I remember / je me souviens
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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


Friday, October 26, 2012
I remember being at the Daily Pint, post-beach/tapas/sangria.  We start to talk about our families and favorite authors.  We get paper towels from the bathroom so that we can more accurately make lists and draw family trees.  We make lists of our favorite authors, my favorite thing to do.  We draw a smiley face next to the authors on each others' lists we like.  We disagree with some, mostly agree on others. We finish, and I remember folding the towel into my purse.  He watches me do this, pauses, then he takes my hands, folds them in his, and asks me to come back to his house. Finally. There's no more endearing creature to me on the planet at the moment.  He tells me his room is a mess, but if I give him five whole minutes, he'll give me a glass of wine, and tell me a story while he cleans room.  I remember he looked at me with the most radiant jade-blue-green eyes I've ever seen and asked me want I wanted to do.  That puddle on the floor? That's me.  


posted by morgan 11:32 AM
. . .
0 comments
Comments:

Post a Comment





. . .