by Jacques Derrida
overlapping chorus Abaroa Carmen et al.
To answer this question - one or two words, right? - You know to renounce claims to knowledge. And know it well, never forget: demobilization culture but what you sacrifice on the road, crossing the road, do not ever forget your learned ignorance.
Who dares to ask such a thing? Even if it seems, is disappearing as its law, the answer is dictated . I am a dictation, utters the poem choir apréndeme , memory, fuck, copy, watch and guard me, resguárdame, look, rendered in the eyes: audiotape, wake, stream of light, photography grieving party.
She is impelled, response, to be poetic. And, therefore, to address someone pujada singularly to you but as to be lost in anonymity, between city and nature, between Sorata and Warisata, a shared secret, both public and private absolutely one and the other acquitted of outside and inside, neither one nor the other, the animal thrown by the way, all lonely, winding, made ball - with him. Can be crushed, precisely for that reason the Hedgehog, Istrice.
And if you respond otherwise, as appropriate, taking into account the space and time are you given this question (of course you speak Italian), by itself, as this economy but also on the verge of crossing some beside himself as home , Risky, to the language of another in view of a translation impossible, as resurgent as refused, necessary but desired as a death - what do all that, that same desvariarte you just would have to see, then, with poetry? With the poetic, rather, because you hear a experience, another word for travel, here the random walk a path, returning the stanza but never goes back to the speech, no home, never comes down to it at least the poetry - written, spoken, sung even.
Here, then, not to forget, in one or two words.
1. The economy of memory: a poem must be short, elliptical by vocation, whatever its length by other objective or perceived. Learned unconscious Verdichtung , the delay and suspense.
2. The choir heart. No heart in the middle of sentences without risk circulating among the money changers on the street and left Camacho translated into any language. Not just the heart of the files cardiograph, the object of knowledge and techniques, philosophies and bio-ethical discourse and legal. Maybe not the heart of the Scriptures or Pascal, or even, and less secure, that they prefer rather than aquesos Heidegger. No, a story "heart" poetically wrapped in the language of "learning from choir" of my (archaic) language or another, par coeur, for instance, or the English ( to learn by heart), or possibly another, Arabic ( Hafiza A'N Zahri kalb ) - just one way of many voices.
Two in one: the second axiom is wound around the first. The poetic, let's say, would be what you want to learn, but on the other, thanks to another and dictation, chorus: imparare memory. Is not it that the poem, when lint is given, the coming of an event, at the time that the crossing the road called translation remains as improbable as an accident, intense dream yet required here that what promises to always leave what you want? That recognition goes to it and prevents this knowledge: know your blessing before. Fable
that you could count as the gift of the poem, a story emblematic someone writes you, you, you, about you. No, a brand directed at you, left, confident, accompanied by an exhortation, really establishing in that order, which in turn provides you, giving you allocate your home or place:, Trash, or rather give me my invisible support outside in the world (here and sign dissociation of all, the story of the transcendent), do in any case so that the provenance of the brand remains from now untraceable or unknowable. Promise me, that it defaces, or indeterminate transfigure his port, and you'll hear this word, line the shore as much as the benchmark to which a translation behaves. Eat, drink, swallow my letter, portal, transfer it to you, as the law of a writing made body, your body: writing itself. The cleverness of the entry call can be inspired by the mere possibility of death, the danger that a vehicle can run all finite. Come hear the disaster. From pre-printed directly on the line, come from the heart, the desire awakens in you mortal motion (contradictory, I follow it, double duty, obligation aporetic) to protect from oblivion this thing at the same time exposed to death and protected - in a word, the skill, the delay of sea urchin, as in the highway an animal that ball. It would take in hand, learn and understand it, save it as a pledge to himself, with him.
you like - save it in the singular form, it would seem: the irreplaceable letter of the word, if we speak of poetry, not only of poetry in general. But our poem does not hold just in names, even in words. It is thrown from the start fields and roads, something beyond language, even if he happens to remember this when it contracts, ball made himself more threatened than ever in its retraction, the distance, he now believes defense, but loses . Literally
: choir would like to retain (with and without decorum), an absolutely singular, unique event which does not separate intangible and ideality, the ideal sense, as you say, the body of the letter. In the desire of this separation is not absolute, absolutely no way, you breathe the origin of poetry. Hence the absolute resistance to transfer point that the animal in its name, however, he claims. It is the helplessness, untwist the hedgehog. What does the twisted to the same stress? Strict sense: to warn. Hence the prophecy: traducem, save, save me even a little, save, leave the motorway.
