Pillai in Tamil!/Pillai en tamil!

I had hoped to publish here an extract of Anandarangaillai's diary in its original language, Tamil. Thanks to the generosity of M.Gobalakichenane, a researcher residing in France and a native from Pondicherry, it's done. I am thrilled that he also contributed a scan of the manuscript which is located at the National Library François Mitterrand (shouldn't it be in India?). Very touching to see the manuscript in the beautiful Tamil script. For more precision about the manuscript, check blog entry for October 7, 2010.

J'espérais publier ici un extrait de l'extraordinaire journal d'Anadarangappillai dans sa langue originale. Grâce à la générosité de M. Gobalakichenane, un chercheur résident en France originaire justement de Pondichéry, c'est chose faite! Je suis absolument ravie qu'il ait aussi contribué un scan du manuscrit lequel est préservé à la Bibliothèque Nationale François Mitterrand (serait-il mieux à sa place en Inde?). Touchant d'avoir sous les yeux le manuscrit dans cette magnifique écriture tamoul. Pour plus de précisions sur le manuscrit, référez-vous à l'issue de ce blog du 7 octobre 2010.

You will find below:

- one page of the Tamil manuscript dated June 8th 1752;
- the corresponding one in Gobalakichenane's Tamil publication (in italics the paragraphs hitherto unpublished);
- and the cover illustration of that publication 'Anandarangappillai V-Natkurippu Angirasa andu (1752-1753)', 2005, which shows the portrait of the famous diarist.

Ci-dessous:
-une page du manuscrit en tamil datant du 8 juin 1752;
- la page correspondante dans la publication en tamil de Gobalakichenane (les paragraphes non encore publiés sont en italique);
- et l'illustration de la couverture de la publication 'Anandarangappillai V-Natkurippu Angirasa andu (1752-1753)', 2005, montrant le portrait du fameux courtier.
- la traduction en anglais

Translation in English of the page 59:

(Year) Angirasa (Month) Vaiyâssi 30 (Day) Guruvâram – June 8^th 1752 (Thursday)

Today I didn't go neither to see the Governor because of intestinal problems.

I heard today that the last inimical relations between the Tanjoreans and our Governor have gone down a little.

News came that Chandâ Sâhib who was in Seringapatam had sent all men and was staying with ten 'kisumdar'. I heard also that only Gundo Pandit refused to go and stayed there.

It was said also that, among Mr.Law and Sheick Hussein men, those wounded and dead together with those European and sepoys joining the enemy could number about 2 or 3 thousand. Moreover, rice, curd, ghee, salt were hard to find and the little available  was acquired at very high rupees  price. It was said also that d'Auteuil and few sepoys were  in Vâlikondâpuram and Ranjankadai and that cavalry men and 'jamedars' went away because they had not been  paid.

(From H.Dodwell's edition, Vol.8, p. 105)

Thursday, June 8, - (the passages given above in italics are examples of those contained in the E.Ariel's tamil copy of Paris but not given in the English translation set of 12 volumes published in Madras)

There is news of Chandâ Sâhib's writing to the Governor, that M.Law has gone over to Muhammad'Alî Khân and the E,glish, and ruined everything. The Europeans, Muhammadans and Tamils are all saying that they have the same news from the officers who have quarrelled with M.Law.

************************************************************

Once more I recommend reading the diary to anyone interested in the effect of different cultures meeting (Edouard Glissant!), and in history in general. This vivid account is a window on the day to day life in the colony of Pondicherry in the 18th Century, as well as the relationship between the French and the indigenous population. Below is the link to the Columbia University's extracts in English.

http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00litlinks/pillai/index.html

Je recommande vivement la lecture de ce journal à tous ceux qui s'intéressent à l'interaction de diverses cultures (Edouard Glissant!) et à l'histoire en général. Ce texte est très vivant et donne une impression unique des rapports entre Français et autochtones à Pondichéry, ainsi que la vie quotidienne dans cette colonnie. Ci-dessous le lien de référence pour la version française, plus autres liens se référant au sujet de Pondichéry.


http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2010/03/la-traduction-en-francais-du-journal.html

M. Gobalakichenane also recommends the following book on this subject/M. Gobalakichenane recommande aussi le livre suivant qui traite de ce sujet: William F.S.Miles 'Imperial Burdens: Counter Colonialism in Former French India'

http://www.amazon.com/Imperial-Burdens-Countercolonialism-Former-French/dp/1555875114

More links related to this subject:

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2010/03/ananda-ranga-pillais-diary-re-french.html

