beautiful day is also a meteor, not the easiest to describe, no doubt . . .
Â
Roanne, July 14, 1941
At the place known as âLa Mounineâ not far from Aix-en-Provence one spring morning at first light, the sky though limpid through the foliage appeared to me mingled with shadow.
I donât believe that rancorous night, to avenge its retreat from above these regions, had drained its heavy octopus heart of blue-black ink to our detriment.
Â
I donât believe the octopus night so rancorous for its retreat beyond the horizon as to have wished to drain the blue-black ink from its heavy heart on this occasion.
I donât believe night so rancorous
As to have wished octopus on this occasion
To drain from its heart a flow of blue-black ink.
I donât believe night so rancorous
that on retreating behind the horizon
it would have wished to drain the blue-black ink
from its octopus heart on this occasion.
Â
Note (Point) of Order Concerning the Provence Sky
Â
July 19, 1941
The point is to describe the sky clearly, just as it appeared to me and impressed me so deeply.
From this description, or following from it, will rise in simple terms the explanation of my deep emotion.
That I was so moved can undoubtedly be attributed to the revelation, through this form, of an important aesthetic and moral principle.
From the intensity of my emotion, the tenacity of my efforts to account for it, and the scruples that forbade my skimping on the description of it, I can gauge the importance of that law.
I must uncover this law, this lesson (La Fontaine would have said this moral). It could just as readily be a scientific law, a theorem.
. . . So then, initially, a sob, an emotion with no apparent cause (the feeling of beauty is not enough to explain it. Why this feeling? Beauty is a word that replaces another).
This means clarifying and casting light, uncovering the reasons (for my emotions) and the law (of this landscape), making this landscape serve for something other than an aesthetic sob, inducing it to become a logical, moral tool, inducing the mind and spirit to make great strides on its behalf.
My whole philosophic and poetic stance lies within this problem.
Note that Iâm undergoing huge difficulties due to the vast number of images that flock to my disposal (and mask, lay masks on, reality) due to the originality of my point of view (strangeness would be more like it) â to my excessive (Protestant) scruples â to my immoderate ambition, etc.
Steadily emphasizing that the whole secret of victory lies in the scrupulous accuracy of the description: âI was impressed by this and that â: there must be no backing down on this, no rearranging, it must be performed in a truly scientific manner.
Once again this means plucking (from the tree of science) the forbidden fruit, with all due deference to the powers of shadow that dominate us, to Monsieur God in particular.
This means actively militating (modestly but effectively) for the âlightâ and against obscurantism â the obscurantism that threatens to submerge us once again in the 20th century through a return to the barbarous conditions advocated by the bourgeoisie as the sole means of saving its privileges.
(To grasp the nature of a thing, one can â if unable to seize it initially â induce it to appear through comparison, through successive eliminations: âItâs not this, itâs not that, etc.â â a metatechnical question, or simply technical.)
Â
July 19, 1941
When G.A. wrote to me recently about The Pine Woods Notebook: âThe outcome of your efforts runs too great a risk of becoming a quasi-scientific perfection which, for having undergone purification, tends toward a compendium of interchangeable materials. Each thing in itself, rigorously specific and brought to term, is excellent. The whole becomes a patchwork,â he was right on the mark. Yes, I wish to be less
Â
Roanne, July 14, 1941
At the place known as âLa Mounineâ not far from Aix-en-Provence one spring morning at first light, the sky though limpid through the foliage appeared to me mingled with shadow.
I donât believe that rancorous night, to avenge its retreat from above these regions, had drained its heavy octopus heart of blue-black ink to our detriment.
Â
I donât believe the octopus night so rancorous for its retreat beyond the horizon as to have wished to drain the blue-black ink from its heavy heart on this occasion.
I donât believe night so rancorous
As to have wished octopus on this occasion
To drain from its heart a flow of blue-black ink.
I donât believe night so rancorous
that on retreating behind the horizon
it would have wished to drain the blue-black ink
from its octopus heart on this occasion.
Â
Note (Point) of Order Concerning the Provence Sky
Â
July 19, 1941
The point is to describe the sky clearly, just as it appeared to me and impressed me so deeply.
From this description, or following from it, will rise in simple terms the explanation of my deep emotion.
That I was so moved can undoubtedly be attributed to the revelation, through this form, of an important aesthetic and moral principle.
From the intensity of my emotion, the tenacity of my efforts to account for it, and the scruples that forbade my skimping on the description of it, I can gauge the importance of that law.
I must uncover this law, this lesson (La Fontaine would have said this moral). It could just as readily be a scientific law, a theorem.
. . . So then, initially, a sob, an emotion with no apparent cause (the feeling of beauty is not enough to explain it. Why this feeling? Beauty is a word that replaces another).
This means clarifying and casting light, uncovering the reasons (for my emotions) and the law (of this landscape), making this landscape serve for something other than an aesthetic sob, inducing it to become a logical, moral tool, inducing the mind and spirit to make great strides on its behalf.
My whole philosophic and poetic stance lies within this problem.
Note that Iâm undergoing huge difficulties due to the vast number of images that flock to my disposal (and mask, lay masks on, reality) due to the originality of my point of view (strangeness would be more like it) â to my excessive (Protestant) scruples â to my immoderate ambition, etc.
Steadily emphasizing that the whole secret of victory lies in the scrupulous accuracy of the description: âI was impressed by this and that â: there must be no backing down on this, no rearranging, it must be performed in a truly scientific manner.
Once again this means plucking (from the tree of science) the forbidden fruit, with all due deference to the powers of shadow that dominate us, to Monsieur God in particular.
This means actively militating (modestly but effectively) for the âlightâ and against obscurantism â the obscurantism that threatens to submerge us once again in the 20th century through a return to the barbarous conditions advocated by the bourgeoisie as the sole means of saving its privileges.
(To grasp the nature of a thing, one can â if unable to seize it initially â induce it to appear through comparison, through successive eliminations: âItâs not this, itâs not that, etc.â â a metatechnical question, or simply technical.)
Â
July 19, 1941
When G.A. wrote to me recently about The Pine Woods Notebook: âThe outcome of your efforts runs too great a risk of becoming a quasi-scientific perfection which, for having undergone purification, tends toward a compendium of interchangeable materials. Each thing in itself, rigorously specific and brought to term, is excellent. The whole becomes a patchwork,â he was right on the mark. Yes, I wish to be less
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