Tag: literature

It can be said that, fundamentally, literature is intended to narrate, and therefore preserve, what has happened. Without it, there would be no history, and there would be no culture. At some point, however, it was realized that it could do more, that it could also narrate what did not happen, but could have happened or could happen. It may be impossible to say when this discovery dates from. Since then, however, this has been the basis of great literature: the factual or the plausible, or both at the same time. What stands out is that no matter how much time passes, literature cannot stray from this guiding principle. The writer, therefore, must necessarily keep reality in mind while writing; otherwise, he will not be able to produce a work of value. Give the imagination full freedom, use allegories, do whatever he wants, but his work will always, always be confronted with reality.

It is easy to imagine the contempt of a Western intellectual when looking through a few pages of Eastern literature, and easy to understand the reasons for his contempt. However, he notices the absence of his usual standard, but does not question the basis of what he reads. If he did, perhaps he would open a door. Perhaps he would change, perhaps he would grow, perhaps he would learn something new that he never imagined. But ignorance is one of those sins that cannot be admitted. To recognize that, with a whole life behind, the essential was not perceived… It is much more comfortable to waste what remains of it as well.

Although it is never assumed, and never proclaimed, there is an all too obvious qualitative difference between poetry based on lies and that based on true impressions. To assume this, however, is to take a fresh look at many of the poets laureate, something that nobody seems willing to do. But it should be noted that, if taken seriously, there are perhaps no worse advisors and no worse liars than these countless poets who wrap everything in sensuality: what they call “beauty”, ‘sweetness’, “charm” is simply false. How can they be considered so eminent if they only know how to work with illusions? They lack reality and the realization that true beauty remains. It is certainly more difficult, but not impossible, to conceive a laudatory poetry that is based on a real perception.

In the life of study, sooner or later, one has to develop the ability to deal with the paradox that one should or should only read what one wants to retain, although knowledge of piles and piles of books is necessary for progress in any serious study. There is never a definitive solution to this dilemma. It is necessary to read, and to read slowly; but the real interest that sustains attentive reading wants to go after sources, wants to broaden one’s understanding more and more: the result is a list of next readings that only grows, indefinitely. It soon becomes clear that it is not possible to read everything one wants to, that one has to choose. But choosing is another problem: it is necessary to mix the safe with the mysterious, the unexplored, because one never knows exactly what can be found in them. Finally, the study has to delve into lists, titles and indexes, and if it does not find everything it’s looking for, it has to recognize that finitude necessarily denotes a limit to what can be sought.