Der Hauch

What do you smell when you smell a book?
What do you breathe in when accessing bits and bytes? Do you have the aroma of coffee wafting nearby?

Jeffrey T. Schnapp & Matthew Battels
The Library Beyond the Book

The relics of saints were always already multiples whose magic resided less in in their claim to uniqueness than in their ability to catalyze the energies of a community as well as higher forces. Such will be the destiny of digital relics as well.

The mention of relics and the notion of technological mediation brings to mind Walter Benjamin’s essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”. What follows is less a screed about authenticity and reproduction and more of a sniffing about the origins of the term “aura” and its emanations.

On the intellectual origin’s of Benjamin’s aura I offer this extended passage from the Proxemics and Prosthetics chapter of Sense: Orientations, Meanings, Apparatus.

It is perhaps more appropriate to characterize this play of proxemics in terms of unlocking time or cutting time free since in this essay Benjamin in his definition of aura sees time as strangely woven into space to create the appearance of distance. Whatever the characterization, it is movement through space that destroys the timeless aspect of aura. Aura arises out of observer immersion in the phenomenon. Later in the Artwork essay Benjamin will stress the role of cultic practices in maintaining the contemplation necessary to sustain aura. However here in “A Small History of Photography” he accentuates the atmosphere-like quality; aura is breathed in. This quality is related to the factor of enfolded time the moment or hour becoming part of the appearance.

How aura as atmosphere can be related to enfolded time is not at all clear from Benjamin’s text. In later essays, he drops from the discussion all direct mention of these two elements. The correlation between time and atmosphere passes through a mechanism of identification similar to the vessel-symbol of the Jungian soul. Whether Benjamin had read Jung at this point, it is clear that the auratic fusion of viewer and object places his discussion in the orbit of exponents of mythic images like [Ludwig] Klages.

The Artwork essay is marked by the traces of the work on Bachofen and mother-right. Benjamin compares early photography to the cult of remembrance of the dead. As well, although without reference to grave robbing, he refers to the destruction of aura when objects are pried from their shell. These passing references evoke less Bachofen’s narrative of his first experiences upon encountering ancient graves than [Alfred] Schuler‘s story of his own first encounter with unearthed artefacts.

Schuler observing objects lifted from an archaeological excavation notes that as they come to light they loose their aura (der Hauch). It evaporates. Schuler claimed that a fluid, a film of life matter, was possessed not only by relics and cult objects but also by all ancient objects (See Fuld, Werner. “Die Aura Zur Geschicte eines Begriffes bei Benjamin.” Akzente 26 (1979): 352-370. pp. 361-362). Benjamin could not refer to a written source for Schuler’s lectures and fragments were published posthumously by Klages in 1940. However, it is the type of material that would circulate widely as anecdote. The evidence is compelling that Benjamin observed carefully the Munich circle around poet Stefan George of which Alfred Schuler was a celebrated part (Fuld 360). Indeed in the Bachofen essay Benjamin refers to George’s dedication of Porta Nigra to Schuler.

The Schuler story perhaps did not influence Benjamin directly. Its key element, however, the fragility of the aura in the context of unearthing the past anticipates Benjamin’s insistence on displacement in the destruction of aura. It also illuminates the perplexing combination of aura’s source in ritual and in natural phenomena. It is upon the cult of the dead that mythic claims to a people’s belonging to the land are founded. Without symbols such a cult is endangered. It is unable to envelop the departed, those now belonging to nature, and those belonging to history, the living, into one cognitive space. The past is not one with the present.

Following one’s nose… metaphor for digital tracking. Not so much to find relics as to trace the paths of contact. There is a democratic mode to the creation of certain classes of relics in the Catholic tradition:

The 3rd Class Relic consists of something that has been touched to a 1st or 2nd Class Relic. Anyone can make their own 3rd Class relics by touching an object to a 1st or 2nd Class Relic, including the tomb of a Saint.

There are other traditions of relic veneration. What is remarkable here in the Catholic classification is how the question of authenticity and aura is mediated by proxemics and contact. The relic functions as a type of souvenir.

There is one such souvenir in my household. It’s an old chipped brick. It could serve as a door stopper or bookend. A plain object. But it is a reminder of 1992 firebombing of the Morgentaler Clinic in Toronto causing damage so extensive that the building had to be demolished. The brick was salvaged from the rubble. The brick can now disappear in crumbling dust … its story has been told. Digital dust will now help the brick tale disperse.

