Then the image soar upward and vanish; they rise
and are shattered by their very height. Then the realism of unreality is
evident.
Nietzsche could be the representative for a complex
of height.
the walk into a soaring.
For Shelley, then, poetic images are all agents
of elevation. In other words, poetic images are operations of the human
mind insofar as they make us lighter, raise us or elevate us.
Anyone who rises sees the heights becoming more
clearly delineated and differentiated. (skip) The human arrow lives not only
its élan, but also its goal. It lives its sky. By becoming conscious of
his power to ascend, a human being becomes conscious of his destiny as a whole.
To be more exact, he knows that he is matter, a substance filled with hope. In
these images, hope seems to become as precise as it can be. It is an upright
destiny.
The wings invisible are those that fly the
farthest. - Gariele D'Annunzio, The Dead City -
It is most often blue or black; it flies upward
or downward.
The wing, an essential attribute of flight, is
the ideal cachet of perfection in almost all realms. Our soul, escaping from
the corporeal envelope that holds us down in this lower life here on earth, is
incarnate in a glorious body, lighter and faster than any bird.
the dream, like Toussenel's God, creates the soaring
spirit before creating the bird.
We lack wings, but we always have enough
strength to fall. - Paul Claudel, Positions et propositions -
vertiginous falls into bottomless pits.
Lucifer, cast out of heaven, fell for nine
days.
it is the will that dreams.
the imagination of the fall as a kind of
sickness of the imagination of rising, as an inexpiable nostalgia for
heights.
My fall creates the abyss; in no
way is the abyss the cause of my fall. I will see light again, but it will not
matter; nor will it matter that I will be returning to the living. (skip)
I can never have a feeling of having risen again because the fall is the
destiny of my dreams. (skip) Unhappy is he whose dream suffers the abyss.
The dynamic sensation of the "weakening of
the soul" occurs in a weighted atmosphere.
Nietzsche showed us that depth found in the
heights.
When we lands, he should be on a level just a
bit higher than the one from which he took off, so that, contrary to what
Thomas de Quincy noted, for a long time the dreamer retains the impression that
he has not "come down" completely, and he will be able to continue to
live his ordinary life in the heights of his aerial flight.
"I knew that there was a wind hidden in the
heart of things." - Guy Lavard, Poetique du ciel -
Luminous air and aerial light,
We discover the source of this imaginary light
- the light that is born within us - in the meditation that frees us from our
daily troubles. In place of the enlightened spirit, an enlightening
soul is born.
emerging light, an early morning light
where blue, pink, and gold mingle. Nothing garish. Nothing vivid. Here is a
beautiful synthesis round and diaphanous, pale alabaster lighted by the sun!
The elevation of the soul goes hand
in hand with its serenity. There is a dynamic connection between light and
height. (skip) "The abyss is troubled darkness."
When the feeling of elevation reaches its peak,
the universe is as peaceful as the mountaintops.
"Today you will read me and I shall live
through you."
When we have seen more clearly that Nietzsche's
cosmos is a cosmos of the heights, then we will also understand that
this soothing water it the Sky.
Nietzchean light is an arrow, a sword. It
inflicts a cold wound.
For Nietzsche, in fact, air is the very
substance of our freedom, the substance of superhuman joy. (skip) aerial joy
is freedom.
Neither by land nor water, but in the air, the
journey to the highest and coldest of solitary places.
Through air and cold, it is the silence that is
breathed, it is the silence that is an integral part of our very being.
Those who can breathe the air of my writings
know that it is an air of the heights, a strong air. (skip) The ice
is near, the solitude tremendous - but how calmly all things lie in the night!
How freely on breathes! How much one feels beneath oneself! - Nietzsche,
Ecce Homo -
"he who would learn to fly one day must
first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance: one cannot fly into
flying."
cast yourself entirely into the depths in order
to be able to rise up entirely toward the summits,
Whatever was difficult
Sank into blue forgetfulness -
-Nietzsche-
This tranquility is certain because it has been
conquered.
the pine tree at the edge of the abyss. (skip)
the tree's struggle to resist the forces of gravity.
upright, braced, standing straight; it is
vertical. It does not get its spa from subterrean water; it does not owe its
solidity to the rock; (skip) Nietzschean will. One wants to remain as it
is. The other wants to rise up. (skip) The temptation of the abyss
tonalizes the sky.
the seventh solitude
when constraint and contrivance and guilt steam
beneath us like rain."
Weight does not weigh on the world but
on our souls, our minds, our hearts - it weighs on man. To one who triumphs
over weight, to the superman, will be given a super-nature - that very nature
that is imagined by an aerial psyche.
celestial blue: (skip)
"sky blue" is always a concept, never
a primary image.
The one who dreams in the serenity of the night
finds the marvelous web of time that is resting.
Distance is abolished. An infinity of communion
erases an infinity of size. The world of stars touches our soul: it is a world
of gazing.
