Date: Fri, 12 Mar 1999 06:33:25 -0500
Subject: Re: MB: Academics



--------------C8B87B57B97E6250536E1323

Hand raised ...

you speak of reaching Blanchot through his work, whereas I think of one his
salient points is that no one can be reached thus (or reach anyone else/the/an
other thus), even though we may dream ... That is: however inside our work, we
remain outside this (our own selves and the other) a desperation & a pain but
futility & regardless: art demands of the creator - as Blanchot says time &
again.  and No, it is NOT an idealized view of the artist, it is a statement I
make empirically, and the intensity with which Blanchot consistently refers(
reverts?) to this point, its exigency, simply proves the point, (for lack of a
better ...). Fact is, anyone who has been there knows, it's just that Blanchot
says it with the most astounding eloquence; he explores the communicative act,
delves deep into words and form and makes them do amazing things .. He is a
contemporary case in point to me of what Kristeva terms 'poetic language'  -
(yes, we are talking semiotics here)  which entails a love of and curiosity
about  the word which reaches far beyond any superficial intrigue -  (too many
poseurs try to make this claim today via mere stylistic gymnastics) yes: the
ineffable: he KNOWS chora .. What wants to be said cannot - we are allotted the
limited tool of language, so we must exploit it, reach deep to go somewhere
adherence to 'good' syntax etc. bars from us. "But, when all is said, it is the
inexpressible, the thing we believe we cannot succeed in getting into a
book,that remains within it; it is something vague and haunting, like a memory.
It is atmospheric ... a colouring in the air like the bloom on a grape.  If we
have not felt it, this inexpressible thing, we flatter ourselves that our work
is as good as the work of those who have since the words are more or less the
same [* note: I'm inclined to disagree with this, nonetheless...) But it is not
in the words, it is not said, it as all among the words, like the morning mist
at Chantilly.' - Marcel Proust and hey: can I help it if I have a (personal)
taste for the artist/hold him in higher regard than the critic?  If I sin here,
forgive me - it seems clear enough, via the mail on the list as regards this
matter, that there are plenty who feel, staunchly, otherwise - their prerogative
as the above is mine.

What we call Blanchot, or anything/one else for that matter, does already exist
(aside: but he did start voicing it before Derrida did he not?), he says this
himself in the Infinite Conversation, but hey: what Nietzsche said, what
Heidegger said, etc., already existed too (Schopenhauer, Husserl ...) does that
make them any less valid? The particular brilliance lies in the individual
thinker/writer's exposition/exploration/distinct articulation of whatever point
- their own particular voice and vision shall we say ... The story's been told,
we tell it againagainagainagainagain because we NEED to feel it to know to
experience to be a part and cry out - our egos, our frailty, a demand we cannot
name the source of crawl scratch shout for this human beast we are and cannot
escape -

Claire

msegalot-AT-webtv.net wrote:

> I work about 50 hours a week. As a service technician. I've worked
> hundreds of jobs since the age of 12. Factories, mostly. I hope your
> question was not rhetorical. In a sense, I've hustled all my (working)
> life.
>
>   ------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Subject: Re: MB: Academics
> Date: Thu, 11 Mar 1999 04:05:08 -0800
> From: John LeTourneux <johnl-AT-nmresearch.com>
> Reply-To: blanchot-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu
> To: blanchot-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu
>
> Look I am so sorry for this interruption but I am half drunk and I can
> hardly help myself putting the following crude question out there.  Raise
> your hand if you have ever worked a straight job?  Quite there is a
> question of work, economics, uninterrogated as you please, perhaps even at
> the bottom of any such distinction.  Tell me more.  There are academics,
> but there are certainly poets, Olson, Creeley, whoever, rectors and M.A.'s.
>  There are writers, whose thought one would have liked to redirect, towards
> a more authentic, less pre-comprehensible space of exploration.  What is
> this?  Am I getting the gist of such a discussion?  It is discardable to
> propose anything outside of the academy, insofar as the academy is itself
> the locus of any dialectics or beyond; i.e., thought/philosophy; or more
> gravely, the dream of reaching Blanchot through his texts.  Am I the only
> one, and this is not so, perhaps, who might imagine that what we call
> Blanchot consists of something already to be found in Derrida, in
> Lacoue-Labarthe, in the most determinable, rigorous sense of what...it is
> that we find...there?  If not, why not just read Genet and work or steal or
> hustle for a damned living, in other words, read him and at the same time
> get a life? j.l.
>
> P.S.
>
> The certain distinct lack of, in J.-L. Nancy's words, "Philological
> seriousness..." (tr. Sparks) is remarkable, and leads me to believe, as an
> observer, as impartial as you like since, that there is something being
> killed, here.  Maintenant.
> At 09:41 PM 3/10/99 +0200, you wrote:
> >
> >
> >
> >> But isn't this a rather romantic view of the artist?  To put it another
> >
> >> way.  Can the demand of writing be thought of in terms of a creativity
> >> that is thought in terms of an opposition between those who are at the
> >> 'creative end', and those, for wont of a better word, who are academics?
> >
> >I would take this a little further and ask whether it can be thought of in
> >terms of creativity at all. It seems to me this is a far more serious
> >difficulty with Claire Dinsmore's position than the (non)opposition between
> >academic and extra-academic receptions of Blanchot.
> >
> >Nicholas Dawes
> >

