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


Saturday, December 06, 2003
I remember going down with my parents and maybe the Hoges and their parents one snowy evening into the playground at Riverside Park to make snowmen. The snow had stopped and the night was clear, with that odd clarity that comes at darkness when the sky is finally black but the ground is white so it's luminous all over. I knew about snowmen, from cartoons, but I'd never made a real one. I think they must have been refencing the playground, since I recall that we went down the sledding hill which forms such a feature of the landscape of my early memories straight into the playground. I was surprised how easy it was to roll the snowballs into the snowman's body. And the adults -- the Hoges or whoever they were -- really knew what they were doing. They'd brought coal! From where? And a carrot! And they wound a scarf around the snowman, and put a cap on its head. And it held a stick, somehow. It looked just like the snowmen in cartoons. It was amazing that rolling up that anonymous, featureless snow could produce something so like its own simulacrum. I mean the snow was still that anonymous thing, that visual hum, that it always was. But now the vast extent to which that substance could reach became somehow clearer: the most familiar, friendly, artificial, indoor thing -- the snowman on TV -- could be reduced to the pure blank exteriority of snow. Snow was at the base of everything.


posted by william 8:24 PM
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