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2010/03/ananda-ranga-pillais-diary-conflict-in.html

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2009/12/animesh-rai-sur-glissant.html

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2009/12/animesh-rai-on-glissant.html

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2010/01/animesh-rai-who-was-at-conference-in.html

http://bilingualblogbilingue.blogspot.com/2009/12/lintroduction-dedouard-glissant-the.html

Not a travelogue

I had decided not to write a travelogue. But. First day in Istanbul. The men on the streets, vendors, strollers, with their sunken faces. Standing still, pensive, with a resigned expression of wonderment. The myriads of women, colorful, pretty, their attire in every degree of muslim dress code: burkhas, chadors, tank tops. Their fairy tale set: the city, with its minarets and islands raising out of the haze, old rickety wooden buildings with surprising majesty.

At sunset we take the 30 min boat ride back to Kadikoy where we're staying. On the horizon we see the other sections: Galata, Besiktas, Üsküdar. As in every new city I visit, I look for the center. Here it's right in the middle of the Bosphorus. Not the sweet gentle Mediterranean that licks the coasts of Marseilles or Barcelona. A rough sea that's throbbing with strong, unseen currents.

We exit the boat terminal in Kadikoy with a crowd of commuters. A bang. Like a shot. I look around to see which street stand balloon has exploded. People start running. Right at the entrance of the terminal hall a man is holding up a gun, he takes a shot at a young woman. I run, following my sister and our children, behind a shack.

The woman is dressed in silk clothes: white pants, a black shirt and a black and white head cover. She's slight and thin. Same built as most Turks, making them light on the lightning fast horses that swept through Europe many centuries ago. He's of the same build. They both have beautiful, miniature-like heads and features. He's wearing an impeccable silver suit which opens on his white shirt as he shoots. She's begging him, with gentle cries. He keeps on shooting, toward her legs. Unbelievably, she's unhurt. It's unreal. I'm terrified she's going to get killed. She falls to her knees and raises her square handbag, its patent leather shining like a talisman between her and the man's gun. At last she's clearly hurt, in her lower body or her legs. She screams as she collapses. The man comes away toward the esplanade. He raises both his arms up, as in triumph, holding the gun by its barrel. Men in the crowd run from behind him, masking her from view, and rush him to the floor.
I hurry to the children. My niece is in tears. My son upset. I run to my husband who is approaching after going for information, I whisper:

   -  If she died don't tell the kids.

   -  She'll be fine.
Our daughter is missing. I look for her, she's on the other side of the shack. She's got a blank expression on her face. Just like my face. Some people near us, older ladies, laugh. A young woman, sitting on a wedge, is shaking with sobs. I feel nothing. Except for the insane beauty of the scene. It looked like a film shot from my point of view. The man and the woman exactly positioned for best viewing. They were both so elegant. Even the gun, unlike American series' fat species, was long and stylish. It seems such an inadequate reaction. Grasping it as an esthetic tableau instead of a tragedy.

Not one cellphone held up in the air to record the act. I certainly didn't use mine.

We gather, trying to comfort the children. Later we talk of what happened. I still feel uneasy about my reaction, was  I just so relieved she was not killed? My sister says she saw a man carrying away the young woman in his arms. She had four red circles on her silky pants. My husband adds the gun probably jammed at first, he fears the man who took her away might have been a relative from the revenging family. We agree the gunman had it all planned, his best suit, his giving himself up, every move codified. I tell my sister that the man didn't really seem to want to kill the young woman. She didn't see any of it:
   -  I ran, I didn't want to see it. But you came behind the shack with us, how come you saw it all?

That's right, how come I saw it all? And I remember. I had forgotten I ran back, and I screamed and screamed stop stop stop stop. And I forced out my loud whistle between my fingers which so impresses my children. Futile. Looked around for something to throw at the man. I'm too far. I'm scared to go closer. It all happened so fast. A short few seconds in which to balance how much I will risk for another human being, how safe I want to stay, and act.


Published by  - -  Arabella Hutter

La nostalgie, une maladie suisse?

