July 21st, 2010
poetry that comes in part way through
Amelia Rosselli is new to me. She was an Italian poet who, being fundamentally tri-lingual, seems to have had an approach to language that had more to do with the spaces between words – the zip-zaps of those inter-lingual synapses – than most can manage. It makes her an evocative and interesting poet. Her inter-lingual power, I suspect, one of the reasons her stanzas feel as if they are starting mid story. Reading through the text, it is like a repeated sky-dive into the fray. It’s wonderful.
For example, here is one that is the best evocation of female aging within this Euro-American cultural space that I have ever read.
And the dawning will be that string of pearls you wear always untied on your pearly thinning neck, o! the muffled bones that press in the excited dazed laughter. And you will wear bandages on those tendons snapped by the fury of loving joyfully.
Here is another, one that comes right after in the edition I am reading.
of your oh nothing is the world and nothing said is your word, kept on its diagonal axis by the steps of illiterates. And beyond any saying is the true schoolbook. Summer smiles in a sweet rustle of soft green leaves, but the darkness of its weaving I won't tell. And my necklace of ideals (only the earth knew the shore it lapped while men squeezed the flower) is a dream more real than your candied light pressed in today's machine.
The way she breaks apart linguistic expectation allows for the strands that string the pearls to take a place in the construction of meaning.
the strings that bind and order, visible
How cool is that.
The second bit seems to me to speak of that silence I am reading about in Sara Maitland’s book. That same silence I so want for myself. So tomorrow on my break at work I will be reading poetry at the Starbucks across the street. One way to survive.
War Variations by Amelia Rosselli, translated from the Italian by Lucia Re and Paul Vangelisti
July 4th, 2010
Phenomenology, poetry and sense – part 3
In part 2 I asked this question. “So what is outside the concept of subject/object and can we understand it?”
The only way I can understand this idea is to acknowledge the world that we cannot grasp through language. But this is unclear. Is there a world we language users can grasp without language? Thought about another way, experience of the world is profoundly changed by language concepts and structures. Still unclear. While probably true, this says nothing about what impacts language concepts and structures. What if those structures are reflections of the pre-linguistic world?
Let me try this:
1. Our species experienced things prior to its acquisition of language.
2. Species without language communicate.
3. Recent research in embodied cognition suggests that intelligence, reason and language are physically grounded.
4. Evolution tends to work by using existing structures and patterns of organization (whether physical or behavioural) and finding new and useful ways to use them.
5. The world is all that is the case. But contra Wittgenstein, I also think that the physical world is enough to explain the language world.
Things get sticky after this.
Imagine things freeing themselves from the meaningful, becoming, not meaningless, but anarchic and non-identical.
(Gadamer on Celan Introduction by Gerald L. Bruns)
As a poet and person with a whole raft of unusual perceptual experiences under her belt I find it almost impossible not to experience language as a entity distinct from me. I also find it impossible not to experience the world as a thinking being. I can do it but by dint of mental brute force but I cannot maintain it. Does this mean I believe these things? No. Not without evidence other than my experience of it.
I had a dream some years ago in which my synesthesia played a crucial role. In the dream I come to consciousness inside the head of a bear. That is, I am aware that I am dreaming and I am neurologically tied into the bear’s head. I still maintain my own human circuitry so there are limitations to what each sense can experience but what senses I do have can be reconfigured for the duration of the “ride.” For example, if I was in the head of a hummingbird, I wouldn’t be able to see ultraviolet as the hummingbird can because, as a human being, I simply don’t have those receptors. However, I would be able to use some sense to pick up on those frequencies – perhaps it would come in as a particular tonal group.
In the dream about the bear I smell the world with the bear but what I perceive comes in visually. I see the scent trails as coloured ribbons. The dream allows me to understand that the bear’s relationship to time is different from mine because it can smell time as scent potency. In other words, the bear’s physical (sensory and cognitive) structures organize and limit basic concepts such as time. The same organizational potential must be true for us since we evolved with the same basic environmental forces in place. Some things are important for us to know about and some are not and since no one species can sense all of it, each species has a limited, but viable, range of sensory input available to it. Perceiving too much would not promote longevity. You’d never be able to sort through it fast enough to deal with sudden danger.
