the nothing that we scarcely know - heidegger (jellema viii)
In the midst of beings as a whole an open place comes to presence. There is a clearing. Thought from out of beings, it is more in being than is the being. This open center is, therefore, not surrounded by beings. Rather, this illuminating center itself encircles all beings - like the nothing that we scarcely know.
Inmitten des Seienden im Ganzen west eine offene Stelle. Eine Lichtung ist. Sie ist, vom Seienden her gedacht, seiender als das Seiende. Diese offene Mitte ist daher nicht vom Seienden umschlossen, sondern die lichtende Mitte selbst umkreist wie das Nichts, das wir kaum kennen, alles Seiende.
Heidegger -- Ursprung des Kunstwerkes
'And just in the very process of putting into words - while you roughly have in mind what is supposed to happen, because you invent it yourself (that's what you think), there may be - unfortunately not always - suddenly a moment of adjournment of thinking, a gap, a view of something that had not been there before, or a view actually not of anything determined, but a view of transparency, alogical, but very true, a view of something that is more in being than the being.
This will be in the finished poem the never precisely determined open center where one is moved. And in the moments of transparency I experience in myself something that is more in being than being: a becoming one with sight.'
(jellema mangled into english by me)
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Jellema is reading Hölderlin (Und den Zaun wilder Holunder umblüht), the mysterium tremendum et fascinosum and writes about being intimidated by his poems, the Hölderlin-inaccessibility-problem, facing the difficulty of Hölderlin's poems not opening up. which reminds of the difficulty knausgaard had with them: Come on! Into the open, my friend, as Hölderlin had written somewhere. But how, how? This in some way is a problem of not getting in, of being outside of poetry, of life, of - inaccessibility, of the things that escape, and of whom one remains outside of - i wonder about the nature of this kind of inaccessability, what it is one is separated from...what it is that escapes...
Jellema initially sees two obstacles that cause the inaccessability of Hölderlin's poems.
Het waren de vorm en, ik durf het haast niet te zeggen uit vrees te worden misverstaan, het onpersoonlijke, of moet ik zeggen bovenpersoonlijke. En die hadden met elkaar te maken. p32
Those two things are form and something he calls the unpersonal or better overpersonal (or better: beyondpersonal?)
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i am very much intrigued by the next poem, because it - in some way - describes this problem of - self, the self behind words, concepts but also trying to reach to whatever kind of beyond - and that this kind of beyond too also always is ongeroepen. maybe it's not just our necessity of naming that is ongeroepen, - and maybe it is this obligation, we are there to name - the ongeroepen, everything that is uncalled.... and maybe uncalled for...
not that naming always brings things into existence... even and especially if it is not called, uncalled, ongeroepen, it does exist in its uncalled state. it maybe is independent of naming... ongeroepen it exists behind us, next to us, infront of us... its own sort of invisible independence.
now i've read a bit more - but nevertheless still only have a small understanding of what's going on - i am very much impressed how jellema approaches those so called borders of what can be said and of what can't be said. and that this is where all the interesting stuff happens. and he circles round this constantly. there is nothing of everthing i've read so far that lacks this reflecting on the ineffable... directly or indirectly... of how it escapes you, of how you sometimes get close, then you don't and all the life that meanwhile happens... very thoughtful. and despite that a lot of stuff escapes one is left with something though, although what that is is hard to put into words.... the things one has seen and thought on the way, the way perhaps that one needed to achieve a mental state, a mental position, a thought, a frame of mind, and that this way, the length of it, in a sense, also determines the strength of one's position, eliminates all superficiality.
...naturally of course i find that all very intriguing.
There was no space for him, because understanding
took his place. neuter. the. barred
by norm he stayed hopelessly (& loyal to) the immature
high selfimage that being would be ended.
