Date: Fri, 12 Mar 1999 08:09:48 -0500
Subject: Re: MB: Re: inside, etc.



--------------AB290A031748748BCD527550

Dear Thomas -

I've delayed in replying to your mail as I thought it deserved a somewhat more
in depth reply (it was more in direct response to my original query /post) - I
thank you.

The creative act: I see via your mail, that you know exactly what I am speaking
of and what Blanchot speaks of so emphatically - the intensity, exigence,
obsession, failure, frustration - and through all the damned throngs and
throes  the act (process) as (an exceedingly labyrinthine and circuitous!)
avenue into the self with an abiding nature of question (doubt?) that may be
reached ,it seems, by very few alternative avenues. Therapy I suppose - (aside:
apropos quote: "...writing is, among other things, an activity which discovers
its object; which surprises itself with the meanings it runs into, and passes
sometimes with apologies, or recognizes with a start ..." William H. GSA) The
infamous dark night and all. Romantic indeed, true nonetheless!

I am curious about " the impatience that Levinas turns into an ethics...".  I
do not know Lavinas. Does this have to do with conviction and dedication to
this, oftimes, 'hell;' a vow, as it were, to journey down that avenue
regardless of the consequences (failures, the cynicism that ensues, the
disruption from a 'peaceful' and 'balanced' life of which you speak, etc.)?
With being 'true to oneself' (one's art) and not the marketplace?

Need you be faithful' to the 'outside?" I am not sure that I agree with this
point - that is, of course, if I am reading you correctly.  It seems to me that
one of the points Blanchot makes is that any particular individual can only, if
ever and vaguely in most cases, reach the outside within the limits of his own
nature/perspective - if he is true to these, to himself, possibly he can touch
upon an 'outside' that is inclusive of others  - that is, an outside which, to
whatever extent, coheres with his own 'inside'.  The point someone made about
Husserl's 'reduction' comes to my mind - if via language (or the limits of
whatever tool) he is able to articulate an 'essence' [in Husserl's sense],
possibly, this 'essence' resides in others who may chance to encounter their
own 'essence' /inside within the writers articulation of it, or an element of
that essence with at least (I do not think human beings have only one essence,
as do many things, consciousness simply makes us too multi-faceted, along with
the changeable nature of this beast, etc.).

 >(I say this as an academic in the midst of trying to write something worth
saying, something real).
'Real' to whom I wonder? The meaning can, I believe, only exist insofar as you
infuse your work your own values, as it were, then it might be 'real' in your
estimation, but who's to say it will be so to another?. 'Real' and 'worthwhile'
are exceedingly subjective terms, and the world of academia (like the art
world) exceedingly rarefied, and both, unfortunately, rather trendy it seems to
me. Do you want the 'worth' you speak of to exist now (be timely), or of an
eternal nature (have a strong voice outside of/beyond the limits of a
contemporary context, academic or otherwise)? (Please note:I am not trying to
be contrary  or critical, I am simply voicing questions I have long grappled
with myself).

> (An actually, all that sometimes tiresome language of distinctions and
comparisons that go on in academia--all that is, can be, a way of coming to the
end of words.)
I. for one, hope that we never come to the end of words, except in that we may
reach an understanding which reaches beyond them.  As a form I adore them. We
have already gone too far towards an end which has greatly disempowered the
word - who even reads anymore?  I'm a Princetonian - most of the grad students
I knew in the Comp lit dept. had never read the actual texts of the authors
they were supposed to be authorities on - they read about them, that
is,criticism.  Appalling if you ask me. Language and style are not 'in'.
Actually, I am sure I am reacting to something I am putting into your words,
and not to their actual meaning/intention - I suppose I just wanted an excuse
to voice my 'two cents'...

Can you explain to me what you mean by "Radical Passivity?' (what your book's
about)

Regards,
               Claire

Thomas Wall wrote:

> I'd like very much to read George Quasha's "Publishing Blanchot in America"
> and also to thank him, Lydia Davis, and Station Hill Press for bringing
> Blanchot's writings to America.
>
> In William Flesch's wonderful forward to my book, _Radical Passivity_, on
> Blanchot (and Levinas and Agamben) he speaks of an American context for
> Blanchot, drawing on Wallace Stevens's remark: French and English
> constitute a single language.
>
> Regarding the creative ACT, Claire asks about, I am trying, without much
> success so far, to write about inspiration in poetry/writing (Blanchot) and
> ethics (Levinas).  I'm reading again "The Gaze of Orpheus" which has many
> extraordinary things to say about inspiration.  I think there's no
> creation, and no ethical responsibility, without encoutering the 'other'
> night and without insomnia and everything that that entails.  Somehow, for
> me, it's only when I come to the end of words that I am able to write even
> acadmic stuff. Attempting to write anything, my sleep schedule disappears,
> I lose my appetite, then find it again at odd moments, I turn day into
> night and night into day, doubt into certainty and certainty into doubt,
> time into its absence (as Blanchot would say), and the closer I get to what
> I want to say, the further it receeds.  It's a perverse logic: the more it
> is ---, the more it isn't --- and I discover the impatience that Levinas's
> turns into an ethics and that Blanchot turns into a discretion without
> reserve.  Only, I end up with stuff that barely scratches the surface!  I
> am limited and limits are terrible because they face an outside, so I can
> only be "near" to this outside when I remain faithful to my limits!  (I say
> this as an academic in the midst of trying to write something worth saying,
> something real).  (An actually, all that sometimes tiresome language of
> distinctions and comparisons that go on in academia--all that is, can be, a
> way of coming to the end of words.)
>
> Tom Wall

--
"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


--------------AB290A031748748BCD527550

HTML VERSION:

I've delayed in replying to your mail as I thought it deserved a somewhat more in depth reply (it was more in direct response to my original query /post) - I thank you.