--
"We live in the dark.  We do what we can. We give what we have.
Our doubt is our passion.  Our passion is our task.  The rest of the madness is
art."
- Henry James
http://www.StudioCleo.com


--------------C8B87B57B97E6250536E1323

HTML VERSION:

you speak of reaching Blanchot through his work, whereas I think of one his salient points is that no one can be reached thus (or reach anyone else/the/an other thus), even though we may dream ... That is: however inside our work, we remain outside this (our own selves and the other) a desperation & a pain but futility & regardless: art demands of the creator - as Blanchot says time & again.  and No, it is NOT an idealized view of the artist, it is a statement I make empirically, and the intensity with which Blanchot consistently refers( reverts?) to this point, its exigency, simply proves the point, (for lack of a better ...). Fact is, anyone who has been there knows, it's just that Blanchot says it with the most astounding eloquence; he explores the communicative act, delves deep into words and form and makes them do amazing things .. He is a contemporary case in point to me of what Kristeva terms 'poetic language'  -  (yes, we are talking semiotics here)  which entails a love of and curiosity about  the word which reaches far beyond any superficial intrigue -  (too many poseurs try to make this claim today via mere stylistic gymnastics) yes: the ineffable: he KNOWS chora .. What wants to be said cannot - we are allotted the limited tool of language, so we must exploit it, reach deep to go somewhere adherence to 'good' syntax etc. bars from us. "But, when all is said, it is the inexpressible, the thing we believe we cannot succeed in getting into a book,that remains within it; it is something vague and haunting, like a memory. It is atmospheric ... a colouring in the air like the bloom on a grape.  If we have not felt it, this inexpressible thing, we flatter ourselves that our work is as good as the work of those who have since the words are more or less the same [* note: I'm inclined to disagree with this, nonetheless...) But it is not in the words, it is not said, it as all among the words, like the morning mist at Chantilly.' - Marcel Proust and hey: can I help it if I have a (personal) taste for the artist/hold him in higher regard than the critic?  If I sin here, forgive me - it seems clear enough, via the mail on the list as regards this matter, that there are plenty who feel, staunchly, otherwise - their prerogative as the above is mine.

What we call Blanchot, or anything/one else for that matter, does already exist (aside: but he did start voicing it before Derrida did he not?), he says this himself in the Infinite Conversation, but hey: what Nietzsche said, what Heidegger said, etc., already existed too (Schopenhauer, Husserl ...) does that make them any less valid? The particular brilliance lies in the individual thinker/writer's exposition/exploration/distinct articulation of whatever point - their own particular voice and vision shall we say ... The story's been told, we tell it againagainagainagainagain because we NEED to feel it to know to experience to be a part and cry out - our egos, our frailty, a demand we cannot name the source of crawl scratch shout for this human beast we are and cannot escape -

Claire

msegalot-AT-webtv.net wrote:

I work about 50 hours a week. As a service technician. I've worked
hundreds of jobs since the age of 12. Factories, mostly. I hope your
question was not rhetorical. In a sense, I've hustled all my (working)
life.

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

Subject: Re: MB: Academics
Date: Thu, 11 Mar 1999 04:05:08 -0800
From: John LeTourneux <johnl-AT-nmresearch.com>
Reply-To: blanchot-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu
To: blanchot-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu

Look I am so sorry for this interruption but I am half drunk and I can
hardly help myself putting the following crude question out there.  Raise
your hand if you have ever worked a straight job?  Quite there is a
question of work, economics, uninterrogated as you please, perhaps even at
the bottom of any such distinction.  Tell me more.  There are academics,
but there are certainly poets, Olson, Creeley, whoever, rectors and M.A.'s.
 There are writers, whose thought one would have liked to redirect, towards
a more authentic, less pre-comprehensible space of exploration.  What is
this?  Am I getting the gist of such a discussion?  It is discardable to
propose anything outside of the academy, insofar as the academy is itself
the locus of any dialectics or beyond; i.e., thought/philosophy; or more
gravely, the dream of reaching Blanchot through his texts.  Am I the only
one, and this is not so, perhaps, who might imagine that what we call
Blanchot consists of something already to be found in Derrida, in
Lacoue-Labarthe, in the most determinable, rigorous sense of what...it is
that we find...there?  If not, why not just read Genet and work or steal or
hustle for a damned living, in other words, read him and at the same time
get a life? j.l.

P.S.

The certain distinct lack of, in J.-L. Nancy's words, "Philological
seriousness..." (tr. Sparks) is remarkable, and leads me to believe, as an
observer, as impartial as you like since, that there is something being
killed, here.  Maintenant.
At 09:41 PM 3/10/99 +0200, you wrote:
>
>
>
>> But isn't this a rather romantic view of the artist?  To put it another
>
>> way.  Can the demand of writing be thought of in terms of a creativity
>> that is thought in terms of an opposition between those who are at the
>> 'creative end', and those, for wont of a better word, who are academics?
>
>I would take this a little further and ask whether it can be thought of in
>terms of creativity at all. It seems to me this is a far more serious
>difficulty with Claire Dinsmore's position than the (non)opposition between
>academic and extra-academic receptions of Blanchot.
>
>Nicholas Dawes
>