Poetry, whose material is language, is perhaps the most human and least worldly of the arts, the one in which the end product remains closest to the thought that inspired it...Of all things of thought, poetry is the closest to thought, and a poem is less a thing than any other work of art.
—Hannah Arendt (1906-1975), The Human Condition (1958)
Showing posts with label hannah arendt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hannah arendt. Show all posts
5.18.2010
2.15.2008
boatload of quotes
When he was working on his study of German tragedy, he boasted a collection of “over 600 quotations very systematically and clearly arranged”; like the later notebooks, this collection was more than an accumulation of excerpts intended to facilitate the writing of the study but constituted the main work, with the writing as something secondary. The main work consisted in tearing fragments out of their context and arranging them afresh in such a way that they illustrated one another and were able to prove their raison d’ĂȘtre in a free-floating state, as it were. It definitely was a sort of surrealistic montage. Benjamin’s idea of producing a work consisting entirely of quotations, one that was mounted so masterfully that it could dispense with any accompanying text, may strike one as whimsical in the extreme and self-destructive to boot, but it was not, any more than were the contemporaneous surrealistic experiments which arose from similar impulses.
--Hannah Arendt, introduction to Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations: Essays and Reflections (Schocken Books, 1969)
--Hannah Arendt, introduction to Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations: Essays and Reflections (Schocken Books, 1969)
Labels:
fragments,
hannah arendt,
montage,
notebook,
quotation,
walter benjamin
11.22.2006
poets mistaken about love
Poets are the only people to whom love is not only a crucial, but an indispensable experience; which entitles them to mistake it for a universal one.
—Hannah Arendt, "Action," ch. 33 (footnote), The Human Condition (1958)
—Hannah Arendt, "Action," ch. 33 (footnote), The Human Condition (1958)
Labels:
experience,
hannah arendt,
love,
quote,
universal
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)