we started the online edition of Crosswords one year ago, in March 2008. We have published 52 posts since then: a post a week, with articles and interviews in 15 languages, photographies, drawings and videos. Some of them, dealing with the question of “How much a community needs in common”, have been part of a print issue that was launched in September 2008 on the occasion of the 21st Meeting of Cultural Journals in Paris. Both the blog and the paper version have been a great success and we would like to thank everyone who has been involved: authors, artists, readers, partner journals and funders.

We will now interrupt this “chain of fragments” and prepare Crosswords 2.0. It will be quite different. But: the title remains the same and the publication will be as multilingual, transnational and eternally changing as it was. Il faut être absolument moderne.

A très bientôt !
R.S.

Emrah Efe Çakmak: I would like to begin with the big picture, with the question posed to all contributors to this publication: “How much in common does a community need?”

Homi Bhabha: Well, first I think the question has to be reformulated. How much in common does a community need for what? The important thing is for what. If we are talking about a very diverse community, a community with great conflict within it, but whose members have a common love for sport, then during the Olympics or during football games on particular days or particular matches its members may well appear together despite their differences and despite their difficulties being together. At the same time the community that may represent a common front or a common faith in relation to sport may split terribly in relation to the distribution of particular kinds of resources, or indeed on the question of intercommunal or interfaith marriages. There is no general question of what a community needs in common. If you pose the question just generally, then you are tempted to revert to certain conventional or naturalistic ideas. Does everyone need to have been born in the same place, for instance? Does everybody need to have at least religious belief in common? Does a community need to be a proceduralist community, where, although it may have very different values, it at least believes in certain procedures so that it can interact and negotiate peacefully on a formal basis?

On the other hand, when the purpose of the community is, say, to produce a pluralist network of journals or other communicational media across Europe in which actors can speak to each other, can negotiate with each other, can have a lively exchange and a circulation of ideas and values, this would of course be very positive. I cannot see anyone saying this would not be a very positive move. But the question as to whether this could happen and what each institutional journal would have to have in common with the other institutional journals would really depend on what the specific issue that brought them together is. Is it about race or anti-racism? Is it about political democracy? Is the question of freedom the thing that these interventionist journals want to inspect? Do they want to make a critique of certain European Union policies on culture? Do they want to talk about the impact of globalization on regional cultures? It seems to me that on each of the things I have just mentioned there is the possibility that they might or might not come together. Who knows whether interventionist journals in France, for instance, would share with interventionist journals in Turkey the same thoughts on what it means to be a member of the European Union, or what the conditions of becoming a member should be? To begin with, each question would have to be posed as a general issue and then as a very specific issue depending on regional or national communities, and their ideologies, to see what it would take to bring them together.

EEÇ: Let me then take up the question of “what for” regarding the creation of a European network of cultural journals. Such an act of networking would seek to expand the European map as far as possible both linguistically and culturally in order to encompass the current European cultural scene; in this sense its horizon would be nothing but an expanded Europe.

HB: If you are talking about creating a kind of interventionist, cultural-activist, pan-European community of journals, then obviously the question of language and translation becomes very important. And there I immediately see two issues. One, if you have an expanded Europe of that kind, with its entire linguistic multiplicity and cultural diversity, and yet you emphasize French, German, and English, then the linguistic map looks rather like a kind of colonial map, a culturally colonial map. These were always the dominant languages: French was of course the great international diplomatic language of the nineteenth century, possibly even earlier; English was the other major language of international commerce and communication; German – I am being a little general here – was the language of nineteenth century European philosophy. I would say that even amongst those languages, English would dominate the others. There is a pragmatism and a realism about what you are suggesting, but to have these languages as the major languages of communication while at the same time redrawing the map of Europe creates an internal contradiction. I don’t know whether this is something you can actually do anything about, but I think you have to observe it, number one.

