Log24

Thursday, October 13, 2022

Prickly Paradigm Press

Filed under: General — Tags: — m759 @ 8:59 am

A search for background on the previous post's Eliot Weinberger yields,
from Berlin . . .

"In 2000 he was the first US writer to be honoured with
the Order of the Aztec Eagle from the Mexican government."

— "2000 zeichnete ihn die mexikanische Regierung als ersten
US-amerikanischen Autor mit dem Order of the Aztec Eagle aus.

The Aztec Eagle with a serpent in its beak, landing on a prickly pear,
is pictured on the flag of Mexico.

See also Weinberger's work at Prickly Paradigm Press.

Related material: Other Log24 posts tagged Prickly.

Wednesday, October 12, 2022

Kaleidoscopic Structuralism…

Filed under: General — Tags: , , , — m759 @ 10:17 am

Continues.

"Think about anything often enough, from enough angles,
and it’s bound to splinter and refract. Our minds are like
kaleidoscopes, packed with mirrors we twist to see the
world anew. Sometimes we’re twisting consciously,
sometimes unconsciously. But no matter what, we end up
seeing patterns that are more a product of the tool in hand
than of the world on its other end."

—  Henry M. Cowles in The Los Angeles Review of Books , 
      October 11, 2022

Cowles on the book under review —

" Patrick House’s Nineteen Ways of Looking at Consciousness ,
a new book on neuroscience and its limits. Lest readers jump to
the wrong conclusion: The referent in House’s title, though also
poetic, is not Stevens but rather Nineteen Ways of Looking at
Wang Wei 
, an anthology of attempts to translate a four-line poem
from the Tang Dynasty."

"The referent" anthology is, according to Google Books

"a close reading of different translations of a single poem."

The close reader is Eliot Weinberger, who appeared here in 2011

The "my own" link above is to "Pilate Goes to Kindergarten."

Saturday, October 1, 2022

Mexican Beach Bum Glam

Filed under: General — Tags: , — m759 @ 11:20 am

Also on the above Berlin date —

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Bullshit Studies

Filed under: General — Tags:  
— m759 @ 3:12 PM 

The essay excerpted in last night's post on structuralism
is of value as part of a sustained attack by the late
Robert de Marrais on the damned nonsense of the late
French literary theorist Jacques Derrida—

Catastrophes, Kaleidoscopes, String Quartets:
Deploying the Glass Bead Game

Part I:  Ministrations Concerning Silliness, or:
Is “Interdisciplinary Thought” an Oxymoron?

Part II:  Canonical Collage-oscopes, or:
Claude in Jacques’ Trap?  Not What It Sounds Like!

Part III:  Grooving on the Sly with Klein Groups

Part IV:  Claude’s Kaleidoscope . . . and Carl’s

Part V:  Spelling the Tree, from Aleph to Tav
(While  Not Forgetting to Shin)

The response of de Marrais to Derrida's oeuvre  nicely
exemplifies the maxim of Norman Mailer that

"At times, bullshit can only be countered
with superior bullshit."

Sunday, May 9, 2021

For St. Walpurga

Filed under: General — Tags: — m759 @ 2:13 pm

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Sunday, December 8, 2002

Sunday December 8, 2002

Filed under: General — Tags: — m759 @ 12:48 pm

Lucero

From a Spanish-English dictionary:

lucero m. morning or evening star:
any bright star….
2. hole in a window panel for the
admission of light….

Sal a tu ventana,
que mi canto es para ti….
Lucero, lucero, lucero, lucero

— "Ya la ronda llega aquí"

Cross Window — Ex Cathedra

See In Mexico City, a Quiet Revelation,
in the New York Times of December 5.
The photo, from a different website, is
   of a room by the architect Luis Barragán.
 

From the Nobel Prize lecture of Octavio Paz
on December 8, 1990 — twelve years ago today:

"Like every child I built emotional bridges in the imagination to link me to the world and to other people. I lived in a town on the outskirts of Mexico City, in an old dilapidated house that had a jungle-like garden and a great room full of books. First games and first lessons. The garden soon became the centre of my world; the library, an enchanted cave. I used to read and play with my cousins and schoolmates. There was a fig tree, temple of vegetation, four pine trees, three ash trees, a nightshade, a pomegranate tree, wild grass and prickly plants that produced purple grazes. Adobe walls. Time was elastic; space was a spinning wheel. All time, past or future, real or imaginary, was pure presence. Space transformed itself ceaselessly. The beyond was here, all was here: a valley, a mountain, a distant country, the neighbours' patio. Books with pictures, especially history books, eagerly leafed through, supplied images of deserts and jungles, palaces and hovels, warriors and princesses, beggars and kings. We were shipwrecked with Sindbad and with Robinson, we fought with d'Artagnan, we took Valencia with the Cid. How I would have liked to stay forever on the Isle of Calypso! In summer the green branches of the fig tree would sway like the sails of a caravel or a pirate ship. High up on the mast, swept by the wind, I could make out islands and continents, lands that vanished as soon as they became tangible. The world was limitless yet it was always within reach; time was a pliable substance that weaved an unbroken present."

Today's site music is courtesy of the Sinatra MIDI Files

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