The only authentication of the brick is found in story. Likewise aura of a relic or any object, digital or otherwise, is held in place by the discursive structures that support its apprehension. All power to the metadata! And the ubiquity of digital dust.

And so for day 1312
17.07.2010

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Noetic Fallacy Fallacy

The reading below hinges on the distinction between “Snowman” (a being made of snow) and “Snow Man” (a being observing snow). It is a nicety not found in Fowler’s. Search engines readily respond to either strings with image sets of anthropomorphic snow sculptures.

It is the making human of the inanimate that brought the distinction to the fore for me via C.D. Lewis reading Robert Langbaum. Lewis picks up a discussion of pathetic fallacy and identifies a subspecies “noetic fallacy” (see Lewis The Lyric Impulse).

Mr. Langbaum sees the subject [… comments on Langbaum’s reading of poems by Marianne Moore …] It is salutary to be reminded that natural objects do not have human purposiveness or feelings; but I do not see that such reminders constitute a new nature poetry.

On the other hand, Mr. Langbaum adduces Wallace Stevens’ “The Snow Man”, “which contrasts the inevitably anthropomorphic human apprehension of a landscape with the landscape as it might be apprehended by the mindless ‘mind’ of a snow man”. I have studied this poem very attentively, and come to the conclusion that the poem is attempting the impossible. He has tried to put himself into the mind not even of an animal, but of an artifact — a snow man which has no sentience whatsoever. Mr. Langbaum’s “as it might be apprehended” gives the game away: the poet has sought by this means to convey the absolute purity, the essence, of a winter landscape; but his method is not purely objective. Side-stepping, the pathetic fallacy, he has tumbled into another pitfall — let us call it the noetic fallacy.

Let’s sort out what the poet has sought to accomplish and what the critic sees at work. Langbaum does suggest that impossible attempt that pushed Lewis to new coinage. He writes in “The New Nature Poetry” (collected in The Modern Spirit: Essays on the Continuity of Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Literature)

Take as an example of the new sense of nature Wallace Stevens’s “The Snow Man,” which contrasts the inevitable anthropomorphic human apprehension of a winter landscape with the landscape as it might be apprehended by the mindless “mind” of a snow man.

Langbaum then cites the beginning of the poem (“One must have a mind of winter [..]”) and provides the last stanzas as both proof and illustration.

                                      not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Lewis accepts Langbaum’s assertion that the reader is invited to identify with an attempt to apprehend a mindless mind. But there are three “nothings” at play that could very well be the counters of a contemplative mind: nothing from the subjective self observing is placed into the landscape, nothing is observed that is not in the landscape including the nothing that is in the landscape. Queue de poisson.

Abrupt end or beginning? The nothing that is the self. We need not be in the mindless mind or mindless. We can call upon Buddhist tradition to explore emptiness. I quote from Hōsaku Matsuo’s preface to The Logic of Unity: The Discovery of Zero and Emptiness in Prajñāpāramitā Thought [Translated by Kenneth K. Inada] who is quoting from the Heart Sutra: “Consciousness is at once emptiness and emptiness is at once consciousness.” Is this not one having a mind of winter?

And so for day 1311
16.07.2010

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Epic of Cloth

The useful life of fabric is set forth as a catalogue of thrift. Toni Morrison in Jazz employs an epic simile that rises naturally out of the thoughts of one woman ironing.

Alice had finished the sheets and begun the first shirtwaist when Violet knocked on her door. Years and years and years ago she had guided the tip of the iron into the seams of a man’s white shirt. Dampened just so the fabric smoothed and tightened with starch. Those shirts were scraps now. Dust cloths, monthly cloths, rags tied around pipe joints to hinder freezing; pot holders and pieces to test hot irons and wrap their handles. Even wicks for oil lamps; salt bags to scrub the teeth. Now her own shirtwaists got her elegant attentive handcare.

Labour marks the passage of time but also the recurring cycles of domestic space for Alice’s thoughts turn to the future.

Two pairs of pillow slips, still warm to the touch, were stacked on the table. So were the two bed sheets. Next week, perhaps, the curtains.

Meanwhile there is a knock. There is always a knock.

And so for day 1310
15.07.2010

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Beans, Moms, Hockey

A tasty bit from a review with a long title about a book with a long title.

