More Last Words

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© Denise Startin

The Secret Language without a Secret

“It is not a noise, although at its approach everything becomes noise around us (and we must remember that we do not know today what such a noise might be.) Rather it is language: it speaks, it doesn’t stop speaking, it is like the void that speaks, a light murmuring, insistent, indifferent, that is probably the same for everyone, that is without secret and yet isolates each person, separates him from others, from the world and from himself, leading him through mocking labyrinths, drawing him always farther away, by a fascinating repulsion, below the ordinary world of daily speech. Continue reading

The Last Word

last word

Death of the Last Writer

“We can dream about the last writer, with whom would disappear, without anyone noticing it, the little mystery of writing. To give a touch of the fantastic to the situation, we can imagine that Rimbaud, even more mythical than the real one, hears that speech fall silent in him, and it dies with him. Finally we can suppose that, throughout the world circle of civilization, this final end would be noted. What would be the result? Apparently a great silence. That is what it is polite to say when some writer disappears: a voice has fallen silent, a way of thinking has disappeared. What a silence then if no-one else spoke in that exalted way that is the language of texts that come accompanied by the rumour of their reputation. Continue reading

Awaiting Oblivion

her lodging her, bidding DS2011

“When I am before you and would like to look at you, to speak to you…” – “He takes hold of her and attracts her, drawing her out of her presence.” – “When I approach, motionless, my pace bound to your pace, calm, hurried…” – “She leans back against him, holding back, letting herself go.” – “When you go ahead, marking out a path for me to you…” – “She slips, rising up on the one he touches.” – “When we come and go in the room and look for an instant at...” – “She holds back in her, drawn back outside her, waiting for what happened to happen.” – “When we move away from each other, and also from ourselves, and thus approach each other, but far from each other…” – “That is the coming and going of waiting: its cessation.” – “When we remember and forget, reunited: separated…” – “That is the motionlessness of waiting: in motion more than any movement.” – “But when you say: ‘Come” and I come to this place of attraction…” – “She falls, given to the outside, her eyes calmly open.” – “When you turn back and make me a sign…” – “She turns away from everything visible and invisible.” – “Leaning back and showing herself.” – “Face to face in this calm turning away.” – “Not here where she is or there where he is, but between them.” – “Between them like this place, with its great staring look, the reserve of things in their latent state.”

Awaiting Oblivion (L’Attente l’oubli), Maurice Blanchot, Trans John Gregg, University of Nebraska Press: USA1997, pp.85