J'ai parlé plus tôt de la nostalgie, telle que l'analyse Isaiah Berlin, et je mentionnais que j'en suis une victime. Serait-ce parce que j'ai grandi en Suisse? Le terme nostalgie a été inventé au XVIIème siècle par un médecin suisse, Johannes Hoffer, qui introduisit le terme dans la thèse qu'il présenta à Bâle en 1688. Il avait composé ce mot à partir de racines grecques, algie douleur, et nost- le retour, pour le faire mieux accepter en tant qu'affection médicale par la communauté scientifique. Bien qu'adoptée par le corps médical, cette notion devient particulièrement importante au XIXème siècle, en parallèle avec le romantisme. Kant en traite déjà, intéressant, puisque Berlin rattache la pensée de Kant à la naissance du romantisme:

"Les Suisses ainsi que les Westphaliens et les Poméraniens de certaines régions, à ce que m'a raconté un général expérimenté, sont saisis du mal du pays, surtout quand on les transplante dans d'autres contrées; c'est par le retour des images de l'insouciance et de la vie de bon voisinage, du temps de leur jeunesse, l'effet de la nostalgie pour les lieux où ils ont connu les joies de l'existence." Kant

Cette maladie est beaucoup étudiée par les médecins militaire au XIXème. En particulier dans l'armée de Napoléon. Les médecins trouvaient ce mal particulièrement mystérieux chez les soldats suisses. Ces hommes venaient de contrées jugées ingrates, pleines de montagnes et de précipices, qu'il semblait extraordinaire de pouvoir regretter. Les soldats qui souffraient de cette affection en mouraient fréquemment. Etonnant, de nos jours, où la nostalgie ne semble plus tuer, comme si le fait qu'elle ait été démédicalisée lui ait ôté de son pouvoir.

Ci-dessous une référence à un article très complet sur la nostalgie.

http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=ArticleURL&_udi=B6VP7-3XG1T9P-3&_user=10&_coverDate=06/30/1999&_rdoc=1&_fmt=high&_orig=search&_sort=d&_docanchor=&view=c&_searchStrId=1411644103&_rerunOrigin=google&_acct=C000050221&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=10&md5=c62d9181dcfe107ca0ab7b5ac525c175

Résumé
Le terme « nostalgie « est un néologisme formé par le médecin alsacien Johannes Hofer pour désigner une maladie causée par le mal du pays, et qui associait un état dépressif à de graves perturbations physiologiques qui menaient régulièrement à la mort, à défaut du seul traitement possible, le rapatriement. L'histoire des conceptions et du traitement de cette véritable entité morbide pourrait résumer à elle seule l'évolution de la médecine et de la psychiatrie des trois derniers siècles. Si le Heimweh ne répond plus aujourd'hui aux canons de la scientificité, il n'en a pas moins laissé maintes traces dans nos théories et pratiques actuelles. Le romantisme allemand, plutôt que de voir dans la nostalgie une redoutable maladie, a fait de la Sehnsucht son véritable credo. L'absence dans l'espace devient perte dans le temps, mais la nostalgie romantique signifie aussi reconquête d'un passé mythique dans un avenir non moins imaginaire. Le danger est grand cependant de confondre dans cette quête les registres réel, imaginaire et symbolique. Les romantiques ont rarement su éviter ce piège, tout comme d'ailleurs certains cauchemars totalitaires du xxe siècle. Il existe cependant une sorte de bon usage de la nostalgie, qui peut être considérée aujourd'hui comme étant la métaphore du désir du névrosé.

Publié par  - -  Arabella Hutter

The Huly Buble by Jon Ferguson

I'm thrilled to have a new guest on this blog. Jon Ferguson is a writer, painter and basketball coach. Not buddhist, I think. Nitzchean, more. To find out a whole lot more about him, click here.

Jon in interview





Jon again in prank mode (below with mic)

Jon writes mostly long short stories, or short novels which often exhibit a sardonic sense of humor. The Huly Buble is shorter, and the humor more concentrated. It serves as an introduction to Jon's latest novel "The Flood" which just came out in French: "Le Déluge" (Editions Castagniééé, Vevey, Switzerland):
http://www.castagnieee.com/index.php?p=10&l=31

The Huly Buble

Once upon a time, a time when things were happening just like they are now, but with variations of course, Gud decided that there was too much seriousness in the behavior of trees, rocks, spinning planets, and sunsets, so Hu decided to create mun and wumun. At first there was just one mun and one wumun, but Gud, being one to plan ahead, gave the mun a punus and the wumun a vaguna and the next thing Hu knew there were mun and wumun of different colors and sizes all over the place. In the beginning Gud really liked watching them fight over things like big sticks and pieces of meat, and Hu often laughed his uss off. All of this lasted for quite a long while and Gud stayed reasonably amused….But, as always, boredom began to set in and Hu decided to make a few changes. First Hu decided to make the mun and wumun talk, you know, make noises with their mouths and tongues and lips. But after a while these noises got to be very repetitive and Gud got bored again, so he decided to put a brun in the heads of all the mun and wumun. Up until this point all the decisions that the mun and wumun made were made in their punuses and vugunas and mouths. But now, with a brun in their heads, they had another engine to tell them what to do and which way to go.