Number two: Why does Europe not extend to parts of Asia, for instance? After all, many of the debates and ideas of European liberalism were formed or emerged in communication with non-European countries and cultures in the colonial and imperial stage and even before that, even in the period of mercantilism. So it seems to me that if you are talking about expanding Europe – and we should be careful about that term itself because it seems to give Europe a kind of hegemonic place – but if you are talking about such expansion, or such expandability, then I think it is difficult not to think about this on a much more global scale. It is difficult not to suggest that parts of Asia and Africa, to say nothing of the Caribbean and Latin America, have been cultural sites that have contributed profoundly to the creation of the thing that we call Europe, both politically and culturally. John Stuart Mill’s great essay “On Liberty”, which in many people’s view is a classic articulation of European values, European polity, and European public ethics, was originally written in response to the problems of Indian education after Macaulay’s proposals for the reform of Indian education. So even a text like “On Liberty”, which is often thought to be the essence of European liberal thinking, or Euro-American liberal thinking, comes out of a profound and problematic conversation with India in the colonial period. It seems to me that once you start expanding the cultural and ideological and epistemological boundaries of Europe, you reach the Ganges, you reach the Nile, you reach Latin America, the Caribbean.

EEÇ: How about Europe then?

HB: Well, if you are interested in cultural and political issues, in cultural intervention and political activism, why should you be constrained by the term “Europe”? Whether Europe is a concept, whether Europe is an idea, whether Europe is a set of values, or whether Europe is a geopolitical entity… The territory of interventionist journalism or journals should be internationalist and should be based on the affiliations between communities of intellectuals or communities of activists who see the interconnectedness of the world not as some trendy issue of globalization but as a much older story that goes back several hundreds of years. So I don’t see why you need the concept of Europe to do the kind of very worthwhile cultural work of a pioneering journal or a pioneering set of journals. In fact, I think for a long time now a lot of philosophers and writers have been seeing Europe not as a kind of containing or constraining boundary but as a threshold to cross over intellectually, ideologically, ethically; we take Europe to be a threshold, to be a liminal territory to cross over onto other territories.

EEÇ: In relation to this worldly imaginary, how can we think about the relation between territory, nation and identity in a post-national world? Or rather, how can we engage with this relationship without promoting new identitarian politics?

HB: I think this is a very important and interesting question, and I think many writers and novelists have answered it. For instance, in the 1950s, the Caribbean novel was reinvented by a group of writers – George Lamming, Wilson Harris, V.S. Naipal, Sam Salvon – who all lived and worked, roughly, in a part of London not far from where I am speaking at the moment. They came here because the institution of literary and cultural production was not appropriately supported in the Caribbean at that time for economic reasons. So they were drawn to London where they lived very much, at least some of them, as minorities, the Afro-Caribbean minority. They took the English language and they gave it an Afro-Caribbean turn, they used the dialect, the patois, and they created these great works. All of a sudden a part of London, or London itself, or England becomes the territory for the invention or creation of Caribbean literature as we have inherited it now, and the very language of English is taken and transformed and culturally translated. You again have this happening with the boom of the post-colonial Indo-Anglian novel that started with Salman Rushdie for instance: again, funnily enough, in London. But the English language is taken and it is translated culturally, and these Indian writers used the mise en scène of urban Indian cities – whether it is Ricard Brouche, or Salman Rushdie, or Arundhati Roy. And then suddenly the territory of the “English novel” or “English fiction” explores or is located imaginatively in the landscapes of post-colonial India, and yet the literary production happens in England and the publishing institutions and the intellectual milieu become international. So you begin to see the cultural transformation of language and indeed territory, and no longer do you have a kind of pure or – as you put it – identitarian English culture organically emerging out of an English social territory. The whole idea of the organic relationship between language, culture, and the intellectual is disrupted.

