Notes Toward a Longer Essay on Kundera

For a long time I’ve marveled at the structure of The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Only recently did I understand, in the course of writing recursive algorithms at my technology job, that Kundera’s masterpiece is a recursive novel, looping back through events in the characters’ lives repeatedly. I should have realized that long ago, because TULOB takes as its foremost theme the notion of eternal return.

Eternal return is Nietzsche’s statement of the idea that events repeat themselves endlessly, finishing and starting again from the first moment. This possibility, like identical Big Bangs causing the Universe to expand and contract the same way forever, would make our lives’ every moment inevitable and impossibly weighty and ponderous. But if everything only happens once, Kundera posits, then our lives become the opposite, unbearably fleeting, meaningless, and light.

TULOB’s structure follows the dictates of this theme, and of Kundera’s play with the contrast between light and heavy.  The last of the novel’s seven sections, focused on the couple’s dog, unfolds after the deaths of its protagonists have already been described. Yet that section covers incidents preceding their deaths.

In interviews, the author has acknowledged a desire to mimic Anna Karenina, which also continues for a long section after its protagonist’s demise. But Kundera’s return to the couple’s lives through canine eyes recasts the final movement with a lighter atmosphere than Tolstoy’s ending section. Kundera finds a more playful poignancy and a more innocent aspect than his predecessor.

Maybe the weight of what TULOB depicts is so great that, unlike Anna Karenina’s community-centered  final section, the Communist-era book requires a shift of perspective to a simpler species to reduce the heaviness.

The dog’s name in TULOB is Karenin.

Play the Blues, Punk!

A guitarist for 25 years, I have been learning about music my whole life. Fairly recently I've come back to country music, a form I only appreciated occasionally when growing up in Texas. But the blues has always been essential to me and I'm now trying to understand if I need two different projects to create my vision in each of these genres.

No other art form matches the power of the greatest songs, for me at least. Some that do it for me are The Missing Heart by Dwight Yoakam, Better World by The Rave-Ups (led by the great Jimmer Podrasky) and Death Letter Blues by Son House. Also Come On In My Kitchen by Robert Johnson, along with his Hellhound on My Trail. The greatest songs haunt me in ways I want to be haunted.

My new blog on this subject is American Sounds.

Gary Snyder on poets/writers' role

The function of the poet is to determine what part of our mythology is valuable in the present era.

Why I Love Calculus

Calculus is the mathematics that, among those I know, is most like metaphor. It describes longing in its approach to limits that are never achieved, it describes the imperfect analogy of anything to anything else in a similar way.

It grabs the world by a parameter, and derives what it can. And so much more too.

More about the Lyrical Delusion

The lyrical delusion is that each of our idiosyncrasies is important. E.g. the rambling, hermetic work of Blake Butler.

The lyrical delusion presumes we have endless time to follow any thought, any digression, any path. E.g. The huge novels of David Foster Wallace.

The lyrical delusion is youthful, vigorous, but not hardened by experience or condensed. The latter has its e.g. in Seamus Heaney and Adrienne Rich.

Poetry of Conscience in Syria

http://m.aljazeera.com/story/20139784442125773

Learning the World from Seamus Heaney

"There's a good yield, isn't there?"
As proud as if he were the land itself.
- from The Wife's Tale

The lough waters
Can petrify wood.
Old oars and posts
Over the years
Harden their grain
Incarcerate ghosts
Of sap and season.
- From Relic of Memory

Heaney's greatest strength was not his music, his way with phrases, his style. These were powerfully idiosyncratic to him. But his real shamanic gift was that he saw the world better than most of us do. The phrase "incarcerate ghosts of sap and season" envisions a natural process in spiritual terms, and makes the conflation of the two concrete.

And the way he makes clear that rural life eliminates the distinction between people and their soil is essential to understanding life outside of cities.

The poets I care about enable me to learn the world anew.