CLOUDS (skip) a reverie without
responsibility.
How can one take it along when one is only a
cloud
With holes in his pockets?
But nothing seems amazing to this little bit of
nothingness that glides.
Nothing seems so heavy that it cannot be taken along. - Supervielle -
the function of the imagination of clouds is an
invitation to ascend.
The soul's landscapes are more marvelous than
the landscapes of the starry sky. They have not only Milky Ways made up of
millions of stars, but even their dark abysses are living, embracing an
infinite life whose very overabundance darkens and stifles. And these abysses
where life is consumed can in a moment be illuminated, liberated, and changed
into Milky Ways.
To live in a great tree under its enormous leafy
crown is always, for the imagination, to be a bird. The tree is a source of
power for flight.
the bleeding tree, the tree that weeps?
There is someone
In the wind. - Guillevic, Terraque
-
And life is so great that even autumn has a
future.
It is to truly turn your face to the wind and
defy its force.
The wind's forehead appears
Like dawn in the forest. - Emile
Verhaeren -
the word is willed before it is spoken. In this
way, pure poetry is formed in the realm of the will before appearing on the
emotional level. For this reason it is all the more true that pure poetry is
far from being the art of representation. Created in the silence and solitude
of being, with no connection to hearing or sight, poetry seems to me to be the
primary phenomenon of the human aesthetic will.
Willed and re-willed, the origins of poetry's
vocal values are cherished in their essential expressions of will. (skip)
The will finds them in the silence and emptiness of being, (skip) will
to logos. (skip) in the silence of our own being, what it is we will
to become, we need to convince ourselves of our own becoming and to
exalt it for ourselves.
There are musicians who compose on blank paper,
in silence and immobility. Their eyes wide open, they create, by a gaze that
stretches into emptiness, a kind of visual silence, a silent gaze that effaces
the world in order to silence its noises; they write music. (skip)
life waits; harmony is about to come. (skip) They no longer belong to a
world of echoes or resonances. (skip)
There are also silent poets, silencers who start
by quieting an overly noisy universe and all the hubbub caused by its
thunderous sound. (skip) the literary image, allows us to live slowly the
time of its blooming.
the written language is creating its own
universe.
a literary image is an explosive.
The moment that a thought, cleverly hiding
beneath its images, lies in the shadow waiting for a reader, noises are
muffled, the reading begins, and it is a slow, dreaming reading. (skip)
And when this silence has fallen, then we can understand the strange
expressive burst, the elan vital of a confession:
And sometimes we discover a great line of
poetry, one that contains such suffering or such a great thought that the
reader - the solitary reader - murmurs: and that day, I shall read no further.
As Baudelaire writes on the first page of My
Heart Laid Bare: "Evaporation and concentration of the Self.
That is the crux."
for it seems that to express
the ineffable, the evasive, the aerial, every writer needs to develop themes of
inner wealth, wealth that bears the weight of inner certainty.
바슐라드의 물질에 대한 상상력은 무한하면서도 가슴 뜨금할 정도로 본질을 꿰뚫는다. 그의 문학적/예술적 상상의 고찰 범위에 해당하지 않는 것이 있을까 싶을 정도로.
때로는 같은 생각, 같은 언어가 곳곳에 배어 가슴 저리기도 하고, 무의식적으로 감춰진 내면을 구체적으로 서술해주는 문장을 만나 가슴 속 시원해지기도 하며, 대기에 대한, 하늘에 대한 인간의 상상을 읽었다. 지난해 현실을 떠나 반쯤 상승하는 구름을 그리며 내면의 실체를 발견하게 된 이후라 더욱더 마음에 와 닿았는지 모른다.
니체형 인간, 정상을 향해 발을 떼는 인간, 하늘을 동경하는 인간, 비상을 꿈꾸는 인간, 얽매이지 않는 인간, 절벽에 발을 딛고 하늘로 뻗는 소나무와 같은 인간... 정상과 고독을 동경하기에 이해받지 못하고 외로운 인간, 그럼에도 하늘로 향한 시선을 거두지 못하는 인간. 비상을 향한 갈망을 삼키는 인간, 그 갈증으로 부풀어 올라 타들어가는 인간. 눈을 감아도 보이는 창공에 어쩔 쭐 모르는 발없는 정신을 다잡고 사는 인간, 세찬 바람에 고개를 세우고 걸어올라가는 인간, 아무것도 아님을 알면서도 아무것도 아님을 응시하는 인간. 위로가 필요하다면, 아마도 이 책이...
그럼에도 불구하고, 같은 갈망이 번뜩 정신을 사로잡게 되면, 시공을 초월한 어느 시간 문장으로 만날 수 있기를, 바슐라르가 말한 대로 의지에의 문장에 존재의 허무함의 무게를 실어...
그리고 그 문장이 가슴을 치면 고개를 들어 잠시 중얼거리고 그 날은 더이상 읽지 않기로...
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