So I give you an example of Caribbean literature in the 1950s; I give you the example of the Indo-Anglian novel in the 1980s; and then of course we now see this happening in France, where many of the most recent prizes for fiction have been given to the North African writers. Yet it is difficult to say, “Ah, this is Maghrebian, not Parisian.” The beauty of it is that the Maghreb finds its expression in the Parisian literary context, and the Parisian literary context is actually transformed by the Maghrebian experience. And this is, I think, what Walter Benjamin meant in his great essay on translation, “The Task of the Translator”, when he quotes Rudolf Pannwitz as saying that the important thing is not to make Hindi like German but to make German like Hindi. It seems to me that the impossibility today of clinging onto some organicist or identitarian link between culture, language, and territory is being demonstrated to us by what is happening in the world of writers, contemporary writers, or contemporary writing, and also in the intellectual issues that arise through writers. I can also give you examples of many artists who are in exactly the same position. That, I think, is the most concrete and the most far-reaching response to the question about the fate of some kind of identitarian, traditionalist view of the linkages between a “pure culture” and an unsullied geopolitical territory. These developments are not part of an organicist view of culture and language. It is a different model from the organic model that many literary historians wrote with, when they always taught that the English mind would in a way reflect English realities and came out of a British background and that the English language would be best represented by those who were steeped in British culture, British politics, and British history. The fundamental notion of literature – of the nationality of literature, of literature as having a nationality – has changed.

EEÇ: Do you think that the non-organic reality of contemporary literature could be a model for a project, or for a larger community of intellectuals and writers acting together?

HB: Oh, absolutely. I have just been in Bombay, which is the city of my birth. I find now that in Bombay there are writers and journalists and art critics who are able to do the work of cultural translation between European ideas and Indian artists, between Indian political problems and international legal and political issues.

The interview was first published in the print issue of Crosswords, 9/2008.

Emrah Efe Çakmak: The question being asked to all the participants of this publication is, “How much in common does a community need?” From the perspective of a difference-embracing philosophy, such a formulation could seem awkward. How do you receive this question? Is this the proper way of addressing difference and communality?

Mark C. Taylor: In the history of the West, and perhaps not only the West, there is one central preoccupation: the problem of the one and the many. This is, of course, a philosophical and theological problem; less often noted and no less important, however, is that it is also a psychological and a political problem. Surely the twentieth century testifies to the magnitude of that problem. During the latter half of the twentieth century, many philosophers and social critics became preoccupied with issues of difference and otherness. This was in large measure a response to totalitarianism on the Left and on the Right. The whole point of the analyses of thinkers like Derrida, Foucault and Lacan was to disrupt the philosophy of identity, given that it can have such devastating political consequences.

But the pendulum swung too far in the other direction and a fetishism of difference began to emerge. Ironically, the philosophy of difference led to a politics of identity. In different ways, Maurice Blanchot and Jean−Luc Nancy exposed the implications of this position when they argue that what we have in common is that we have nothing in common.

Of course, this issue is not only philosophical or even political. While these developments were unfolding, other changes were occurring that recast the question of community – the first is technological and the second is environmental. There is an interesting relationship between the emergence of post−structuralism and new information and communications technologies. While some see in networks a tendency to totalization and hegemony, other see a growth in pluralism and diversity. While there is some truth in both of these positions, it is undeniable that much of the conflict plaguing the world today is a result of the increasing interconnectedness that globalization brings. As distance vanishes, differences become more evident and conflict seemingly becomes inevitable.

The second issue that is relevant in this context is the environment and climate change. If we study physical, chemical and biological processes, it is undeniable that living as well as non−living systems are complex networks. What the philosophy of difference fails to realize is that being is relational. This is not a social construct created for political purposes; to the contrary, it is a fact that we ignore at our peril.

The question is whether community is possible any longer and if so, on what scale? It is not difficult to observe localized communities today. But it is more difficult to imagine a broader, perhaps even a global community. It is precisely the preoccupation with local interests that makes a broader community so difficult to imagine.

Protests to the contrary notwithstanding, I would insist that we are in fact a global community and all members have much in common. In part, this rests upon my understanding of technological and natural networks. As Nietzsche once said, everything is entwined, enmeshed. Ontology harbors axiology – is implies an ought. On a more specific level, what everyone has in common is the prospect of imminent climatic disaster, which will mark the end of human life on this planet. For Heidegger, being−towards−death constituted the singularity of each person; when death is universal, being−towards−death holds out the prospect of creating community.

EEÇ: How can we think about the relation between territory, language and identity in a post−national world without giving way to identitarian linguistic politics? What would be the communicative prerequisites for transnational, multilingual public spheres such as the ones we are working to establish?