(this is very difficult to say in english.... i am not sure i can convey that correctly)
Maar woorden hielden hem, grens aan't vermoeden
but words held him, bordered to the suspicion
dat waar de geest naar grijpt daar achter ligt
that what the mind grasps for lies there behind (behind being)
if, more than freedom, it held the unlimited,
the - like put into an image - farview
is death infront of it, then it is to live
and is the moment, blindely undergone
an opening through which we are casually driven
and we stand in sight of the thought
't gedicht ontworpen uit toeval en wet
belicht de vorm van 't oneindig sonnet.
p287
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the 2nd reality (on jellema iii) --
to continue my observations when reading jellema.
i am still trying to understand my fascination: you read something, something you like a lot. the writer is already dead. in fact, almost since ten years. you know there is nothing more, except maybe in some secret vaults things that wait to be published. but you can't count on that. you can't also count on that you are able to get the books since it was so difficult to get the collected works.
so you have doubts to read it all at once, you want to leave something for later. it's a strange mixture of shyness, excitement and hesitation. of impatience too.
but also: the question how the reading and the understanding changes: the way one reads every day. the way one understands things differently each day, depending on one's frame of mind, one's moods and tempers, distractions, obligations. another kind of mise en abyme. i'm not every day as open, as receptive to his writing as i'd like to be. the ways one is one's own obstacle. last time i read it and wrote about it, it didn't nearly work half as well as the first time round. it wasn't there and i knew it. today it's different again (and i'm not quite there either), now i made this changing receptivity a theme.
those days when it escapes one, the reading, the connection. today it's not going to happen (or maybe it is, you got to try anyway and who knows what happens then).... suf - and suf means some kind of state in which one thinks all kinds of stuff but it remains foggy, like when one has hangover. some sort of being flaked. it doesn't have any traction, the thinking. but then i saw this bernlef (need to find out whether they wrote about each other, bernlef & jellema) quote about lucide suffen and that's exactly it. add some lucidness to that state, some ability of the mind to actually grasp what one is doing and thinking: the 2nd reality, if one could call it like this:
Van dingen spreek ik....
(of things i speak in the second reality)
(that is bendable memory)
(experiencing is too fast even for astonishment)
(a footstep sounds when one doesn't hear it anymore)
p24
experiencing is too fast for astonishment..... something slower than experiencing something. what can be slower than that? some form of bendable memory? because it is past?
to see the open door, but not to enter it. a once closed door and what's behind it.
or maybe not. not the open door, not a question of entering, but the possibility of entering. and something much more before the door, something much more preliminary.
the open door too: how can i reach you. and you is what, the second reality, or is you, or is finally- a changed question actually. and maybe still not any closer to the 2nd reality. does that matter? maybe not. each question is its own close(d)ness.
[...]
ik dacht:
(i thought)
(you were what you saw, and yet, the sum)
(of seeing; the existence of things you turn around)
(by way of being (the existence), their supply, their danger:)
2.
(When does alienation start and seeing?)
(a dove, your pride, jumped on by a cat)
(and you as a child the sorrow that you had)
(and to those concerned you couldn't show (the sorrow):)
(the new never can replace what you had)
(first insight: something outside me)
(shimer on the feathers, the movement of)
(both wings. A freedom that you didn't own)
(once everything is/begins for the first time. mourning too)
(never again like this. that your mother died)
(reconciled you with every goodbye that will come)
(you showed mistakes of the building)
(the door opened just once. when)
(it closed, i think, something closed in you too.)
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3.
(people are silent over (things). plants are silent)
(about themselves. their truth does not need words)
(in order to be. so unhidden in their stupid)
(greenbeing that one can step on them)
(without pain, without any -- i can't do this one.)
sel van gods denken en niets anders dan
als groei antwoord op ons verlangen: kom.
(solutions in form, edge of leaf, withering)
(nameless eternity, or death disappears)
(in a repetition that appears to us to be like)
(what the earth brings forth/creates, silent, every)
(being trodden on bearing as something that doesn't cut/hurt -)
(do i understand it? can i reach you like that?)