But then I am reminded of my friend — the one whose nose fills with the smell of beans whenever she hears that old hockey song. It was her mother, after all, who insisted on watching the game on Saturday nights, just as she had done with her family growing up. If hockey is our national pastime and a key aspect of our culture, we would do well not to forget half the population. Most women’s games may not get national media attention — they may not even be televised — but if you focus on them, you will see that the players are skilled and the games lively and hard-fought. All that is left is for someone to write about them.

“Rinkside Reading: what does hockey’s literature say about the sport?” in Literary Review of Canada by Naoko Asano reviewing Stephen Smith Puckstruck: Distracted, Delighted and Distressed by Canada’s Hockey Obsession.

To get the full impact of the olfactory memory and the import of the review’s concluding musings on gender and sport you need to treat yourself to the domestic scene painted by Asano at the beginning

A friend once told me something funny about the old Hockey Night in Canada them song: whenever she hears it, the smell of baked beans wafts up her nose. It is a uniquely Canadian kind of synesthesia, the product of Saturday evening dinners in the 1980s and ’90s when her father — it was his night to cook — always made the same meal: hot dogs, french fries and beans. Saturday was the lone night of the week when TV was allowed during dinner, and the TV was only ever tuned to hockey. Hence the game’s anthem and the aroma of Heinz beans in tomato sauce.

My dad was not one to open a can of beans (though he did cook on occasion but never beans [beans were done by my mom from scratch with molasses]). My mom loved hockey. Her favourite player was Jean Béliveau. He was always a gentleman.

And so for day 1309
14.07.2010

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Circular Joy of Submission

C.D. Lewis
The Lyric Impulse

[About a poem by John Clare produced during his confinement in Northampton Asylum] This, to me, is a test poem. If any student of English literature failed to respond to it, I would advise him to take up some other course: if I heard a teacher or critic dismissing it, or adopting a supercilious attitude towards it, I would wish to have him instantly deprived of his post. It is a test poem, because we can only accept it on its own terms and at its own level […] To feel it as it should be felt entails an act of joyful submission. such an act of submission may be difficult for a modern reader, habituated by the earnestness or officiousness of literary critics to believe that no poem is worthwhile unless a fine dust of footnotes can be beaten out of it. But if the reader cannot make this surrender to simple poetry, his mastery of more complex kinds will be a little suspect, for it means that his channel to poetry’s source has become clogged.

One dusty note:
supercilious = behaving or looking as though one thinks one is superior to others [I always thought this word meant “super silly”.]

And so with Wordsworth we are always ever “Surprised by joy” and mindful of loss. To this we gladly submit.

Wordsworth’s sonnets are disclosures of intense emotion. Whether or not they have an identified addressee, they seem to require a listener.

Carol Rumens. The Guardian. Poem of the week: Surprised by joy – impatient as the wind 22 September 2008

From one’s poet reading of another (of Lewis reading Clare) by the analogy of being open to surprise and submitting to the complex magic of simple poetry, we came to another (Rumens) reading another (Wordsworth) — a small leap across the years when impelled by a certain attentiveness which is all that is asked of us, all that is proposed, submitted to us.

And so for day 1308
13.07.2010

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Pulse Imp

Anthony Burgess on James Joyce’s gift.

A mark of Joyce’s genius was to recognise the smallness of his poetic talent and to see how a fine ear and a weak lyrical impulse could revolutionise the prose of a whole era.

Joysprick: An Introduction to the Language of James Joyce

C.D. Lewis The Lyric Impulse.

It would be difficult to overestimate the harm done to language by modern advertisement. Amongst other things, the flowery, cynical appeals of publicists have set up a strong but undiscriminating reaction. If a man speaks eloquently, with panache, we at once suspect him of insincerity: we feel he is trying to get at us. This attitude of ours has spread over into literature. To many critics and younger writers in Britain, ‘charm’, ‘grace’, ‘style’ are naughty words […] Here again the lyric suffers. A lyric poem must have some sort of grace; and charm is after all, carmen — a lyric song. If we so distrust charm and grace and style, and will have nothing but honest rugged poetry with no nonsense about it, we are discouraging the lyric impulse, and in doing so we cut off the main stream of poetry from one of its tributaries.

Joyce’s Bloom in Ulysses was an ad man.

