Bc #24

A text about my father which I wrote in 1970 … is enough to convince me that I do not want to start again now. It is not … the effect of an unending oscillation between an as-yet discovered language of sincerity and the subterfuges of a writing concerned exclusively with shoring up its own defences: it is bound up with the matter of writing and the written matter, with the task of writing as well with the task of remembering. […] I write because [my parents] left in me their indelible mark, whose trace is writing. Their memory is dead in writing; writing is the memory of their death and the assertion of my life.

(Uit: Georges Perec, W or the memory of childhood (orig. W ou le souvernir d’enfance [1975], vert. David Bellos), London: Vintage, 1988, 41-2)

Advertenties

Geef een reactie

Vul je gegevens in of klik op een icoon om in te loggen.

WordPress.com logo

Je reageert onder je WordPress.com account. Log uit / Bijwerken )

Twitter-afbeelding

Je reageert onder je Twitter account. Log uit / Bijwerken )

Facebook foto

Je reageert onder je Facebook account. Log uit / Bijwerken )

Google+ photo

Je reageert onder je Google+ account. Log uit / Bijwerken )

Verbinden met %s