It’s funny how all the mun and wumun started to take their bruns seriously. Whereas before, when the punuses and vugunas and mouths were responsible for what was going on, suddenly there were a whole bunch of new things happening in Gud’s funhouse. And the biggest things were all of the sudden the establishment of rulugions and murulities. Suddenly mun and wumun – mostly mun actually – started inventing all kinds of guds and murul principles telling everybody what was rught and what was wrung. Up until then everybody was just kind of eating, sleeping, furnicating, and dying, but suddenly people started to write books and give speeches at see anguls and have vusions about guds and stuff like that, and climb up mountains and telling everybody what was rught and wrung and how to luve their luves.

In Chuna their were people like Cunfucius. He was probably a pretty nice guy who didn’t overeat.

In Jupon there were things like “The Seven Guds  of Guud Luck”.

In Undia there were the Hundus with Guds all over the place running around with holes in their shoes.

And all around there was the bug duddy Buddhu who got his picture in lots of newspapers and who liked desserts and second helpings of food.

In Muxico the sun was Gud for a while until the Chrustians came.

In the Muddle East there was the mountain-climber named Muses who had a gud that got mad a lot and threw lightening bolts at sunners.

The Gruuks had some prutty guud guds too who even liked to drink good wine and show off their punuses and vugunas.

Then came Jusus who was really probably a pretty nice guy, but who got killed and accused of things like walking on water and feeding five thousand people with twelve loaves of bread by people like Puul, Juhn, Luuk, and Muthuw who started writing the Huly Buble.

Pretty soon there was a string of Pupes who got real rich, ate well, built nice buildings, and started  a series of wars.

Then Muhummud came long with Ullah and scarves became fashionable along with cutting off hands and fingers.

Then there were people like Luthur and Culvun who had seen enough of the Pupes and started new religions also based on the Huly Buble.

Then came the Prutustunts and the Murmuns, and the Juhuvuhs Wutnussus and the Suvunth Duy Udvuntusts and the Buptusts, all kinds of groups like that that were telling people what was rught and wrung and who the real Gud was.

It really got to be a big mess and the real Gud was becoming less and less amused by the whole show. Hu started thinking maybe Hu shouldn’t have put that brun in the mun’s and wumun’s heads after all.

Hu finally decided to have a flood and into the gurbage can went most of the mess.

 

© J. F.        Murges, June 2010

No reproduction in any medium allowed without direct authorization from author.


published by  - -  Arabella Hutter

 

La nostalgie

La notion de nostalgie m'intrigue. Je suis malheureusement une de ses victimes. Il suffit que le moment soit passé pour que je le regrette.

Isaiah Berlin traite de la nostalgie dans son livre "The Roots of Romanticism" (je ne crois pas qu'il existe une traduction). It présente d'abord la notion de profondeur, comme lorsque l'on dit d'une oeuvre ou d'un auteur qu'il est "profond". D'après lui, cette notion est aussi née avec le Romantisme, cette idée qu'il y a toujours plus sous les apparences.

A partir de là il explique que, puisque nous ne pouvons pas atteindre la totalité, puisque l'infinité est hors d'atteinte, il ne nous reste qu'à nous retourner et à regretter le passé. Les penseurs des Lumières croyaient fermement en un futur meilleur, il suffisait de trouver la bonne voie pour l'atteindre: les bonnes lois, les bonnes règles, les bons préceptes. Par contre les Romantiques aspirent à la perfection. J'ai beaucoup d'admiration pour la pensée de Berlin mais je ne suis pas tout à fait convaincue par son explication. J'y vois un exemple d'un penseur qui essaie de pousser un objet triangulaire dans un trou rond et qui affirme que la pièce s'imbrique parfaitement. La nostalgie est-elle vraiment seulement dûe à un manque de confiance en l'avenir?  Même si elle est exacerbée chez les Romantiques, la nostalgie existe dans d'autres cultures, en extrême orient par exemple. J'ai longtemps cru que la nostalgie présente dans la culture Afro-Américaine était dûe à leur diaspora. Mais leurs pays d'origine en Afrique semblent avoir une profonde connexion avec la nostalgie Ecoutez Ismaël Lo ci-dessous, par exemple.