So now I have an experience that I think of as a bear’s. My knowledge of bear anatomy almost certainly had something to do with how my mind came to understand the effect of sensory organization on conceptual foundations but has that really anything to do with an actual bear’s experience? And does it matter?
For me the real question is: Does language conscribe reality any more or less than the organization of our senses? I suspect not but since I also suspect that language is a development grounded in sensory structures, I think the question of what’s outside subject and object might be a misdirection at its heart.
Still, we think of memes as operating on people – that memes use people to propogate themselves as genes do. Having said that, there is no way in which human genes or human memes can exist without people. They have no intentions in the reasoned sense of the word. As an example: There are cultural ideas that work poorly in current situated human activities and there are ones that work to foster human feelings of success. The cultural ideas that promote desirable feelings are going to be repeated, i.e. be replicated or spread. There is no need for the idea to have a mind of its own.
I can think of the Phenomenological “thing” like this. Using the gene analogy, words are the bases but perhaps the 5-carbon sugar and the phosphate group are sensory structures and embodied experience and the “thing” that results – the particular gene of this analogy – is independent of us only in the sense that it is first an echo and product of us and our history.
February 27th, 2010
Oddball stuff
So a cake was commissioned to celebrate a trip to Germany. This is what they got.
Boggles doesn’t it? The text was supposed to read “here we come” rather than “hear me come.” Spelling matters.
From cakewrecks.com. Thanks, Justine, for the site.
February 26th, 2010
Funny signs and the wonders of meaning

(Thanks Shannon for the pic.)
This seems to have come from engrish and if you have a peek over there you will find some howlers. Many of them have a sexual component almost certainly not intended by the product’s or service’s advertiser. It makes me wonder what those fortune cookies really say. But really, isn’t that the real power of language and its relationship to meaning construction. All of a sudden what is visible are some of the deep webs which bind words together with the fine thread of categorical relationships and it makes you look around for other previously invisible things. If you think about the words “poisonous” and “rubbish” you can see how they really do fit together and if you work at it even a little you can stagger backwards into meaning-folds of the original language and take a guess at how “poisonous” is used more generally. In other words, it gives us a glimpse of the connotations of “poisonous” in another’s context and by doing that, it makes temporarily visible our own contexts. It’s the difference, the dissonance, between the two that makes this funny.
Now that I find interesting.
September 19th, 2009
The heartbreaking possibility of losing your language
In the May 29-June 3 2009 The Pacific Northwest Inlander there was an article called “Saving Salish.” It’s the language (well actually the name of the group of languages) native to my relations.
The excerpt reads:
Salish isn’t just a language of words and grammar. It’s a bridge between generations – a link to culture and identity – and for the Kalispel, it’s dangerously close to being lost forever.
I am used to hearing Salish spoken at ritual events, and I know some of the people involved in the attempt to rescue the language at the Spokane. But here in my apartment in Vancouver, reading the Inlander, the thing that really gets to me is imagining losing my ability to read Shakespeare or Chaucer or any of the other seminal writers that express what it is to be who we are as English speakers.
Imagine that. Imagine losing the ability to reach out into our past, losing Shakespeare. Arguably, we would lose ourselves. To whom would we then belong?