MT: The language of the question is an echo of the past and reflects a political agenda that has not adapted to the present. Consider the terms: “post−national world”, “identitarian linguistic politics”, “communicative prerequisites”, “transnational spheres” and “multilingualism”. We know what these terms mean and readily understand their implications. But they shed no new light on what is occurring. If language is important, and it is, we must fashion a new language.

What I want to stress is that language in today’s world is not primarily verbal but is, more importantly, visual. The problem is that we are visually illiterate – and nowhere is this more evident than in the university. In the “real” world, image trumps word every time; in the academic world, word represses image all the time. If communication is going to become effective on a global scale, we must liberate the image from the tyranny of the word. This does not mean giving up reading and writing as they have been known in the past. But it is no longer enough. The multilingualism of young people today is multimedia. If we do not learn to communicate in this language, we will have nothing to say.

EEÇ: What could be the role of political and cultural jounals in a changing media enviroment?

MT: Books and journals as we have known them are a thing of the past. Unfortunately, the last to understand this fact are universities and academics. Having said that, the question of how to respond remains to be addressed. In the coming decades, computing will become increasingly distributed and embedded. The movement from the PC to the handheld radicalizes decentralization and changes the nature of communication. People often complain – at least, professors do – that young people do not read anymore. But that is not true. They read all the time but they do not read books or long texts. Mobile technologies scramble everything and make it necessary to recast the terms of analysis. I do not think “transnational” is a useful term here. Again, it smacks of the past and does not help us to understand the reconstitution of political space that has already occurred. Think of everything as a web with constantly shifting nodes, which might be personal, social,economic or biological. The question is where and how to plug into this network.

For the most part, presses and journals as they now exist do not serve the interests of intellectual or cultural development. To the contrary, their proliferation is symptomatic of increasing hyper−specialization in which there is more and more about less and less. This is going in the opposite direction of history, in which there is increasing interconnectedness. So my advice is to forget journals – I no longer read any academic journals and I stopped publishing in them years ago. The only function presses and journals serve is to authorize those who write for them among a dwindling group of peers. If ideas are to matter – and I believe it is crucial that they do – we must completely change the way in which they are communicated.

The interview was first published in the print issue of Crosswords, 9/2008.

Un desconocido interrumpe mi lectura de la primera entrada del blog de George Orwell («Caught a large snake in the herbaceus border beside the drive.»). Se identifica como mi vecino de abajo. Me informa que ellos (nosotros), desde su apartamento, oyen todo lo que nosotros (ustedes) hacemos en el nuestro. Que perciben cada uno de nuestros pasos. Saben a qué horas nos levantamos; cuándo abrimos un armario. Es tímido y bien educado. Nada dijo sobre voces o sonidos de otra índole. Pero hizo mucho énfasis en los pasos. C’est surtout les pas.

Las serpientes son sordas y viven a ras de suelo: imposibilidad de tramitar mi perplejidad lejos de la iconografía que me aporta lo leído; todas las imágenes de su verano inglés verde y muy caliente vivificadas por el contraste con lo que me rodea y está confinado al interior del apartamento en el que transcurre mi verano urbano. …a large snake in the herbaceus border beside the drive. Si: uno de los dos tiene que ser la serpiente. No él; no es sordo, es lo que subió a decirme. Yo, entonces – a large snake; reducida al suelo por una visita que me impone la conciencia desgraciada de mi acústica pedestre.

Automatismos así: inmediatamente después de que mi perplejidad y yo cerráramos la puerta, lo mejor que se me ocurre es abrir un blog cuya primera entrada sería el relato de la visita amablemente siniestra que me ha puesto en mood paranóico. Psicología elemental: la novedad de un diario escrito hace 60 años conjurando mis pocas ganas de asumir el llegar tarde a la actividad de blogger y el hecho de que ese diario sea el diario de Orwell, explican fácilmente mi reflejo. Pero las analogías posibles entre mi blog y el bucólico diario de Orwell se agotan rápido; son algo más consistentes las potenciales entre un blog cronista de episodios urbanos de vecindad y su ficción más conocida. Mi blog daría cuenta de las consecuencias del hacinamiento; su diario documenta una forma de estar contemplativa que se me vuelve impensable ahora que sé que tengo pies y mi vecino orejas. Mis pies en sus orejas. Obscenidad urbanística. Y esta confusión de pronombres personales… ¿De quién habla mi «su» recurrente? De todos: Orwell, mi vecino, la serpiente (desambiguar la gramática vía hipertexto: un link entre cada «su» y una foto del o de lo aludido).

