"......Be what it is, The Action of my life is like it, which I'll keep if but for sympathy."

Showing posts with label Unmöglich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unmöglich. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 October 2023
Monday, 9 September 2013
Things That Made People Laugh - And Me Along
Way back at the academy I once uttered that I didn't want to paint paintings for people's living rooms. Some time later there was the academy feast and my professor, Jochen Zellmann, introduced me to the principal, art historian Manfred Schneckenburger, by saying: "Here is somebody who does not want to paint for living-rooms." He just smiled and said: "Oh, you should take a look at my living room!"
Yet, the truth is that I still do not want to paint anything that is just ornamental, though I wonder, how to achieve this impossiblity.
Yet, the truth is that I still do not want to paint anything that is just ornamental, though I wonder, how to achieve this impossiblity.
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
What is poetry?
... Thus the dream of learning by heart arises in you.
Of letting your heart be traversed by the dictated
dictation. In a single trait - and that's the impos-
sible, that's the poematic experience. You did not
yet know the heart, you learn it thus. From this
experience and from this expression. I call a poem
that very thing that teaches the heart, invents the
heart, that which, finally, the word heart seems to
mean and which, in my language, I cannot easily
discern from the word itself. Heart, in the poem
'learn by heart' (to be learned by heart), no longer names only pure interiority, independent
spontaneity, the freedom to affect oneself ac-
tively by reproducing the beloved trace... (Jacques Derrida, What is poetry?)
Of letting your heart be traversed by the dictated
dictation. In a single trait - and that's the impos-
sible, that's the poematic experience. You did not
yet know the heart, you learn it thus. From this
experience and from this expression. I call a poem
that very thing that teaches the heart, invents the
heart, that which, finally, the word heart seems to
mean and which, in my language, I cannot easily
discern from the word itself. Heart, in the poem
'learn by heart' (to be learned by heart), no longer names only pure interiority, independent
spontaneity, the freedom to affect oneself ac-
tively by reproducing the beloved trace... (Jacques Derrida, What is poetry?)
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