Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Claire Fontaine
Vers une théorie du matérialisme magique
Marlene Streeruwitz
L'auteur n'est pas l'auteure
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Zoran Terzić
Transplants politiques
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
So wie geplant kommt es ja selten, meistens ergibt sich etwas halt so. Das ist weniger der Zustand der Welt...
Ich erinnere mich an mein Exemplar von Alles kurz und klein, das weg ist, verschwunden! – wer erinnert sich, es...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio wandering about in some strange Land of Toys. I...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs
marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since?
If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see
if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world
without end.«
James Joyce