p208
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on jellema -- ontroeringen (the foundations of my enthousiasm)
afgewend haast
this morning i sat to read jellema by the window - trying to live the good life, well slept and although coldridden, content, book in the morning, tea, concentration, repose, everything right: and thought - like often - i need to write about him (and here the question arose: what do you mean when you say that you like a book?), i need to say so much about him, i want the whole world to read him (his work consists largely of poetry, translations and essays). but then, he wrote in dutch and is to my knowledge largely untranslated. this fate that he shares with so many, he translated such an impressive amount (and i love his meister eckhart translation, among others), but in turn, this honor is not bestowed on him. and i thought i have to do it myself then, knowing i am not the translator type of person, an insight and limitation i am aware of, that this is not in my personality, not something i can do. i can translate for practical use, but not transferring the beauty into another language. which also has to do with that i don't know any of my languages well enough to do this sort of undertaking, and i cannot do it into english, because my english is worse than my other languages.... but i can say maybe what is going on there in those poems, in that book and why his writing has such a strong effect on me. trying to grasp: - what is actually going on when you read his writing:
the moment of repose, in reading, or - in love too:
(my soul is in quiet with the moment)
(as if i never before was so --)
and i cannot translate the word bestaanbar - (but can you describe it?) - what it means it has to do with standing. but it has a meaning of standing as in standing still and of continued prolonged existence, it's very fundamental.
the story of my reading: i came across him first - how, why? i don't even know anymore, i think because of eckhart even, saw a footnote and looked him up, went to the library, got the books and -- it had an impact. i thought i need to read this all right now. but this was a busy time in my life and i didn't get round to read this all. but it called me back, i couldn't concentrate on the things i was supposed to do, because i felt i need to read jellema. but then i couldn't and then i went somewhere else and all of a sudden i had a very hard time to get the book. until last december when i was travelling and some very kind and helpful (ontroert again) were able to get it for me. and now, now i've got the time to read it properly.
so i have called this ontroeringen, because this is the title of an essay collection (which i haven't read yet) by bernlef, but it is also the feeling that predominates my feelings when reading. ontroert. what does this mean. it's in some ways a word for being moved which since recently i decided i don't want to use anymore, because -- i don't know, i am scared it gets overused. and i like that ontroeren is a compositum which to move isn't. besides moving means other things too, while ontroering is a word made especially for the very phenomenon of being moved.
and that you just can't say you're excited about something - or moved, you need to say why, what are the foundations of your enthousiam (and enthousiasm means: the gods within). and i immediately thought those foundations are - as usual - unnamable, in the sense that it's a foundation with no solid ground and maybe therefore even stronger. but there it is, all just wittering, rabbiting, grand titles and no explanation. instead you write the story of how you got to know the book. but no escape into the unnamable, to aim deeper, to explore this more. what does it mean to be moved by a book. the easy solution would be to go on, explaining, what about the plot was interesting, the genre discussion. a necessary glassbead game in its own way.
but maybe there is no explanation and the answer is still: the unnamable. descriptive rather than prescriptive. describe your don't know why.
and there it is:
(Identity)
(what do i know about you)
(you need a lot of sleep)
(and you don't tolerate coffee well)
(that you love your dog)
(and partly why)
(that you are happy)
(or sad i can see)
(and hear, with my own eyes)
(own ears)
(and you love me)
(but which dream has changed you)
(into a black panther, white raven)
(how many faces did you want to kiss)
(or hit, and why didn't (you))
(what i don't know: how would you have been)
(without me, where, with which people)
(who in my place -- i don't know)
(neither how you will die)
(and on which day)
maybe my sort of translating is a sort of speaking after, repeating what you said, but in a different language. a sort of saying after you. not really a repeating. i follow your word. and it feels so much more banal, in english (i often feel there is a lot of dutch character lost in translations of the dutch, with other languages i don't feel this so strongly). but there it is. the things you don't know. het waarom niet gedaan. this is the line that -- moved me most. the reasons why people don't do the things they do. literature, the books you read an those you didn't. identity is also always about the unknown. there are the things you know. and those that you don't. to me - and i feel this very strongly - this is a big part of what attracts me to his writing, that he always thinks with the things you don't know, that this sort of unknown is always included in his thinking and writing. here in this poem this is expressed explicitly. very often it is not. and i do prefer -- i am not sure art is the right word, - i prefer art that is like this.
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I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being.
Anna Kamienska -- A Nest of Quiet
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