Horner's Corner

Beckett, The Unnamable

by on Apr.17, 2009, under art

beckettwalk1

Samuel Beckett

(13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989)

_______________________

How It Was – A memoir of Samuel Beckett

Anne Atik

pdf here

Fathoms from Anywhere

A Samuel Beckett Centenary Exhibition

“I don’t find solitude agonizing, on the contrary. Holes in paper open and take me fathoms from anywhere.”

- Samuel Beckett

The last sentence of The Unnamable

Samuel Beckett

parsed and punctuated by Colin Greenlaw

And so on, the old rigmarole. It can’t be I. Or it’s because I pay no heed: it’s such an old habit, I do it without heeding. Or as if I were somewhere else.

There I am far again, there I am absentee again: it’s his turn now, he who neither speaks nor listens, who has neither body nor soul. It’s something else he has: he must have something, he must be somewhere. He is made of silence (there’s a pretty analysis), he’s in the silence. He’s the one to be sought, the one to be, the one to be spoken of, the one to speak. But he can’t speak: then I could stop, I’d be he, I’d be the silence, I’d be back in the silence, we’d be reunited, his story the story to be told.

But he has no story, he hasn’t been in story? It’s not certain: he’s in his own story, unimaginable, unspeakable. That doesn’t matter: the attempt must be made, in the old stories incomprehensibly mine, to find his. It must be there somewhere. It must have been mine, before being his. I’ll recognize it, in the end I’ll recognize it: the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again. Then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place: the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again – how can I say it? That’s all words, they’re all I have – and not many of them: the words fail, the voice fails. So be it. I know that well. It will be the silence, full of murmurs, distant cries. The usual silence, spent listening, spent waiting, waiting for the voice….(more)

via ::: wood s lot ::: “the fitful tracing of a portal”.

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