Al cronista de vecindario le conviene la técnica del blog, su tecnología micelar – esa que se aprovecha de la tendencia a aglomerarse que tienen las partículas similares cuando viven demasiado cerca.

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Liliana Padilla.

Genom att på allvar formulera ett politiskt alternativ har man på samma gång löst den filosofiska frågan i inledningen. För det är ju självklart att en idiot är en idiot, att en sexist är en sexist och en våldsverkare är en våldsverkare. Detta har inte med kultur eller etnos att göra.

Dock ställer denna debatt något andra krav än vanligt. Om vi tar denna debatt så måste vi vinna den. Det kräver att man håller tungan rätt i mun, inte låter sig provoceras och har örnkoll på fakta och statistik. Det krävs också att vi återtar problemformuleringen, sätter agendan och inte går in i tröstlösa diskussioner på deras planhalva.

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Olav Fumarola Unsgaard for Ord&Bild, Gothenburg/Sweden.

Qui part en exil, porte son histoire dans sa langue. La langue devient alors la mémoire, la main, le regard, le chemin : elle devient sensible.

Qui part en exil, qui s’exile, veut survivre au désastre. A quelque chose à faire survivre au désastre.

Il y a une langue éveillée qui, regardant le désastre, se met tout de suite en danger d’être meurtrie. Cette langue, les yeux ouverts, se rend compte que le désastre engloutit toute langue encore éveillée.

C’est ainsi que la langue uniforme, la langue officielle, censure toute autre langue. Toute autre langue est condamnée à disparaître. C’est toute autre langue qui part en exil.

* * *

J’écrivais, donc. La littérature était mon métier. Mes textes paraissaient. Où ? En Iran, la Presse, les revues, les journaux… Avec le temps, je me rendais compte que des [...] devenaient de plus en plus présents dans mes textes. Un jour, un ami poète, Ali Abdolrezaei, m’a envoyé son dernier livre, une moitié imprimée, l’autre écrite à la main. Puis, les quelques revues littéraires existantes ont cessé d’exister, puis, je ne devenais que des [...], la page blanche, je la devenais.

En apparence, on parlait, on écrivait dans la même langue mais la langue commune ne nous contenait plus.

Mise en commun du hors du commun

Puis, la Presse, l’édition, les médias, nous ont exclus de toute page, de tout livre. La liste noire contenait nos noms : les noms à bannir, à éviter, à rayer. Ici, ce n’était plus Platon qui expulsait les poètes de la Cité (pour mieux les accueillir dans une cité idéale ?), mais un système…totalitaire. Venaient ensuite les autres jours, nos livres disparaissaient peu à peu des librairies, les maisons d’édition n’éditaient, ne rééditaient plus nos livres, préférant la paix au risque, les livres de cuisine à la poésie. Les nouvelles générations venaient au monde, nos œuvres n’étaient plus accessibles, nous étions inexistants : nous avons été effacés.

Ecrire, oui, la seule chose qui reste, lorsque tout manque. Nous manquions à nous-mêmes, nous nous manquions.

Précisément, c’est à ce moment-là que notre réseau se tissa sur les ondes du réseau mondial, l’Internet. Une existence conditionnée, virtuelle. Un choix par défaut : faute de papier, de financement, d’investissement, il y avait là quelque chose à sauver. Une écriture, et ses évolutions et ses agitations et ses éruptions. En somme, tout ce qui était passé sous silence, et pire, effacé de l’histoire de la littérature iranienne contemporaine. Le réseau, oui, nous l’avons expérimenté, une revue électronique a été fondée, des poèmes, des articles, des récits, des contributions de la part de ceux qui se sentaient privés d’un espace littéraire digne de ce nom, ont été mis en ligne. Cette expérience suit son chemin, se renouvelle, prend des envergures (publication de livre électronique), et réfléchit à son essence, une existence dans l’air, qui est libre et libérée, bien sûr, quoique la censure soit présente aussi sur Internet, nouveau moyen de chasser toute autre parole. Une existence donc fragile, par moment inquiétée : Quel avenir ? Quel genre d’archivage ? Quelle présence dans des librairies ? Quelle postérité ? L’existence flue ici et maintenant. Et après, comment, et qui, prendra le relai ? C’est à ces questions qu’il faudrait répondre.

