Monday, June 25, 2018
After scrolling through Twitter stuff that turns up posts related to the filmmaker and seeing her Instagrams, I felt, as her, that I’m tired of being found “amazing,” etc.—weary of vapid praise.
“What I’ve done, I’ve done.”
I move on.
-- gary e. davis -- 2:34 PM
Sunday, June 17, 2018
I write letters that I don’t send. Below is one. Uncanny coincidence is that her last name is Martin, as I’m thinking (unspoken) of Heidegger, circa 1917, seeing boys returning from the front.
Dear Professor Ann Martin,
A happy thing it is to find a dissertation online about Ulysses and WW-I.
My googling only anticipated some sentence or two about the matter somewhere, in some article, at best (a Wikipedia article, at worst—or maybe the worst is someone's blog). Since this was just a few minutes ago, I've only read your “Abstract” and “Conclusion.”
I suppose that the pole star for the stabilizing coordinates is “love beyond all reason.” Yet, the reconstituted security for the post-War reader is literally that text, whose love restores. One is saved by literary portability, renewing oneself through the mirror of the author finding himself through the severe uncanniness of the times, which spawns modernism. The literary mind entertains “inner monologue” and “stream of consciousness” (one and the same? surmises Britannica), always citing Ulysses as exemplar.
-- gary e. davis -- 11:26 AM