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


Wednesday, January 28, 2004
I remember the first time my sister and I accompanied my parents to Europe how bad the jet lag was. We were up till 3:00 am, playing cards, frustrated, bewildered. It turned out not to be fun to be up that late. later years I would try to avoid napping when we arrived (something my parents always did). Then I remember when we went to Italy (we always spent a night or two in Zurich because we flew a Swiss-Air charter) I saw chamberpots in our hotel room for the first time. Actually I remember these chamber pots from Bellagio, whereas the first two summers we went to Europe we went to Yugoslavia for two or three weeks before going to Bellagio. But I do remember them, and remember not know what they were for. They were decorative, of course, since the hotel had beautiful bathrooms. But they were available, and squeaky clean. I recall that they were stored in the bottom of the night-table in a compartment with swinging doors. I remember also that our rooms were at the end of the hallway, a dog-leg from the main elevators (but right down the hall from the slow and creaky back elevator). I remember sometimes going down that hallway back to the room at midday, which was the worst time to go through the corridors of the hotel: the sun made them seem somehow insipid, a pointless interior on a beautiful day. At night and in the early morning they were far more luminous and vivid.


posted by william 12:09 AM
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