Mais de quelle langue, de quelle littérature parlez-vous ?

Il est vrai, parler de la littérature iranienne contemporaine est la chose exotique par excellence. Il serait aisé de jouer sur l’exotisme même (comme pour les arts visuels, par exemple), aussi, il serait possible de rendre accessible cette littérature dans d’autres littératures, pour d’autres langues. Il faut préciser que la vie en exil transforme, manipule, influence, défigure, et possibilise la langue. La vie parallèle des langues offre un perpétuel échange, un passage continu d’une langue à l’autre : la langue d’hôte et la langue d’hôte. Le français rend possible cette non distinction, une non-différence, une non-séparation. Naît alors une langue, tout comme un enfant, métissée, hybridée d’une langue que l’on nommerait délibérément la langue maternelle et une autre, et peut-être une autre encore. C’est ainsi que les possibilités des langues s’additionnent. Une littérature post-exil surgit. La découverte de nouveaux espaces linguistiques et de nouvelles expériences, donne lieu à des œuvres uniques. Uniques, puisqu’elles sont le résultat d’un exercice patient sur la vie, c’est-à-dire, la littérature même.

Il y a des perspectives qui s’ouvrent. Une littérature post-exil, basée sur la multitude des langues et la dissemblance des espaces d’expérience est à venir.

Une littérature est née

En somme, la littérature post-exil ne s’efface ni dans la nostalgie d’origine ni s’intègre dans le paysage du pays d’accueil. Si elle existe, c’est par sa différence, si elle unit, c’est par son unicité. L’expérience littéraire du poète Ali Abdolrezaei est l’exemple par excellence. Une fois ses œuvres, ainsi que sa personne, censurées, il  a quitté l’Iran. Exilé en Europe (France, Allemagne, Angleterre), il a pu penser une nouvelle forme d’expression, déchaînée, libérée de la censure (religieuse, étatique), délivrée de l’auto-censure. Une expérience ancrée dans l’exil, où les potentiels poétiques sont nombreux. Cette littérature nous invite à penser à une nouvelle forme d’hospitalité. Non pas l’hospitalité de l’homme, mais l’hospitalité à l’égard de l’œuvre. Réécrire l’œuvre, ce qu’on appelle parfois la traduction, pourrait être une nouvelle forme de l’hospitalité.

Et je finis en réécrivant un récent poème d’Ali Abdolrezaei :

Quoi ?!

Qui ?!
Quoi est comment ?
Rien ne devient comment
Ce n’est rien

Moindre qu’un citoyen respectueux
A chaque voyage mettre un carnet bleu  dans sa poche
A chaque entrée au pays se justifier devant un bâtard
Par une petite explication donner la liberté à sa plume
Perdre la main
Ne prendre peur ni par soi ni chez soi
Nettoyer les lignes du poème de cette nuit
Boire du vin
Boire
Boire
Installer une nouvelle révolution sur la table
Et dormir
Dormir
Rooooooonnnnnnnfffffffffffffffffffffffffllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeemmeeeeent
Rêver son ronflement
Se réveiller un autre demain
Se relever
Ecraser une nouvelle trace des pieds
Dans un bordel puant se rouler sur le monde entier
Arriver aux portes dansantes
Rentrer de la boîte avec les disques emmêlés d’une petite mince
Puis
Chantant une petite chanson de merde
Mettre ses pieds au casino
Puis
Cul nu
Hurler à côte d’une chanson triste

Après ça ?!
Au milieu de toi-même tu es passant        ah la honte
S’isolant   se mettre à courir immédiatement
Averti par une dame
Ne l’entendre
Voler un bout du magasin
S’en fuir   fuir  fuir  fuir…
Et rien        rien              rien foutre      c’est-à-dire      quoi ?!

