In the Heresy of Self-Love, Paul Zweig quotes Kierkegaard:
Zweig continues, in his own language now:If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the foundation of all there lay only a wildly seething power which writhing with obscure passions produced everything that is great and everything that is insignificant, if a bottomless void never satiated lay hidden beneath all -- what them would life be but despair? But therefore it is not thus. [...]The poet cannot do what the hero does, he can only admire, love, and rejoice in the hero. Yet he too is happy, and not less so, for the hero is as it were his better nature, with which he is in love, rejoicing in the fact that this after all is not himself, that his love can be admiration. He is the genius of recollection, can do nothing except call to mind what has been done [...] If he thus remains true to his love, he strives day and night against the cunning of oblivion which would trick him out of his hero... for the poet is at it were the hero's better nature, powerless it may be as a memory is, but also transfigured as memory is.
The poet is hero's memory; he is the permanence concealed in the act;
the witness that a spark of "eternal consciousness" has come down into the hero's passing [...]
* * *
I cannot pretend that I haven't thought of myself as the hero. I cannot pretend that I don't want to be the poet now.
I don't have the discipline, imagination or perseverance for either.
Perhaps I had the opportunity to exist in a framework of this kind of love.
I have lost that now.
To be correct, I could not hold it.
To be more correct, I let it go.
To be the most correct, I dangled it over a cliff, could smell its coffee-breath, then threw it.
But so begins reparation:
realizing that the great distance you want to go is as exhilirating & magical as reaching a mirage:
and also as impossible.
The real work is actual work.
It's not 'want to go' but Go and with Silent Steps.
* * *
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| looking at the camera but falling toward the ground, 2015, film |
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