The creative act: I see via your mail, that you know exactly what I am speaking of and what Blanchot speaks of so emphatically - the intensity, exigence, obsession, failure, frustration - and through all the damned throngs and throes  the act (process) as (an exceedingly labyrinthine and circuitous!) avenue into the self with an abiding nature of question (doubt?) that may be reached ,it seems, by very few alternative avenues. Therapy I suppose - (aside: apropos quote: "...writing is, among other things, an activity which discovers its object; which surprises itself with the meanings it runs into, and passes sometimes with apologies, or recognizes with a start ..." William H. GSA) The infamous dark night and all. Romantic indeed, true nonetheless!

I am curious about " the impatience that Levinas turns into an ethics...".  I do not know Lavinas. Does this have to do with conviction and dedication to this, oftimes, 'hell;' a vow, as it were, to journey down that avenue regardless of the consequences (failures, the cynicism that ensues, the disruption from a 'peaceful' and 'balanced' life of which you speak, etc.)? With being 'true to oneself' (one's art) and not the marketplace?

Need you be faithful' to the 'outside?" I am not sure that I agree with this point - that is, of course, if I am reading you correctly.  It seems to me that one of the points Blanchot makes is that any particular individual can only, if ever and vaguely in most cases, reach the outside within the limits of his own nature/perspective - if he is true to these, to himself, possibly he can touch upon an 'outside' that is inclusive of others  - that is, an outside which, to whatever extent, coheres with his own 'inside'.  The point someone made about Husserl's 'reduction' comes to my mind - if via language (or the limits of whatever tool) he is able to articulate an 'essence' [in Husserl's sense], possibly, this 'essence' resides in others who may chance to encounter their own 'essence' /inside within the writers articulation of it, or an element of that essence with at least (I do not think human beings have only one essence, as do many things, consciousness simply makes us too multi-faceted, along with the changeable nature of this beast, etc.).

 >(I say this as an academic in the midst of trying to write something worth saying, something real).
'Real' to whom I wonder? The meaning can, I believe, only exist insofar as you infuse your work your own values, as it were, then it might be 'real' in your estimation, but who's to say it will be so to another?. 'Real' and 'worthwhile' are exceedingly subjective terms, and the world of academia (like the art world) exceedingly rarefied, and both, unfortunately, rather trendy it seems to me. Do you want the 'worth' you speak of to exist now (be timely), or of an eternal nature (have a strong voice outside of/beyond the limits of a contemporary context, academic or otherwise)? (Please note:I am not trying to be contrary  or critical, I am simply voicing questions I have long grappled with myself).

> (An actually, all that sometimes tiresome language of distinctions and comparisons that go on in academia--all that is, can be, a way of coming to the end of words.)
I. for one, hope that we never come to the end of words, except in that we may reach an understanding which reaches beyond them.  As a form I adore them. We have already gone too far towards an end which has greatly disempowered the word - who even reads anymore?  I'm a Princetonian - most of the grad students I knew in the Comp lit dept. had never read the actual texts of the authors they were supposed to be authorities on - they read about them, that is,criticism.  Appalling if you ask me. Language and style are not 'in'. Actually, I am sure I am reacting to something I am putting into your words, and not to their actual meaning/intention - I suppose I just wanted an excuse to voice my 'two cents'...

Can you explain to me what you mean by "Radical Passivity?' (what your book's about)

Regards,
               Claire

Thomas Wall wrote:

I'd like very much to read George Quasha's "Publishing Blanchot in America"
and also to thank him, Lydia Davis, and Station Hill Press for bringing
Blanchot's writings to America.

In William Flesch's wonderful forward to my book, _Radical Passivity_, on
Blanchot (and Levinas and Agamben) he speaks of an American context for
Blanchot, drawing on Wallace Stevens's remark: French and English
constitute a single language.

Regarding the creative ACT, Claire asks about, I am trying, without much
success so far, to write about inspiration in poetry/writing (Blanchot) and
ethics (Levinas).  I'm reading again "The Gaze of Orpheus" which has many
extraordinary things to say about inspiration.  I think there's no
creation, and no ethical responsibility, without encoutering the 'other'
night and without insomnia and everything that that entails.  Somehow, for
me, it's only when I come to the end of words that I am able to write even
acadmic stuff. Attempting to write anything, my sleep schedule disappears,
I lose my appetite, then find it again at odd moments, I turn day into
night and night into day, doubt into certainty and certainty into doubt,
time into its absence (as Blanchot would say), and the closer I get to what
I want to say, the further it receeds.  It's a perverse logic: the more it
is ---, the more it isn't --- and I discover the impatience that Levinas's
turns into an ethics and that Blanchot turns into a discretion without
reserve.  Only, I end up with stuff that barely scratches the surface!  I
am limited and limits are terrible because they face an outside, so I can
only be "near" to this outside when I remain faithful to my limits!  (I say
this as an academic in the midst of trying to write something worth saying,
something real).  (An actually, all that sometimes tiresome language of
distinctions and comparisons that go on in academia--all that is, can be, a
way of coming to the end of words.)

Tom Wall

--
"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
  --------------AB290A031748748BCD527550--