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Parham Shahrjerdi (text) and Ali Abdolrezaei (poem) for Poetrymag.

Tymczasem mam na uwadze postawę, jaka wyrasta z projekcji oraz idealizacji wszystkiego, czego Polakom brakuje. Na co dzień żyjemy w zatomizowanym społeczeństwie, wśród rozmienionych norm, przyjmując postawę pragmatycznych cyników. Ponieważ jednak trudno się nam pogodzić z taką rzeczywistością, tworzymy lub chcemy stworzyć świat alternatywny. W tym świecie nie jesteśmy samotni, lecz otwieramy się na siebie, pamiętamy o słabszych, uczymy się kochać ludzi, bo wiemy, że szybko odchodzą. W tym świecie nie zabiegamy o karierę, ale jesteśmy cisi, pogodni i spokojni. Nie uczestniczymy w konsumpcjonistycznym wielkim żarciu, lecz poprzestajemy na małym. Nie musimy się zmagać z brakiem metafizycznego i aksjologicznego oparcia, bo odwołujemy się do wspólnoty podzielanychemocji oraz wartości.

Skoro zaś pospolitość skrzeczy, tym bardziej trzymamy się ideału. Stąd potrzeba literatury, która zapobiegałaby schizofrenicznemu rozpadowi polskiej duszy. Chodzi o pisarstwo, które potrafi połączyć trywialną konwencję i prostą frazę z prostymi, ale za to najważniejszymi dla Polaków wartościami: rodziną, miłością, przyjaźnią i dobrocią. Chodzi o pisarzy, którzy nie są faworytami krytyki i mediów, natomiast z łatwością podbijają serca czytelników. By się o tym przekonać, wystarczy przejść korytarzem któregoś z wydziałów filologicznych i zobaczyć, po czyje książki sięgają studenci w przerwach między lekturami zaleconymi przez wykładowców.

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Krzysztof Uniłowski for FA-Art, Katowice/Poland

Las serpientes son sordas y viven a ras de suelo: imposibilidad de tramitar mi perplejidad lejos de la iconografía que me aporta lo leído; todas las imágenes de su verano inglés verde y muy caliente vivificadaspor el contraste con lo que me rodea y está confinado al interior del apartamento en el que transcurre mi verano urbano. …a large snake in the herbaceus border beside the drive. Si: uno de los dos tiene que ser la serpiente. No él; no es sordo, es lo que subió a decirme. Yo, entonces – a large snake; reducida al suelo por una visita que me impone la conciencia desgraciada de mi acústica pedestre.

Automatismos así: inmediatamente después de que mi perplejidad y yo cerráramos la puerta, lo mejor que se me ocurre es abrir un blog cuya primera entrada sería el relato de la visita amablemente siniestra que me ha puesto en mood paranóico. Psicología elemental: la novedad de un diario escrito hace 60 años conjurando mis pocas ganas de asumir el llegar tarde a la actividad de blogger y el hecho de que ese diario sea el diario de Orwell, explican fácilmente mi reflejo. Pero las analogías posibles entre mi blog y
el bucólico diario de Orwell se agotan rápido; son algo más consistentes las potenciales entre un blog cronista de episodios urbanos de vecindad y su ficción más conocida. Mi blog daría cuenta de las consecuencias del hacinamiento; su diario documenta una forma de estar contemplativa que se me vuelve impensable ahora que sé que tengo pies y mi vecino orejas. Mis pies en sus orejas. Obscenidad urbanística. Y esta confusión de pronombres personales… ¿De quién habla mi «su» recurrente? De todos: Orwell, mi vecino, la serpiente (desambiguar la gramática vía hipertexto: un link entre cada «su» y una foto del o de lo aludido).

Al cronista de vecindario le conviene la técnica del blog, su tecnología micelar – esa que se aprovecha de la tendencia a aglomerarse que tienen las partículas similares cuando viven demasiado cerca.

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Liliana Padilla.

A contribution to the Crosswords print issue by Christoph Menke for Polar, Berlin/Germany