July 28th, 2009
Definitions: empathy, radical, radical empathy
em.path.y (em’pə’thē) n. [<Gr. <en- in + pathos, feeling] the ability to share in another’s emotions, thoughts, or feelings
rad.i.cal (rad’i k’l) adj. [<LL. < Lm radicis, genitive of radix, ROOT] 1. a) of, from, or going to the root or source; fundamental; basic [a radical principle] b) extreme; thorough [a radical change in one’s life] 2. a) favoring basic or extreme change, as in the social or economic structure b) [R-] designating or of any of various modern political parties, as in Europe ranging from moderate to conservative –n. 1. a) a basic part of something b) a fundamental 2. a) a person having radical views b) [R-] a member of a Radical party 3 Chem. A group of two or more atoms that acts as a single atom and goes through a reaction unchanged, or is replaced by a single atom 4. Math. a) an expression showing that a root is to be figured b) same as RADICAL SIGN
rad.i.cal em.path.y
1. an emergent property of the social needs and the biological organization and limitations of the human being
2. the ability to “read” the world and assess it accurately by the way it makes the body feel
3. often felt as “moving out” from the world of “me”, into the world of “I” “we” and “it”
4. often interpreted as a “mystical experience” (and all that phrase encodes within any particular culture or group)
5. is simultaneously used as a noun describing a state (when it is perceived as subjective [as coming from within the body]), a verb when describing a task or responsibility (when it is perceived as relational [coming from the space between the relating beings]) and an ethic (when perceived objectively [coming from without the being])
6. our newest, and therefore weakest, evolutionary gift and therefore a function of training—Just as the capacity of language is coded into a child by birth, language cannot develop without socialization, so radical empathy is coded into us (probably in a rudimentary way) but can only be activated by training.
Definitions “radical” and “empathy” from: New World Dictionary of the American Language Students Edition Prentice-Hall. David B. Guralnik, Editor in Chief. Published in 1981 by Simon & Schuster.
July 27th, 2009
Associative meaning: Connotation
Whenever I hear the word “uprightness” or it is triggered by some other means, whether in the swinging stance of a walker, the moment by moment balance in movement or whether by the five pointed star (pentagram) on its “feet”, I get this little packet of resonant feeling. That “resonant feeling” is the signal that the connotations of things, words, activities is active. With language users, things are never simple and words are never conscribed by their denotative meaning. Words like “upright” carry multiple meanings and many of them will not be found at dictionary.com. For me, one of the connotations of “uprightness” has something to do with how human beings first came to walk bipedally.
Things, whether words or symbols, carry a (usually) hidden payload of meaning. The specific content of that “payload” is contingent: what books you read, who you meet, what culture you were born into, what films you see, what languages you have learnt to speak, what accidents occur around you, what superstitions you carry, what your parents told you was true. For example, someone I know says that for her, “uprightness” is mostly to do with morality; the word carries a sense of surety and an image of some human being standing tall in his or her goodness. Not for me. Paradoxically, the word triggers an image of a human male slightly crouched over while another postures, flinging his arms back, expanding his torso, his leg stance wide, exposing his groin to view. For this bit of hilarity, I blame Maxine Sheets-Johnstone.
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July 15th, 2009
The needs of the self and the group; Milgram
The conflict between the needs of the self and the group did not suddenly appear one day. Our biological ancestors evolved a fear of abandonment, a terror of isolation long before we were human. The attribute evolved because, at least in part, we are so weak that as individuals in the world we stand no chance. We have no teeth that matter, no claws or wings, no bark to protect us from fire, no fins to move us through the water, no fur, no feathers, no fine ruff, no gills nor capacity to eat the sun. We have very little of distinction really, but we do have each other. It is to the group and its social dynamic that we owe the possibility of our lives.
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July 15th, 2009
No god
There is no god. That is not a scary thing to say. It is not depressing or demoralizing. In fact it is a wonderful and powerful thing – enriching, enlivening, delightful – bearing a history and leading toward a future.
When I say “no god” there are worlds of responsibility, history, belonging, duty, delight and memory attached. Most of these worlds come along unbidden and unconscious; some are linguistically learned and some are not. That is how language works. Its power lies in what it says as well as in what it brings along in the tail of its bright efflorescence. Words are like comets, burning with meaning and presence but they only do so because of the dark intense space through which they pass. Any utterance is like this. The universe of “no god” is both full of dark corners and cups of light because this world and its creatures are also such. The universe of language is born from the universe of the world. Each reflects the other. Each changes the other.


