think (k)not

think the unthinkable thought,
then unthink the thought --
the unthinkable, then, unthought,
think the thinkable unthought

Copyright © 2008 Marco Alexandre de Oliveira

Poetry X Madness ...

“At the other end of the cultural area … the poet is he who, beneath the named, constantly expected differences, rediscovers the buried kinships between things, their scattered resemblances. Beneath the established signs, and in spite of them, he hears another, deeper, discourse, which recalls the time when words glittered in the universal resemblance of things; in the language of the poet, the Sovereignty of the Same, so difficult to express, eclipses, the distinction existing between signs.”

“This accounts, no doubt, for the confrontation of poetry and madness in modern Western culture …. It is the mark of a new experience of language and things. At the fringes of the knowledge that separates beings, signs, and similitudes, and as though to limit its power, the madman fulfils the function of homosemanticism: he groups all signs together and leads them with a resemblance that never ceases to proliferate. The poet fulfils the opposite function: his is the allegorical role; beneath the language of signs and beneath the interplay of their precisely delineated distinctions, he strains his ears to catch that ‘other language’, the language, without words or discourse, of resemblance. The poet brings similitude to the signs that speak it, whereas the madman loads all signs with a resemblance that ultimately erases them. They share, then, on the outer edge of our culture and at the point nearest to its essential divisions, that ‘frontier’ situation – a marginal position and a profoundly archaic silhouette – where their words unceasingly renew the power of their strangeness and the strength of their contestation.”


(Michel Foucault, The Order of Things. p. 49-50)

Absence of the Writer ...

“Absence of the writer too. For to write is to draw back. Not to retire into one’s tent, in order to write, but to draw back from one’s writing itself. To be grounded far away from one’s language, to emancipate it or lose one’s hold on it, to let it make its way alone and unarmed. To leave speech. To let it speak alone, which it can do only in its written form. To leave writing is to be there only in order to provide its passageway, to be the diaphanous element of its going forth: everything and nothing. For the work, the writer is at once everything and nothing. Like God …” (p. 70)

(Jacques Derrida, “Edmond Jabès and the Question of the Book.” Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass)

Bound to Freedom ...

“The poet, in the very experience of his freedom, finds himself both bound to language and delivered from it by a speech whose master, nonetheless, he himself is.” (p. 65)

“The wisdom of the poet thus culminates its freedom in the passion of translating obedience to the law of the word into autonomy. Without which, and if passion becomes subjection, the poet is mad.” (p. 66)

(Jacques Derrida, “Edmond Jabès and the Question of the Book.” Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass)

Cinéma de jeu ...

Letter to my Friends to Learn How to Make Films Together

– Jean-Luc Godard / gringocarioca

I play. You play. We play. Cinema. You think there are. Rules of the game. Because you are a child. Who still doesn’t know. What a game is. And what is. Reserved for grown-ups. Which you already are. Because you forgot. That it is a game for children. Of what does it consist? There are several definitions. To look at oneself. In the mirror of others. To forget and to know. Quickly and slowly. The world. To think and to speak. Odd game. That’s life.

Carta aos meus amigos para aprenderem a fazer cinema juntos

Eu jogo. Você joga. Nós jogamos. Cinema. Você pensa que há. Uma regra do jogo. Porque você é uma criança. Que ainda não sabe. O que é um jogo. E o que é. Reservado à gente grande. Do que você já faz parte. Porque você esqueceu. Que é um jogo para crianças. Em que consiste-o? Há várias definicões. Se olhar. No espelho dos outros. Esquecer e saber. Rápida e lentamente. O mundo. E si mesmo. Pensar e falar. Jogo esquisito. É a vida.

Lettre à mes amis pour apprendre à faire du cinéma ensemble

« Je joue. Tu joues. Nous jouons. Au cinéma. Tu crois qu’il y a. Une règle du jeu. Parce que tu es un enfant. Qui ne sait pas encore. Que c’est un jeu. Et qu’il est. Réservé aux grandes personnes. Dont tu fais déjà partie. Parce que tu as oublié. Que c’est un jeu d’enfants. En quoi consiste-t-il? Il y a plusieurs définitions. Se regarder. Dans le miroir des autres. Oublier et savoir. Vite et lentement. Le monde. Et soi-même. Penser et parler. Drôle de jeu. C’est la vie.»

(Jean-Luc Godard, in L’Avant-scène cinema – mai 1967)