I remember / je me souviens
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For those limbic bursts of nostalgia, invented by Proust, miniaturized by Nicholson Baker, and freeze-dried by Joe Brainard in his I remember and by Georges Perec in his Je me souviens.

But there are no fractions, the world is an integer
Like us, and like us it can neither stand wholly apart nor disappear.
When one is young it seems like a very strange and safe place,
But now that I have changed it feels merely odd, cold
And full of interest.
          --John Ashbery, "A Wave"

Sometimes I sense that to put real confidence in my memory I have to get to the end of all rememberings. That seems to say that I forego remembering. And now that strikes me as an accurate description of what it is to have confidence in one's memory.
          --Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason


Sunday, September 29, 2002
I remember when they were building Lincoln Center, near out apartment house. I remember when they tore down Penn Station, near my Chelsea grandparents' house. I remember the adults being upset about it. I remember when they redid the area around the Soldiers and Sailors monument on 89th street, which I liked thinking of as partly a monument to my Uncle. All these building projects and piles of rubble merge in my memory.

I remember another mother/father distinction. In our library my father always had a recliner (although I may remember when the first one was delivered -- black leather with buttons; I thought it was very neat) and my mother an armchair. And another: my mother drank alcohol, my father didn't (except Sangria at La Fonda del Sol).

I remember that at Tommy Hoge's house the equivalent room -- TV, books, desk -- was called a "den." Do people still have dens?

I remember when mail was misdelivered to us, and my father took me with him to ring on the bell next door (2-H) to give it to the Hoges. I wondered about this -- were we allowed to deliver mail? And couldn't we just leave it in front of their door, as the mail was left in front of ours? But Tom Hoge (the father) opened it, and they were both genial about it, and I saw some kids run to the door: Tommy and his younger brother Ken. I think they'd just taken baths. Tommy became my best friend for years, with many many consequences. I think it was a postcard that got misdelivered to us. I remember that the ring was different on their bell than on ours -- theirs was an unpleasant electric squawk, ours a higher pitched rapid ring, like a fast and continuous phone ringing. How does one describe this basic difference, like the basic difference in kinds of dial tone? Later when we moved to 7-F we also had the unpleasant electric squawk. I missed the old ring, which (since they always rang) was like the kind and loving voice of my mother or grandparents.


posted by william 7:54 AM
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