When a draft is lost, but what was sketched persists in the memory, something interesting happens. We realize that it is possible to restore the draft by going back through the same stages of reasoning that led to it; but it is not possible to restore it word for word, exactly as it was. It can be seen, then, that something is lost in the process. It follows that we can say the same thing day after day, renewing it by the way we say it; however, the uniqueness of the moment in which it was said remains ingrained in it and, finally, the lost draft is really the moment that is gone…
Tag: literature
True Artists and True Philosophers…
True artists and true philosophers have in common that their work is the result of reflection on experience. From this, in both, springs the need for expression which, in each, is realized differently. In other words: it is through reflection that they discover what to say, and afterwards that they experience the sensation of having to say it. The rest is how to do it – the least important thing. But this initial impulse that unites them attests to the truth of what they do and sets them apart from all those who, for the most diverse reasons, perpetuate falsification.
Twentieth-Century Literature Discovered…
Twentieth-century literature discovered that, in order to win over the common man, it is infinitely easier to descend to his level rather than elevate him. It is a remarkable discovery. When one says the greatest conceivable banality in the most prosaic way imaginable, something impressive, almost magical, happens and brings the common man to his knees. Finally, with his eyes sparkling, he experiences the sensation of understanding what he is reading! It is an infallible formula, and to it is added the pleasure of curiosity in seeing the spectacle of artists who, as if inside a sanctuary, behave as if they were at a fair. It is undoubtedly a kind of literature that can exert an unparalleled fascination on the ordinary man.
Brazilian Modernism
Brazilian Modernism did literature a great service by proving once and for all how dull, uninteresting and tedious the futile is, and how impossible it is to change it, even for creative minds. It is ordinary poetry, intended for ordinary people, but poetry that does not uplift them, stimulate them or make them think. False intellectuals, it is true, find infinite innovations in it and are delighted—but they end up, at the end of as many verses as they can read, exactly as they were before reading them. As for those who are accustomed to great art, it is impossible for them to endure more than a few pages of these frivolities that only distract from the one blatant truth: the mind that conceived them had nothing interesting to say.