Date: Mon, 06 Aug 2001 17:06:19 -0600
From: allen scult <amscult-AT-drake.edu>
Subject: Re: Mnemosyne: thinking poetization


Dear Gulio,

 I don't
> think I ever stop writing on this so it's time I recognize
> it as the rule of my life.

I don't mean to make too much of this "rule of life"
business, but I'm intrigued by it. I think how one comes to
a "rule of life" is the essential step in the development of
hermeneutical practice.  "What is more,"  the process you
describe rings true.  Allow me to paraphrase:

You find yourself consistently writing about it(the "rule of
lie' to be).  It persists with a certain valence in your
thinking.  Then you give it a name ("patience") and then the
name serves to indicate the possibility of a 'rule of life."
 Ripe for "recognition"! And then writing about it can
extend its range, so to speak. Along such lines
hermeneutical phenomenology shows itself.

The verse and "commentary"  which follow think the delay
into a space of seeing without words.  I have to run soon,
so let me just add something to last one:

This is where the poet invites the lo
> ve of his life, Emilia to talk "until thought's
> melody/Become too sweet for utterance,/ and it die in
> words, to live again in looks, which dart/ With thrilling
> tone into the voiceless heart,/ Harmonizing silence
> without a sound." The eloquence of words completely
> dissappears in a moment of vision where there is no longer
> subject and object and consciousness is rooted in a
> clearing which receives the last traces of the age of
> gold... vestigial remains of the oblivion of time
> 


I don't mean to reduce it to this.  Indeed what you're
getting at is not reducible to any one moment, especially
one so conventional, but for what it's worth, I was out in
my kayak the other night.  It was a full moon, and the
moon's beam of light ( Not the only beam, no doubt) came
directly towards me, as I turned torwads it.  I then turned
the kayak around again and as I headed toward shore, the
light from the moon widened to a swathe of silver and lit
the way home.  The water in front of me was the color of
dawn, and overwhelmed my thoughts.

Allen


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