Ismail Lo:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogWBf5j9vVE&feature=related

Salif Keita:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFTw0c9ew3k

Billie Holliday et Louis Armstrong:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbmSmg1IhZE&feature=related

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

Of nostalgia

The notion of nostalgia intrigues me. I am one of its victims. Suffices that the moment be past for me to remember it with nostalgia. 

Isaiah Berlin discusses it in his book "The Roots of Romanticism". He looks first at the notion of depth, as in a piece of art or a thinker which we might call "deep". According to him it's also something that was born with Romanticism, this idea that there is always more than meets the eye, than meets the brain. 

From there he explains that because we can never reach totality, because infinity is out of our reach we can only turn around and pine for the past. While thinkers from the Enlightenment believed firmly that the future could be perfectly satisfactory  if we found the right way - the right laws, the right rules -  to reach it, the Romantics aspire to heights, to impossible perfection. I have a lot of admiration for Berlin's thinking but I am not convinced by his explanation of nostalgia. it seems to me a case of a thinker pushing a triangular object into a circular hole within his system and explaining how perfectly well it fits. Isn't there more to nostalgia than a lack of faith in the future? And nostalgia is common to other cultures besides Romanticism. I had always thought that the nostalgia expressed in African American culture had been passed down by ancestors deprived of their homeland. But I wonder if it's does not find its origin in Africa's own very strong brand of nostalgia in many of its cultures, hear Ismael Lo (below). 

My curiosity has been pricked, i'm going to keep on investigating. Any comments or suggestions welcome.

Ismail Lo:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogWBf5j9vVE&feature=related

Salif Keita:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFTw0c9ew3k

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

That drive

A dangerous demon lurking from dark recesses...

Still reading (for the second time) Isaiah Berlin's "The Roots of Romanticism", a book which seems to me crucial in understanding our times. Berlin argues that the Western world is still in a period of romanticism in its focus on the individual. And this romanticism is spreading through the world as culture abandon their group-oriented focus to turn to one's self. 

I wonder whether Glissant ever speaks about romanticism in his writings, would be curious to know what his take on it is. Of "The Roots of Romanticism" more later, but in the meantime here's an interesting excerpt:

This is the beginning of the vast drive forward on the part of inspired individuals, or inspired nations, constantly creating themselves afresh, constantly aspiring to purify themselves, and to reach some unheard-or height of endless self-transformation, endless self-creation, works of art, constantly engaged in creating themselves, forward, forward, like a kind of vast cosmic desing perpetually renewing itself. This half-metaphysical, half-religious notion, which emerges from the sober pages of Kant, and which Kant repudiated with the greatest possible vehemence and indignation, was destined to have an extremely violent effect upon both German politics and German morals, but also upon German art, German prose and German verse, and then by natural transference upon the French, and upon the English as well.

Contributed by - - Arabella Hutter

Jeudis d'Afriqua Paris - dans l'esprit de Glissant

Je n'aurai pas l'occasion d'y aller, bloquée derrière l'Océan Atlantique, mais je vous conseille de vous rendre sans faute à la rencontre d'Afriqua Paris du jeudi 27 mai avril autour de Sony Labou Tansi (à gauche), 1947-1995, romancier, poète dramaturge présenté par Nicolas Martin-Granel et Patrice Yengo, spécialistes de la littérature africaine suivi de Joss Doszen, jeune auteur, griot urbain au talent prometteur. Deux formes de littérature à explorer. 

Les rencontres des "Jeudis d'Afriqua Paris" se tiennent:

Au Restaurant Albarino

4 rue Lekain, Paris 16ème, M° La Muette

Biographie de Sony Labou Tansi, par Edwige Gbouablé (photo: Cécile Pango Djepp Beugré et Michael Danon dans "Il nous faut l'Amérique!"):

