CHRONICLES: Week Yannick Haenel. ( Liberation , 30/01/2010)
Saturday Messenger resistance
Sunday Corps insurgent
Monday Fragments of abjection
Tuesday Custody of a poet
Wednesday The "real" Karski
Thursday Living Memory
Friday Book of fire
Claude Lanzmann publishes an article against my book, Jan Karski. It seems that I falsify history, because I dare to imagine a part of the life of this messenger of the Polish resistance who, since 1942, brought the voice of Jews in the Warsaw ghetto to Washington in order to alert the Allies about the ongoing extermination. Claude Lanzmann filmed Karski in 1978, he does not like someone else, in 2010, was revived. I wish I did not pay attention. I would be detached. But is it possible, when a man abuses you, think of something else? Difficult to avoid this controversy: even if my desires are elsewhere, I have too much respect for my book does not beat me.
We walk all day, B. and me in the streets of our borough, the twentieth, the former revolutionary district, between Belleville and Bagnolet. Civil wars are they dead? What happened to so-called "political"? What is revolutionary today ? Fidelity to the intractable. It takes place in the faces and gestures. Thus there are insurgent body: bodies that are at the height of that which ignites and lifts, bodies ignite and raise the bodies they encounter. I recited the sentence with a smile of Walter Benjamin: "Overcoming capitalism by walking."
Heard radio this sentence: "All these people who do not break our purchasing power." Then, a few hours later: "Somebody who did not have his papers would never leave his house."
A poet friend told me after dinner washed down, he returned home on foot. It was in Paris. A taxi shortage of the flip, he protested, the cops come up, arrested him, handcuffed him and led him to the position. There he refuses anyone to take his DNA. Drunk tank, a whole night with a speaker who awakens every three hours. Those in custody are increasing in France. There would be 700 000 per year. We learned today that the figure is underestimated.
is ready, B. and me to review Holocaust on Arte. Claude Lanzmann, sitting in a chair, introduced the film. Behind him, five letters shine like neon lights in a window: Holocaust. He recites his text, and then suddenly her voice becomes threatening, he speaks of a book, I did not realize immediately that this mine. I say it's amazing, I'm quietly watching TV, and now Lanzmann directed at me! He said he would respond to my novel for a film that "re-establish the truth." I'm flattered to have given new impetus to the creativity of the Lanzmann. Claude Lanzmann criminalizes a scene where I imagine my book, Karski when talking about the extermination of Jews in Roosevelt, that he does not listen. Claude Lanzmann think it's outrageous to have invented it. But that's just what I wanted: to draw attention to a Scandal of deafness Allied policy. So maybe the "real Karski," as Lanzmann has continued to speak well of Roosevelt, but frankly, how someone who was an exile, cut off from Poland by occupation Stalin, a man whom America has come to offer citizenship, he could attack the U.S. policy? Claude Lanzmann will be fine in the future, show his footage, and show Karski praising Roosevelt, only fools will see the "truth." It will also republish beautiful Karski's book - which I am delighted - We do read a diplomatic version of that scene (in 1944, when he wrote the book, it would have been absurd to criticize Poland for America). For the truth is precisely what Karski could not say, and he preferred to write in a text published by the Polish magazine Kultura in 1986 and translated into French by the Esprit: "Governments only allies - he wrote - could afford to help the Jews and were abandoned to their fate. "That completely invalidates the figure of Karski propagated by Lanzmann. I was accused of fabricated a Karski who accuses the Allies of having abandoned the Jews of Europe. Now this is Karski. He is the "real" as they say.
I get up very early this morning to take notes on fiction. The last survivors were yesterday gathered at Auschwitz to commemorate the 65th year of liberation of the camps. The beginning of the twenty-first century coincides precisely with the time of the inevitable disappearance of witnesses. How memory Will it continue? Does it stop? Opens a new epoch in the history of the transmission, in which the imagination, like it or not, has a role to play. Imagination has a faculty of empathy. Literature can she do something for witnesses vanished? Will she be able to testify for them? I think: literature, as living memory is a form of language that conveys the time. I want a literature that bases its legitimacy in the tension between documentary and fiction, between history and poetry, between the representable and the unrepresentable. It was on this ridge, questioning the border itself, and my eyes unfolds literature to come. We spend, on Thursday evening with Greek and Italian friends to Onions, rue Orfila. Joy Light, soft body happy, blue night jazz. We drink caipirinha, a new magazine goes hand in hand: Edwards, headed by Sam and John Jefferson Guelimi Selve. What is this free space, nicely trembled, luxurious, that eroticism invented? Edwards, with the name that comes from Georges Bataille, with his photographs of young women offered to dizziness, blurred nudity gives an hour of storm. This enjoyment. Basically, where there is no question of enjoyment, there is no question of anything.
Reading a masterpiece: A brief attack of the strong, the new novel by my good friend Francis Meyronnes. This is not because he is my friend that I should forbid me to speak on the contrary, if my friend is precisely because he writes books like this one, which raise my pride. The friendship between writers is very rare, it is Yet another name of literature. Brief attack of intense told in 130 pages, a rapid descent into the underworld. It was before the statue of Balzac at the junction Vavin at night. A man receives a shock that prevails on the other side. Does he die? Not really: the death rate. Here we take him to the dead alive, he sees what no one has ever seen, tearing all the speeches. Francis Meyronnes is already a legend: her loneliness is as extravagant as that of Lautreamont. Those who have crossed know that somewhere, near Montparnasse, is a strange individual who writes books on fire. Towards the end of the book, a young woman dancing on the banks of the Seine, while Rabbi Nachman of Breslov comes to end the exile of the word. It is a guerrilla, and experience of salvation. I wish Francis Meyronnes readers love, intelligent, inventive.
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