22 January 2008

Gertrude Stein

[from Gertrude Stein's Narration, 1935]

Let's make our flour meal and meat in Georgia.

Is that prose or poetry and why.

Let's make our flour meal and meat in Georgia.

This is a sign I read as we rode on a train from Atlanta to Birmingham and I wondered then and am still wondering is it poetry or is it prose . . .

Let's make our flour meal and meat in Georgia.

Well believe it or not it is very difficult to know whether that is prose or poetry and does it really make any difference if you do or not know. This.

And so things moving perhaps perhaps moving in any direction, names being not existing because anybody can know what any body else is talking about without any name being mentioning, without any belief in any name being existing, I have just been trying to write the history of some one if his name had not been the name he had and I have called it Four in America and it is very interesting. You can slowly change any one by their name changing to any other name, and so slowly just knowing the name of anything and so making any one remember about such a thing the thing whose name its name anybody has happened to be mentioning cannot really very much interest any one, not really very much, and so perhaps narrative and poetry and prose have all come where they do not have to be considered as being there. Perhaps not I very much really very much think perhaps not, and that may make one thing or anything or everything say itself in a different way yes in a different way, who shall say, and all this now and always later we will come to say, perhaps yes, perhaps no, no and yes are still nice words, yes I guess I still will believe that I will.

You will perhaps say no and yes perhaps yes.

Narration, Four Lectures

1 comment:

  1. here's a little collage you might appreciate that I took to calling "Gertrude Stein Meets the Press" which ends w/ another bit from Narration:

    "In real life that is if you like in the newspapers which are not real life but real life with the reality left out, the reality being the inside and the newspapers being the outside and never is the outside inside and never is the inside outside except in the rare and peculiar cases when the outside breaks through to be inside because the outside is so part of some inside that even a description of the outside cannot completely relieve the outside of the inside."