"Sony Labou Tansi est né le 5 Juin 1947 à Kimwanza, au Zaïre. Professeur de formation, Sony devient par la suite un grand artiste. Il s'est imposé par la richesse de son écriture, comme le chef de file de la nouvelle génération d'auteurs africains. Ecrivain pluridisciplinaire, Sony s'est pratiquement illustré dans tous les genres : poésie, nouvelle, théâtre et roman. Mais c'est dans ces deux derniers qu'il a fait connaître son talent d'auteur-metteur en scène avec la troupe Rocado Zulu Théâtre. Sony a été un écrivain prolifique et non-conformiste, de par le caractère subversif et novateur de son écriture qui se veut un moyen de libération et donc de promotion de l'art africain, à travers la création de "formes rebelles" rejetant à la face du monde les atrocités qui la gouvernent. Sa production littéraire est un vaste champ d'oeuvres primées pour la plupart. Nous ne citerons ici que les pièces et romans édités. Après la vie et demie qui l'a révélé mondialement en 1979, Sony publia quatre autres romans : L'Etat honteux (1981), L'anté-peuple (1983), Les sept solitudes de Lorsa Lopez (1985), Les yeux du volcan (1988). Son sixième roman intitulé Le commencement des douleurs a été publié à titre posthume en 1995. Dans le domaine théâtral on peut citer, outre les pièces phares, Conscience de tracteur (Présence Africaine, 1979), Je soussigné cardiaque et Parenthèse de sang (Hatier, 1981), d'autres titres comme Ma rue mouche (Equateur n° 11, 1986), Antoine m'a vendu son destin (Acoria 199), Moi veuve de l'empire (L'Avant-Scène Théâtre n° 815, 1987), Qui a mangé madame d'Avoine Bergotha ? (Lansman, 1989), Une chouette petite vie bien osée (Lansman, 1992), Le coup de vieux co-écrit avec Caya Makhélé (Présence Africaine, 1988), Une vie en arbre et chars…Bonds (Lansman, 1998), Qu'ils le disent qu'elles le beuglent (Lansman, 1995), Le trou (Lansman, 1998). 

Toute cette créativité a fait de Sony un écrivain accompli et épanoui parce que libre dans ses pensées et dans son écriture qui ne s'embarrasse d'aucune règle normative. Sony reste même mort, l'une des voix les plus autorisées du monde littéraire africain."

Pour en savoir plus sur S. Labou Tansi:

http://laboutansi.crdp-limousin.fr/spip.php?rubrique5

Pour écouter S. Labou Tansi:

http://www.radio.cz/fr/article/89373

Bien des auteurs français, surtout à l'époque coloniale, ont donné leurs impressions de l'Afrique dans leurs écrits: Maupassant, Gide, Kessel, St-Exupéry. Intéresssant, et Glissantien, de découvrir cet extrait d'un texte de Sony Labou Tansi où il décrit la ville de Limouse avec son optique bien particulière:

"Cette ville c’est de l’argile tout bêtement. Elle est jaune. Rouge par endroits. Elle boit les vrombissements des camions et la lente machination des orages au mois d’octobre. Mais cela dépend tout à fait. Les forêts d’ici sont de vieux fétiches de bois verdâtres. Les pierres marchent exactement comme les pierres de chez moi. Cette terre se laisse déchirer par le progrès, elle cache son âme derrière les pierres taillées par un poète appelé Sanfourche. Une vache rumine le même songe dur laissé par nos petits ancêtres. Chaque vache ici fait un peu paysan de chez moi. Mais cela n’est rien. Il y a le maire de Bessines et le vieux Léopard-maire d’Eymoutiers, ex-marxiste, ex-intellectuel, ex-maoïste, futur œuf de pierre. Beaubreuil sonne comme un mot de chez moi. Le soleil coupe les heures mortes et les feux rouges. Quel beau destin que celui d’un feu vert ! J’en ai bu cinquante hier. C’est peu cinquante. Sur la route qui va de la gare au lycée Léonard, j’ai croisé des filles rondes comme des feux rouges. Elles n’ont pas perdu le grand art de marcher dans leur âge. Avec les vieilles dames aux chapeaux indélicats, marcher c’est déjà la hausse des prix. La Vienne a fait ses « biloko » comme si elle allait prendre le prochain train pour Périgueux. Elle marche aussi courtoisement que la rue Jaurès. Gambetta quitte la place d’Aisne comme un sexe en colère. L’avenue Allende s’est tuée tout contre l’avenue de la Révolution et la Vienne n’a rien dit. Mais cela arrive aussi chez nous. Les menstruations des chauffages attendent la date requise pour couler. La nuit est lente. Nous avons froid. Il se pourrait que demain le soleil brille autrement. Nous viendrons de partout, pour ramasser de petits fagots de terre cuite. Aujourd’hui c’est tout bête : nous apprenons à multiplier la parole par le nombre de mal-amours cousus derrière la vente morte des céramiques. Les noms ne parlent plus. Comme les autres terres, cette terre est enceinte d’un brouillon de malaise. Elle veut se dire et parler dans sa langue de terre cuite. Certes cela énerve d’être le balbutiement annuel de l’avenir. Tu murmures. Tu chantes. Tu croasses. Ou bien tu cries … personne ne t’a appris à parler aussi loin que la terre. Pourquoi le redire à cette ville et dans cette ville ? Nous sommes tous emprisonnés dans la matrice des silences que font les mots. Cela n’est rien du tout puisque parler c’est souiller le silence."