And so for day 1307
12.07.2010

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Of An Ayre: Cogitation

Terrance Hayes

The Golden Shovel

after Gwendolyn Brooks (“We Real Cool“)

[This stanza reminds me of the crowns in Basquiat’s paintings.]

push until we thin, thin-
king we won’t creep back again.

Cog Agitation

And so for day 1306
11.07.2010

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Coronation Suite

Book Thug put me on to Jacob Wren (A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality) who put me on to Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah (an essay in the Los Angeles Review of Books De origine actibusque aequationis: Rachel Jeantel, Rammellzee, Basquiat, and the Art of Being an Equation) which was the impetus for a search re crown iconography in Basquiat which led me to a review of Jordana More Saggesse Reading Basquiat: Exploring Ambivalence in American Art reviewed by Anton Stuebner at Art Practical: 13 matches for the word “crown” in Stuebner’s review which samples Saggasse’s explanations (mark of graffiti artists admiring the work of others; “kingship” in jazz culture; a reference to the end credits of Basquiat’s favorite cartoon, The Little Rascals, which featured a hand-drawn crown above the title card “King World Productions”). As Stuebner remarks

These motifs engage multiple discourses all at once, and Saggese suggests that all of these readings can exist simultaneously. At the same time, part of what makes Basquiat’s work so consistently fascinating—and even frustrating—is the lack of a one-to-one correspondence between symbols and predetermined values. In the constant search for authorship and empirical meaning, Saggese sees a critical imperative to decode every gesture and mark in painting as a possible sign unlocking larger contexts and narratives not readily apparent on the surface.

The paintings invite us to track the tags and with others leading the way the trail is open to circling back …

Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah quoting/sampling Jennifer Clement Widow Basquiat has two occurrences of “crown” in her article:

He paints, pauses, picks up a book or magazine and when he finds a word or sentence that he likes he paints it on the board or canvas. There are codes: The crown is the logo from the t.v. show “The Little Rascals.” He mixes Spanish and English […] He paints kings wearing black crowns covered in tar and feathers […] He writes “TAR” everywhere in thick dark strokes because, “I sometimes feel as black as tar.”

Reading as seen and heard here is not just about recognizing one sign but combining signs, linking, associating, pushing meaning to morph.

And so for day 1305
10.07.2010

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Pun Punch

It begins to rain and Timothy Findley at the end of the title story in The Ark in the Garden (edited by Alberto Manguel) turns the reader’s mind to the moral of the story with a twist on the popular saying (“No news is good news”) and given that the fictional protagonist is Noah it is fitting that the pun takes an animal nature.

No gnus is bad gnus. In other words, if you want to survive today — you had best get on the right list.

Like the gnus, Noah and the Mrs. didn’t in this story make it on the right list and are barred from boarding.

Speaking of boats… “A Canadian is someone who knows how to have sex in a canoe.” Pierre Berton. Also exists in these polite (and so Canadian) variants:

A Canadian is someone who knows how to make love in a canoe.

A true Canadian is someone who can make love in a canoe without tipping it.

Findley visited the Noah material at greater length in his novel Not Wanted on the Voyage where the surname of the couple (Dr. Noah Noyes and Mrs. Noyes) produces a bilingual pun since the French “noyés” translates as “the drowned”. Indeed, the story just drips with satire and reversals.

Back to Berton’s bon mot, of the Canadians that confess to sex in a canoe, how many did it while the canoe was still on land?

And so for day 1304
09.07.2010

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Fail Again. Fail Better.

We begin once more with Epicurus from the Vatican sayings (so-called because of the location of the manuscript). [Translated by Russel M. Geer]

In a philosophical dispute, he gains most who is defeated, since he learns most.

And with the theme of learning, we broach the topic of success via the commencement address given by J.K. Rowling (Very Good Lives: The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination) who is quite aware of the ironies of delivering this message to a Harvard graduating class.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I’ve ever earned.

Note that last bit — delivered in the first person — it doesn’t impose the insight on the audience. It’s a nuanced retreat from the truism.

We round out the selection with a maxim from La Rochefoucauld [Translated by Leonard Tancock]

Philosophy easily triumphs over past ills and ills to come, but present ills triumph over philosophy.

The passage of time, the reversal of judgement, the getting of wisdom. None of it painless even if it is a little irksome irritation inflicted upon our amour propre.

And so for day 1303
08.07.2010

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