HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Thursday, December 20, 2007 candle on the water Tancred unwittingly kills his beloved Clorinda in a duel while she is disguised in the armour of an enemy knight. After her burial he makes his way into a strange magic forest which strikes the Crusaders' army with terror. He slashes with his sword at a tall tree; but blood streams from the cut and the voice of Clorinda, whose soul is imprisoned in the tree, is heard complaining that he has wounded his beloved once again. (Freud, Beyond, p.24) freud read the allegory of tancred and the bleeding tree as an example of trauma, and the repetitiveness of trauma, how the memory keeps recurring. clorinda is constantly wounded, tancred will continue to wound, unwittingly. no one is at fault, no one ought to be sorry. i woke up crying today. we all have old wounds, and we all are unwitting oppressors as well as victims, re-opening our own, and others' cuts. (the lovely, how i miss) cathy caruth read the constant return to trauma as an example of the enigma of survival--an attempt to return to the site of the traumatic event in order to attempt to find a language to understand it, and thus leave it behind. i read the allegory as a narrative of mourning and grief, a story of how one can never let go of dead ghosts, and how our life is defined by perpetual return, and the wound of one is constantly opened, but this return is constantly bound with the persisting presence of the departed. it is the promise of the presence of the beloved, the making of memory. "promise?" prof. caruth asked, "intriguing, considering that trauma inevitably comes as a shock." i omitted the word "promise" in that (trauma-inducing monster of a) paper i wrote, but now retrospectively, "promise" is what i wanted to say. the return to the site of the trauma is who we are, and what we seek to master. i realise, until i can master the past, i can never really love and really want. is that true for you too? "what do you want?" he asked last night. by then, i was totally gone, had lost all composure, and blurted, "i don't know, i just don't know, okay?" "okay," he said. there is only one thing i wish for, and have wanted. mastery over the past. when i mean mastery, i don't mean a deliberate obliteration of the past, i mean, mastery. mastery is to reopen the wound, and gaze upon it, and to see it again, until it is no longer the black hole that is the past, but present to you. that is all i actually know i want. i will forgive then, i've not forgiven yet. we were not linear, perhaps i will return and return to the past, fall into a present, then and fall back into a future with you. secretly, i want to. (is this still a secret then?) i do think you are inextricably a part of me, and your presence will always be in me. in the meantime, i will miss you. you are a wonderful person, you know? because you're wonderful, you should never be afraid of being lonely. thank you for what you have given me. i hope that what you have given me will become a gift to you too. i think the lines--what we want of us, what i want of me, and you want of yourself--will draw themselves out with time. it is not in my hands, and i realise, it never was in our hands. it is in another's hands. posted by dawn # 7:10 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] first day home. i'm tired, emotionally exhausted, ... betrayals hunger pangs papers and winter strangely familiar groundhogs week in review announcements! like engines snow under streetlight [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Thursday, December 20, 2007

candle on the water

Tancred unwittingly kills his beloved Clorinda in a duel while she is disguised in the armour of an enemy knight. After her burial he makes his way into a strange magic forest which strikes the Crusaders' army with terror. He slashes with his sword at a tall tree; but blood streams from the cut and the voice of Clorinda, whose soul is imprisoned in the tree, is heard complaining that he has wounded his beloved once again. (Freud, Beyond, p.24)

freud read the allegory of tancred and the bleeding tree as an example of trauma, and the repetitiveness of trauma, how the memory keeps recurring. clorinda is constantly wounded, tancred will continue to wound, unwittingly. no one is at fault, no one ought to be sorry. i woke up crying today. we all have old wounds, and we all are unwitting oppressors as well as victims, re-opening our own, and others' cuts. (the lovely, how i miss) cathy caruth read the constant return to trauma as an example of the enigma of survival--an attempt to return to the site of the traumatic event in order to attempt to find a language to understand it, and thus leave it behind.

i read the allegory as a narrative of mourning and grief, a story of how one can never let go of dead ghosts, and how our life is defined by perpetual return, and the wound of one is constantly opened, but this return is constantly bound with the persisting presence of the departed. it is the promise of the presence of the beloved, the making of memory. "promise?" prof. caruth asked, "intriguing, considering that trauma inevitably comes as a shock." i omitted the word "promise" in that (trauma-inducing monster of a) paper i wrote, but now retrospectively, "promise" is what i wanted to say. the return to the site of the trauma is who we are, and what we seek to master. i realise, until i can master the past, i can never really love and really want. is that true for you too?
"what do you want?" he asked last night. by then, i was totally gone, had lost all composure, and blurted, "i don't know, i just don't know, okay?"

"okay," he said.

there is only one thing i wish for, and have wanted. mastery over the past. when i mean mastery, i don't mean a deliberate obliteration of the past, i mean, mastery. mastery is to reopen the wound, and gaze upon it, and to see it again, until it is no longer the black hole that is the past, but present to you. that is all i actually know i want. i will forgive then, i've not forgiven yet. we were not linear, perhaps i will return and return to the past, fall into a present, then and fall back into a future with you. secretly, i want to. (is this still a secret then?) i do think you are inextricably a part of me, and your presence will always be in me. in the meantime, i will miss you. you are a wonderful person, you know? because you're wonderful, you should never be afraid of being lonely. thank you for what you have given me. i hope that what you have given me will become a gift to you too. i think the lines--what we want of us, what i want of me, and you want of yourself--will draw themselves out with time. it is not in my hands, and i realise, it never was in our hands. it is in another's hands.

posted by dawn # 7:10 PM

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