Articles sur mémoire coloniale et indépendance africaine:
http://www.tv5.org/cms/chaine-francophone/info/Les-dossiers-de-la-redaction/Independances-afrique-cinquantenaire-2010/p-6162-Memoire-coloniale-et-independances-a-lire.htm

Contribué par  - -  Astou Arnould 

Publié par,  avec matériel supplémentaire  - -  Arabella Hutter

at the G.I. Methodist clinic

- What brings you here today?

 Young resident, end of morning. He's got a lean, hard face with blue eyes. Tall, thin. He looks harassed.

   kkk - I'm coming for the results from the sample analysis, and also for a renewal of...

  kkk- Let me pull the results on the system. You're not in the system. Have you been here before?

   kkk- Yes, I came in Jan...

   kkk- How come you're not in the system? Are you sure you've been here? Yes. You must if you have a chart. That's so annoying. Let me check what's happening.

He leaves. He comes back. Without a word, starts putting my info into the system, his back to me. The room is tiny, I'm sitting right behind him. I look out the window, Brooklyn under a grey sky. I see all the way to the Bay of New York. Packed with so many ships & barges it looks like we're at war. The doctor, his back still turned, pulls the results from the analysis.

   kkk- No infection detected, but chronic non aggressive gastritis. Were you diagnosed with GERD?

  kkk - Yes, I saw a throat sp...

   kkk- Right, I see it here, diagnosed a couple of years ago. Hey, could it not have been caused by taking too much Ibuprofen or another similar drug?

  kkk - I did get poisoning...

   kkk- Poisoning? What do you mean by poisoning? This is so confusing!

   kkk- Well the drug I was taking, similar to ...

   kkk- But that's not called poisoning. Anyway you have GERD. You need to avoid certain foods: spicy, caffeine, fats. Don't drink with meals. Don't eat late before going to bed. You look fit. That's good.

   kkk- Oh. Thanks.

   kkk- Why are you here today?

  I sigh. I waited 2 hours to be seen.

    kkk- To get a a refill of my prescription.

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

Kant, la science moderne, moi

En lisant l'analyse d'Isaiah Berlin de la relation entre le romantisme et Kant (il y en a une), je pense à la nature et au libre arbitre. La tendance, du moins aux Etats-Unis, est d’attribuer de plus en plus de comportements à une cause génétique. L'agressivité serait sur le gène 12, la solidarité sur le chromosome 6, le mysticisme sur le 18. Nous serions des automates dont le comportement programmé se transmettrait de génération en génération. Lors du séquençage du génome humain, les généticiens se sont montrés surpris du nombre de gènes détectés. 25'000 au plus. Bien inferieur aux 100000 prédits. 

http://www.ornl.gov/sci/techresources/Human_Genome/faq/genenumber.shtml

Je jubile. Les humains ont seulement deux fois plus de gènes qu'un animal primitif comme le nématode. Où sont-ils, tous ces gènes du comportement? Attribuer le comportement aux gènes dispense l'être humain de prendre ses décisions librement, mais surtout permet de dispenser la société de sa responsabilité. Si les jeunes noirs ne finissent par leurs études et remplissent les prisons, si les pères ne remplissent pas leurs obligations, si les jeunes filles deviennent mères trop tôt, c'est génétique. Solution: médications? Manipulations génétiques? Sélection au stade embryonnaire? Aldous Huxley? 

Dans le monde de la recherche, il y a une tendance non scientifique à disculper la société, et il y a une tendance non scientifique chez moi à croire de toute ma foi que l'être humain peut prendre des décisions responsables dans la mesure où la société lui offre un environnement adéquat. Que tous les plus beaux rêves de l'humanité de justice, d'égalité, de solidarité ne vont pas passer à la poubelle au nom de la science.

Contribué par  - -  Arabella Hutter

Sunday at the Park

Klezmer music in front of the Brooklyn Public Library. Klezmer dance class for public. Would have made Glissant proud.

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

Motherhood

Recently on French radio: 
Heard  a reportage on a maid working for wealthy whites in South Africa. She comes from Soweto where unemployment is 50%. A job is very hard to come by.

"When I started working here they gave me the cabin at the end of the garden. I asked if I could bring my two children. No, the cabin wasn't big enough, they said, I could only bring one. I had to chose. My daughter was starting adolescence and I thought she would need me more. I left behind my son who's 10. I don't understand why I have to be like a mother snake whose babies go and fence for themselves. Like a mother snake I don't take care of my son."

