Writers are those for whom composure is a problem.
It is unclear to them how to coordinate their concepts
with their emotions, their eyes and hands. It's not
easy for them. (They are uneasy.) The page helps them.

"I do feel poems to involve an occasion to which a man pays obedience, and which intentions alone never yield." (Robert Creeley, QG, p. 54)

The idea here is that the poet has an experience that seems meaningful but this is merely the occasion (an inspiration?) that the poet must now obey in order to make the poem. "That which exists through itself," Creeley quotes Olson, "is what is called meaning."

The philosopher works differently, also confronted by some thing, apparently meaningful, but taking it as an existence, not an inspiration, pursues the occasion to understand it.

* * *

I think I will begin using the blog for notes of my readings now. Something is coming together for SaETItC. It will be nice to have a searchable trail. (Creeley, of course, is to Olson as Davidson is to Quine.)

I think like Frege. I feel like Mallarmé.

I imagine facts like Wittgenstein;
                  the field of action,
                                    like Williams.

Quine's objective pull, from the many to the one;
Olson's subjective push, from the one to the many.

Though we do not experience pure forms,
we can know them.

Though we do not experience raw content,
we can master it.

Nothing ever appears in experience in its pure form.

Nor is there any raw content on the surface experience.

It is only in imagination, where form and content combine,
that we experience things. We imagine their innocence.

Somehow the body,
in its entirety
and its privacy,
is our answer.

I comes at you like rain;
you weather it.

Turn a paragraph; write beside a strophe.

The wonder is not what human bodies can do but that human bodies can do it.

Youth is the (blessed) inability to distinguish between the discovery and invention of who you are.

Poems are composed. Philosophies are compromised.

Was der Fall ist

The world is everything that is the case; history befalls us.

Why do I write? When people tell me I have hurt them, I have a large space inside me to process their complaint. That's it.

Every poem is composed in composure;
every philosophy, compromised by compromise.

Nothing cannot be
described
out of existence;

It can't be understood
away.

Any sufficiently advanced 24-year-old is indistinguishable from magic.

You are imagining
some big mind
that will vouch for you
and you look up
and it's just us trying
to make sense of it.

"I have the idea of an objective reality which is independent of my belief." (Donald Davidson, "Rational Animals," p. 326)

The reality is that subjective ideality is dependent upon my desire.

The moment touches the skin;
eternity touches the soul.

The soul is as familiar to us as the skin.

In 1839, Theodor Schwann published his Microscopical researches into the accordance in the structure and growth of animals and plants, the basis of cell theory.

In 1844, Søren Kierkegaard published the Concept of Anxiety: A Simple Psychologically Orienting Deliberation on the Dogmatic Issue of Hereditary Sin.

_______
"To be hearing the inspirations of the angel when one is kissing the flames is a condition so implicit with agony that it took eighteen centuries of Christendom before Kierkegaard could come back alive with the knowledge that such moments not only existed but were the characteristic way modern man found knowledge of his soul — which is to say that he found it by the act of perceiving that he was most certainly losing it." -Norman Mailer, preface to Deaths for the Ladies (and Other Disasters), 1962

Thankfully, the soul knows
almost nothing of
what the flesh in known for.
Nor can everything
it learns be put into words.

Credo, Desiderata

for danielle

I aim to be credible in the moment, sufferable for a time,
desirable at a distance, and tolerable in bed.

Don't bother making things
famous. They don't need it.

And don't bother people with
fame. It destroys them.

The substrate of consciousness is life.
Your soul depends on it.

The contortions of belief
that protect our desires,

the contortions of desire,
that protect our beliefs,

are rectified in

the clarity of philosophy,
the intensity of poetry.

There are small shifts within the body,
the first emotions, to which our lives
adjust, in obedience and resistance.

They have been there from the start.
They do not master us, but are a limit
on our sovereignty, our reach.

The first concepts are beyond us.
From things within its grasp, the body
learns. In understanding and confusion,

our knowledge grows, without end,
without purpose or finality.
We are curious, friend. Curious indeed.

Perhaps we are suspended over it
and the depth, not ours to choose.

Perhaps, poised or clamoring,
we are free only to leap or slip.

Or, perhaps, perhaps, the depth
itself is ours to set, but the fall,

out of our hands. Thus we forget
how it is we lay us down to sleep.

A body is always able to be itself.

(Every body promises to be itself.)

It is always possible to be yourself.

It's not easy. It is the difficulty.

No depth is reached
by poetry.
No, you are released
by poetry

           into it.

The scientific method does not produce truths you must believe but claims you can test.

A political mandate does not represent a right to be desired but a promise to be kept.

The way to truth
traverses error,
straying, wandering,
and forgetting.

The site of justice
comprises malice,
betrayal, slander,
and forgiveness.

Every body
is a world,
a history.

Everybody's
world is a
whole story.

---

Reason constrains belief.
Passion liberates desire.

Song

All these years,
you've been telling me to choose.
And all this time,
I've been learning how to lose.

If you ask me why I did it
I'll give you reasons and passions.

If you ask me why it happened
I'll resort to causes and morals.

Maybe it's not so much
that the mind seeks truth
and the heart, justice, but
that the mind seeks truth
and the heart just seeks.

Wittgenstein was right. Philosophy must be composed like poetry. But, instead of extracting what Pound called "the data of ethics," emotions at their first intensity, from the vortex of history, it must arrange the propositions of science perspicuously to reveal our concepts.

Those days are over.
Others are in store.

Wisdom of Thomas More

Keep your affairs regular,
your moods, seasonal.

Concepts are to knowledge

(the hold we have on it)

what emotions are to power

(the hold they have on us).