jellema's explorations

Breath, you poem beyond all seeing!
Pure and ceaseless demi-urge
in counterpoise with our own being.
Interchange in which I rhythmically emerge.

Lone wave, whose gradual sea
am I; You, the most austere
of all conceivable seas,
- space's conqueror.

How many spaces in this vast horizon
have I contained within? Many a wind
seems like my own son.

Do you know me, you breeze, so full of spots
hitherto mine? You once smooth rind,
swell and leaf of my spoken thoughts.

Rilke


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J.A. Dèr Mouw

Who is he?

jellema's exploration

who is she?

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do you still know who you are?


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what interests you: not the big constructions with the big words, not the new discoveries, rather
the nature of quiet, of staring, of being alone and together alone. those sorts of states which occasionally seem to be a precondition for -- a specific sort of encounter with one's thoughts, one's self when reading...

your idea of theory is θεωρία which just means looking at something, contemplating. not writing longlong treatises on something. although you do that too occasionally. just not on the internet.

you just want to write along.
just so.
without that it necessarily has to mean anything.
you don't want the big words. the big books. you want small, short phrases (but you want precision too). and then you go on reading all those longlong novels. maybe a sign of your slowness: you need 100 pages to get used to it all.

and the short form leaves you space in a different way.

reading a bit more poetry too, of late...

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Patience it is music
unfolding slowly
It must play out until the end
without omitting anything
like a quiet happiness that comes
climbs up a path and descends
down the hills of days and nights
difficult fragile unaware
...

anna kamienska


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and in an odd way coming across lenz, hermann pondering a tenderness for words (Zärtlichkeit für die Wörter) which you reminded you of jellema thinking of tenderness as some kind of intellectual capacity. this sort of thinking should be encouraged.
last night you read lenz, jmr, or as you always call him: the actual lenz. the büchner one. and that is some rather gorgeous writing. very aware & very sensitive. sad. about a dear room which he has to leave: so soll ich dich verlassen, liebes zimmer.


and the lovely idea to teach them both lenz hermann & jmr and that would fit. only it would not fit to the british education system or what's left of it, so it's not happening.

harmony. ἁρμονία - agreement. harmonize: to make something fit to each other.
 difficult fragile unaware



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beautiful.

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sometimes you don't know words in any language anymore.
 such a simple word for a practical thing and you don't know it anymore in any language. also not even vaguely so you could look it up. you could ask someone, you know: what is this?


and so you read on and on and all those writers and their words - overlap - and it's not bad way to spend time....

it's not that you mind that you don't know anymore who you are or what words you forget.

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jellema, a poem about silence: to stare is to drink silence out of things
you cannot go further because light determines the borders in which you breathe.
you, here:
...
you're not dreaming at/the night, why then sleeping when there is no dream...

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Que peut-être je guérirai

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The soul sometimes gasps in the breast
It does not want to fly to the air in these
explosive times It grips the ribs like bars
But then it comes murmuring Houses tremble
in fear Because everything happens inside
not outside

ene mihkelson


*

it's not like you take things very serious here with what you call: writing into the internet, no uppercase, incomplete references, jotting down. in some others you wonder about all this ambition, this direction, this drive and the big race to: getting published. and the resentment of those who won't and who then strive to improve their - game.
-- enough said.

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Duparc, Chanson Triste (1868) - Jessye Norman


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yesterday:

(My voice has no bearing No echo / Who observes me in reality e.m.)

you woke up with the cat curled up by your feet, her little head leaning in the curve created by foot and ankle. you didn't dare to move.

food:
the day consisted of approx 3 litres of tea.
bread (not english bread, proper bread) + butter + springonion & chives sprinkled on it.
for lunch you fried some potatoes with onion. in all fairness, you belong to the 'unsophisticated heartwarming grub' school of cooking.
in the evening a tin of grapefruit segments and you like that it is called segments. not a fancy new word. so latin. latin grapefruit segements.
you take 4h over one glas of wine. not chateau petrus. you prefer stout anyway. which you've been told is an old fogey beverage here. fogey is a good word.

your way of coping with academentia: not going in, only ever going in when absolutely necessary. not checking your university mail more than twice a week. never replying immediately.

still: writing. happily chipping away. due to new wordprocessor you suppose. you always used an open source programme which did the job but wasn't brilliant. now you try iPages. and good.
but also helped: talking to someone whom you knew from the days of yore. more confidence in your writing. the connection: in order to write one has to be confident, at least to some extent. you often lack that. if you ever feel secure about something it is often only afterwards


the lost thought:
more important than what.
why are lost thoughts important.