This stands in you dream of learning by heart. I let you go through the heart by the (archaic) delivered. In a single stroke, and it is impossible and poematic experience. You do not know, yet knew not the heart as a choir, and you learn. From this experience and this expression. I call that same poem to learn the heart, which invents the heart, and ultimately what word chorus ( cor, cordis ) seems to say that in my language dicierno malign the word chorus. Coro, in the poem "learning chorus (the chorus to learn), and does not name only pure interiority, independent spontaneity, freedom of playing actively affected the trace loved. The memory of the "chorus" trusts as a prayer to more than one, is safer, to a certain detachment from the PLC, the laws of the mnemonic, a liturgy that pampers surface mechanics, the car that we surprised your passion and comes to you like from outside: auswendig in German, "chorus." Then the chorus hits you, beats, birth rate, beyond the oppositions of inside and outside of conscious representation and file left. A choir there, among the paths and the autoroute outside of your presence, humble, close to the ground, well below. Reiterates murmuring not repeat ever ... In a single figure, the poem (the learning of chorus) seal together the spirit and letter spacing as a rhythm time.
To answer in one or two words, ellipse, for example, or choice, choir or hedgehog, would have had to dismantle the memory, disassemble culture, namely forget the know, burning the libraries of the poetic. The uniqueness of this poem is provided. You have to celebrate, you should mark the amnesia, the savagery, even the balls around the "chorus": the hedgehog. Is blind. Funky, bristling with spikes, vulnerable and dangerous, calculating and unsuitable (because it makes ball, sensing the danger on the highway, is exposed to the accident). There is no poem without incident, no poem that does not open like a wound, and that there is both hurtful. You will call poem to a quiet spell, the wound aphonic that you want to learn, such archaic time chorus. He has since held, in essence, without the need to do: left do is done, no activity, no work, the more sober pathos, all production abroad, especially to (all) creation. The poem touches , a-to-Tece , blessing, coming of alter. Rhythm but asymmetry. There are only poem, before any poiesis. When, instead of "poetry", we said [it] "poetic" because we would specify: "poematic." Especially do not let the hedgehog catapult the circus or the riding of poiesis : nothing to do ( poien ) or "pure poetry", not pure rhetoric, nor reine Sprache or business-as-of-the-truth. " Only contamination, such and such a crossroads, this accident. This return, return this catastrophe. The gift of the poem does not mention anything, has no title at all, and not histrioniza; comes without you expect it, cutting off his breath, cutting with poetry and especially literary discourse. In the ashes of that same genealogy. No phoenix, no eagle, sea urchins at times, deep down, way down near play ground. Or sublime, or incorporeal, angelic, perhaps, and for a period.
now calls poem to a certain singular passion for the brand, the firm that repeats dispersion, increasing beyond the logos , anhumana, just domestic or family reappropriate the subject or person, an animal become funky, turned to another and to himself, something in short, modest and discreet one foot to land, nicknames humility, taking you beyond the name and the name, an urchin catacrético, all points out, when this blind ageless hear but not see death coming.
The poem can be funky, get ball, but is yet to return their acute signs to the outside. By the way, can reflect the language or poetry, but that is not restored himself never, no never alone moves same as those mills carriers of death. His events always interrupts or diverts absolute knowledge, being himself in the autotelia. This "devil's choir gathering will never finish, but became lost (delirium or mania), is exposed to it touches, and would rather be left to tear as it comes.
Asujeto: there maybe poem and left , is abandoned, but never write. A poem I never signed it. Alter the signature. The ego is nothing but the coming of that desire: learn by heart by heart. Summarized returned to their own stand, so without external support, without substance, without a subject, acquitted of writing itself, the "chorus" is left to set beyond the body, sex, mouth and eyes, erase the edges, out of hand, just what you hear, but teaches the heart as the chorus. Affiliation, turn left a legacy of choice, you can grab any word, the thing, living or not, on behalf of hedgehog, for example, between life and death at nightfall or at dawn, distracted apocalypse , typical and common, public and secret.
- But the poem of which you speak, you lost, never called him as well, not so arbitrarily.
- you just say so. Had to prove it. Remember the question: "What is ...?" (you esti, Was ist ..., historia, episteme, philosophia ). "What is ...?" mourns the disappearance of the poem - another disaster. Announcing that is what it is, a question presents the birth of prose.
* Published [with the title poetry Che cos'è?] First Poetry, I, 11 November 1988, and then Po & sie, 50, fall of 1989, which was preceded by the following note:
"The Italian magazine Poetry, which appeared this text in November 1988 (translated by Maurizio Ferraris), opens each of its issues with the sham attempt or a response in some lines, to question poetry che cos'è? She is raised to a living, while the response to question cos'era che poetry? corresponds to a dead man, in this case to Odradek of Kafka. As I write, the living dead ignores the response: it comes at the end of the magazine and is chosen by the editors. "[NdT: The title on this occasion, as the movement's former name - maybe more archaic and not without - a subtitle, at the risk of crossing all prohibited francs passages lack perhaps of what we call, in translation, rhetorical decorum, was, to some extent, the sole responsibility of ours].
Who does not remember the first comics I read in your life? ... 
