And shall we have to deny thee then,
God of the tumors, God of the living
flower, begin with a no to the obscure
rock "I am," consent to death
and on each tomb inscribe our only
certainty: "thanatos athanatos"?
Without a name to tell the dreams the tears the furors of this man defeated by still-open questions.
Our dialogue alters; now the absurd
becomes possible. There, beyond
the smoke of fog, within the trees
the potency of leaves awakes, true is the river pressing on the banks.
Life is not dream. True is man
and his jealous plaint of silence.
God of silence, open solitude.
Salvatore Quasimodo, Thanatos Athanatos, from The Selected Writings of Salvatore Quasimodo, trans. Allen Mandelbaum
God of the tumors, God of the living
flower, begin with a no to the obscure
rock "I am," consent to death
and on each tomb inscribe our only
certainty: "thanatos athanatos"?
Without a name to tell the dreams the tears the furors of this man defeated by still-open questions.
Our dialogue alters; now the absurd
becomes possible. There, beyond
the smoke of fog, within the trees
the potency of leaves awakes, true is the river pressing on the banks.
Life is not dream. True is man
and his jealous plaint of silence.
God of silence, open solitude.
Salvatore Quasimodo, Thanatos Athanatos, from The Selected Writings of Salvatore Quasimodo, trans. Allen Mandelbaum
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Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker
“Come Out” from Fase: Four movements to the Music of Steve Reich
1982
Ph: Herman Sorgeloos
“Come Out” from Fase: Four movements to the Music of Steve Reich
1982
Ph: Herman Sorgeloos
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Sol LeWitt
Unnoscriptd from Forms Derived from a Cube
1982
Unnoscriptd from Forms Derived from a Cube
1982
❤6
“How can another see into me, into my most secret self, without my being able to see in there myself? And without my being able to see him in me. And if my secret self, that which can be revealed only to the other, to the wholly other, to God if you wish, is a secret that I will never reflect on, that I will never know or experience or possess as my own, then what sense is there in saying that it is my secret, or in saying more generally that a secret belongs, that it is proper to or belongs to some one, or to some other who remains someone. It's perhaps there that we find the secret of secrecy. Namely, that it is not a matter of knowing and that it is there for no one. A secret doesn't belong, it can never be said to be at home or in its place. The question of the self: who am I not in the sense of who am I but rather who is this I that can say who? What is the - I and what becomes of responsibility once the identity of the I trembles in secret?”
— Jacques Derrida, The Gift of Death, Second Edition & Literature in Secret (Religion and Postmodernism
— Jacques Derrida, The Gift of Death, Second Edition & Literature in Secret (Religion and Postmodernism
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