the vexing thought:
the things that you betray...

the things that you betray.

how: in speaking about them in -you can't say it.


the books you read, so many many interesting books... too many at once. a lot of them wonderful.


you speak dutch to your cat: dag poes, hoe is het met je? you don't know why.
you listen to duparc and you allow him to break your heart a little (only a little). so this is what you do, you eat and drink and read and write,


Dans ton coeur dort un clair de lune,
Un doux clair de lune d’été,
Et pour fuir la vie importune,
Je me noierai dans ta clarté.
J’oublierai les douleurs passées,
Mon amour, quand tu berceras
Mon triste coeur et mes pensées
Dans le calme aimant de tes bras.
Tu prendras ma tête malade,
Oh! quelquefois, sur tes genoux,
Et lui diras une ballade
Qui semblera parler de nous;
Et dans tes yeux pleins de tristesse,
Dans tes yeux alors je boirai
Tant de baisers et de tendresses
Que peut-être je guérirai.

you haven't been outside all day.

Because everything happens inside
not outside


it is 3am and you tried to sleep since probably 12. you give up for now, meaning to try again at least before it gets bright again which is around 5am. you're rather more content than not - , still, you can't sleep. it's also the last night alone at home and you sleep distinctly better when he's there. sleep should go back to normal soon, hopefully.



calme.

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aiming without direction; muted clarity


finished reading jellema. you know that his writing will accompany you for a longlong time and you will return to it. you already are returning to it.

the characteristic aftermath after reading a significant book. the well known emptiness.

and in order to smooth the transition to - (transition to what?) you decided to read about something that’s similar:

lenz (hermann), a book about his house (called: Im stillen Haus by Norbert Hummelt), where he  lived, in munich,  first as a student, then as an old person. images of old furniture and (old) books. you watched a documentary about jellema, maybe similar old furniture and old books. the same old feel. who loves old furniture is a hurt person (wer alte Moebel liebt, der war ein verletzter Mensch p24)
you have foremost antique furniture yourself. go to an english furniture store, then you know what you're up against: antique furniture is more beautiful and cheaper. in the uk.



in that book a biography of lenz:
1913 born
1922 passed an exam at school
1924 moving to stuttgart
1927 read mörike for the first time
1929 read stifter for the first time

biographies ought to be like that, describing a life according to the inner decisive events, experiences, the books one has read. and when.


[biography of today
8.00 - 12.00 pondering the lenz book and jellema
12.00 trained clematis up to shed to grow over the roof, overcome fear of height (2m!)
afternoon: thought about a certain jellema poem and how you're not sure what to do with this beauty, but how you are grateful that it exists. you think also how jellema is being called, or better: accused of being too cerebral, but you think the cerebral bit essential
13.45 how to write about this all. wanting to write and then not doing it.
13.52 pondering the 2nd person exhortation
in the guardian, the other day, someone complaining about bloggers using the 2nd person and how that's bad style. 2nd person, that's you. you've also even occasionally reflected on your use of the 2nd person. occasionally you even write in the 1st person. it's probably not wrong to say that your use of 2nd person is due to the ability to create distance and also - ego fragility. who is ever sure of themselves. you could probably defend your use of 2nd person by referring to humboldt's dualis, or buber's i and thou -- and for instance gadamer's celan study: that the you is aiming, but it is rather aiming for nothing instead of for someone in particular. it is aiming without direction.


the same thing: your tendency to ask questions without using a question mark.
14.something - ? 16.50ish:  reading judith schalansky sailor book, ok but not great. not as great as the island book.
sometimes the habit to read books such as the schalanksky one that distract you from what is actually important to you, such as jellema for instance. what hinders you to focus?
18.31 brought freshly harvested red currants to neighbours to share.
20.15  opened grillparzerbook which was lying in the sun, opening it caused a wonderful sensation of old paper smell. old words. and who will read all those old words. you want to.
now: still too warm
now: how to write about this all
now: i am really thinking about it
now: i love those poems.
now: do i read grillparzer or - how to write about this all. you're not even coming close.
now: concentrate, no, better: composure and greeting the evening. first reading then writing, then thinking. in that order. you have to rediscover your patience, your trust in the muted clarity of the not yet present word.

now: thinking about that inner area that lenz described, where writing takes place:

the main effect of reading lenz - that his writing is so disarming.

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to be continued...




Acknowledgement: http://fortlaufen.blogspot.co.uk/