is given to the question of perception of I. E. Repin (...) by certain representatives of the avant-garde in 1910s. Developing in the range “attraction – negation”, full of dramatic and comic moments, the dialogue between Repin and younger generation indicates the hastiness of univocal view of realism and Art Nouveau as opposing imagery systems. For the first time, on the current level of scientific comprehension of the aesthetics of symbolism and neo-romanticism, the article analyzes the attitude of I. E. Repin towards the innovative imagery pursuits of the Art Nouveau artists. At the same time, the very concept of Art Nouveau is interpreted in two dimensions: as a certain milestone in the context of the development of the history of art of the late XIX – early XX century; and as an inner dynamic potential embedded by I. E. Repin in his works since the beginning of his creative path. Based on systematization of the artistic and documentary sources and the method of complex reconstruction of the views of Peredvizhniki and symbolist artists upon the objectives and nature of art, the author concludes that the poetics of art of Ilya Repin, synthesizing the ideas of time, tends to reflect a complicated and distinctive artistic image formed by realistic and idealistic principles. (shrink)