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inquietudine1's journal
You are viewing inquietudine1's journal
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Escrituras de luz embisten la sombra, mas prodigiosas que meteoros. La alta ciudad inconocible arrecia sobre el campo. Seguo de mi vida y de mi muerte, miro los ambiciosos y quisiera entenderlos. Su dia es avido como el lazo en el aire. Su noche es tregua de la ira en el hierro, pronto en acometer. Hablan de humanidad. Mi humanidad esta en sentir que somos voces de una misma penuria. Hablan de patria. Mi patria es un latido di guitarra, unos retratos y una vieja espada, la oracion evidente del sauzal en los atardeceres. El tiempo esta vivendome. Mas silencioso que mi sombra, cruzo el tropel de su levantada codicia. Ellos son imprescindibles, unicos, merecedores del manana. Mi nombre es alguien y cualquiera. Paso con lentitud, como quien viene de tan lejos que no espera llegar. --Jorge Luis Borges |
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In real mourning, it is the "test of reality" which shows me that the loved object has ceased to exist. In amourous mourning, the object is neither dead nor remote. It is I who decide that its image must die. As long as this strange mourning lasts, I will therefore have to undergo two contrary miseries: to suffer from the fact that the other is present (continuing, in spite of himself, to wound me) and to suffer from the fact that the other is dead (dead at least as I loved him). Thus I am wretched (an old habit) over a telephone call that does not come, but I must remind myself at the same time that this silence, in any case, is insignificant, since I have decided to get over any such concern: it was merely an aspect of the amorous image that it was to telephone me; once this image is gone, the telephone, whether it rings or not, resumes its trivial existence. (Isn't the most sensitive point of this mourning the fact that I must lose a language--the amorous language? No more "I love you's.") --Barthes |
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The psychotic lives in the terror of breakdown (against which the various psychoses are merely defenses). But "the clinical fear of breakdown is the fear of a breakdown which has already been experienced (primitive agony)...and there are moments when a patient needs to be told that the breakdown, fear of which is wreaking his life, has already occurred." Similarly, it seems, for the lover's anxiety: it is the fear of a mourning which has already occurred, at the very origin of love, from the moment when I was first "ravished." Someone would have to be able to tell me: "Don't be anxious any more--you've already lost him/her." ---Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments |
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In the text, the fade-out of voices is a good thing; the voices of the narrative come, go, disappear, overlap; we do not know who is speaking; the text speaks, that is all: no more image, nothing but language. But the other is not a text, the other is an image, single and coalescent; if the voice is lost, it is the entire image which vanishes (love is monologic, maniacal; the text is heterologic, perverse). The other's fade-out, when it occurs, makes me anxious because it seems without cause and without conclusion. Like a kind of melancholy mirage, the other withdraws into infinity and I wear myself out trying to get there. ---Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments |
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