Analect 2.254x

3 April 2008. Té juro, corazón... La voz de Chavela Vargas, cada día, de humo, de ascua, siempre empezando, empezando... Albur de amór...

Flash of morning sun on silver white van, gift of the gods. But which gods indeed? Ovid's own telling, gay, insouciant, posing the question--as if every question could be answered... Except again in the telling. Daniel on Tuesday--a tour de force--Socrates and the Talmud, with reflections on Bakhtin, Levinas. The events of the world become concepts, concepts become real, fluid lines of analysis, parry, play, a kind Rabelasian bouillabaisse --or borscht--and a delight in contention (contentio)--sometimes for its own sake--that which arrives from the other side. Sitra wha'? Where language takes on its own transcendence, its own demise...

At the outset, in this grand auditorium, all flags and banners, lone podium and the chancellor's voice (omitting the key word, fat). In a moment of thirst, Daniel reaches under the shelf, producing a narrow bottle of clear water, lifting it to his lips, with words of assurance to an eagerly attentive crowd, his right hand trembling, ever so slightly--a tiny visibility--in the strong light. For a moment, we see him make a she-ha-kol--a blessing--silent, the words, unspoken--the only ones...