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

Walking down Houston St - miniblog

I was walking the 10 long blocks from 1st Ave to the FDR with my son Numen yesterday. He was going to his orientation at Bard High School. I was telling him: I don't know how I feel about my kids being more intelligent than I. It gets a bit tiring. What's intelligence anyway?

He was wary:

-  I'm not even going there.

-  No, seriously, how would you define intelligence? 

-  It's one of those things you can't define. Like friendship.

14 and so wise. I took up the challenge.

-  It's easy: friendship is when you like someone and they like you back.

-  And why do you like them?

-  I think they must fill some need you have. If you like to think, they'll be smart for good conversation. If you like to be pampered they'll be caring.

-  Oh so friendship is a kind of cure for you needs?

He was skeptical. I gave up on defining friendship, but it was good to chat on a beautiful spring day, New York thriving with life and excitement around us.

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter

Shopping dernier cri: 5 tableaux du Musée d'Art Moderne

Le Pigeon aux petits pois de Picasso, La Pastorale de Matisse, 

L'Olivier près de l'Estaque de Braque, La Femme à l'éventail de Modigliani 

et Nature morte aux chandeliers de Léger.

Apparamment le vol des cinq peintures au Musée d'art moderne de la Ville de Paris aurait été une commande. Pas facile de revendre ce genre de recel sur le marché de Montmartre. Un choix assez étonnant, mais peut-être le commanditaire ne voulait vraiment qu'un ou deux tableaux et a fait escamoter les autres pour brouiller les pistes.

Contribué par  - -  Arabella Hutter

A week in New York, uh, five days actually

As my nephew Léandre is visiting from Switzerland, I have been going out more than usual. And floored, again, by what this city has to offer. In one single week:

Started on Wednesday with Carousel event on the Lower East Side. Comic strips/graphic novel artists were presenting their work as slide shows on a large screen with voice over. It was such an essential Lower East Side event, with a cool assortment of New York eccentrics, and a totally unique show. Just loved it. Plus we had a bottle of beer in our hands, uh, my hand, as my nephew is 18. Proceeds from the drinks go to the theater so we were actually doing a charitable act by drinking which is a very enjoyable experience. We totally enjoyed Jason Little's postmodern fable and were swooned by Doug Skinner's gorgeous black and white drawings accompanied by a poetic text. In the vein of Herriman's Krazy Kat. Puzzled by his awesome performance and the European flavor of his art, I checked him out and found that he composes music, is a ventriloquist, actor, has made videos, am I forgetting anything? 

Carousel apparently organizes these slide shows regularly. Anybody who's into graphic novels/comix art/bande dessinée or just plain visual art with a twist should check them out. Just too cool, too much fun for words.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doug_Skinner
ullagegroup.com/

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=6301533565&v=wall&ref=ts

Friday went to see "Women without Men", a film by Shirin Neshat, at the Quad. Visually stunning, she was present after the screening for a Q & A about her visually stunning film. The main role was played by an artist friend of hers, who was acting for the first time. Incredibly touching and convincing performance. The film is interesting and daring and explores narrative possibilities. The combination of realistic and fantastic characters didn't quite work for me. And the theme of the orchard was somewhat contrived. But. Salute anyone who goes and makes a first full length feature which is compelling, because we know how hard that is.

http://www.womenwithoutmenfilm.com/

Saturday at Roulette to hear John King's compositions. Unfortunately we were late because we went to Roulette's headquarters in Tribeca instead of the performance space on Greene St. Now you know and won't make the same mistake. So we missed part of the first quartet which was intriguing and horizon widening. SAPPHO, twelve arias inspired by Sappo's poetry was the most beautiful and poignant thing I've heard since Bach's Matthew's Passion at BAM last spring. The music and singing captured the essence of Sappho's poems, their beauty, their simplicity, precious fragments somehow handed down to us through time of a woman, a poet who felt and loved and sang on the Aegean coast a long time ago.

http://www.roulette.org/events/event.php/KING10

Sunday at the Queen's Museum of Art for the opening of a very very cool exhibition, the Curse of Bigness! Inspired by the model of New York city  and the Unisphere, it offers some fun and clever pieces of art. My son Numen (in the photo below, against a painted background) enjoyed the giant churros and the tiny dumplings which were served at the opening.

http://www.queensmuseum.org/the-curse-of-bigness

Contributed by  - -  Arabella Hutter