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jueves, 16 de octubre de 2014

Milan Kundera,A la reserche du present perdu - from the collection, Testaments Betrayed: An Essay in Nine Parts



Even though the story is extremely abstract, describing a quasi-archetypal situation, it is also extremely concrete, attempting to capture the visual and aural surface of a situation, of the dialogue in particular.

Try to reconstruct a dialogue from your own life, the dialogue of a quarrel or a dialogue of love. The most precious, the most important situations are utterly gone. Their abstract sense remains (I took this point of view, he took that one, I was aggressive, he was defensive), perhaps a detail or two, but the acousticovisual concreteness of the situation in all its continuity is lost.

And not only is lost but we do not even wonder at this loss. We are resigned to losing the concreteness of the present. We immediately transform the present moment into its abstraction. We need only recount an episode we experienced a few hours ago: the dialogue contracts to a brief summary, the setting to a few general features. This applies to even the strongest memories, which affect the mind deeply, like a trauma: we are so dazzled by their potency that we don’t realize how schematic and meager their content it.

When we study, discuss, analyze a reality, we analyze it as it appears in our mind, in our memory. We know reality only in the past tense. We do not know it as it is in the present, in the moment when it’s happening, when it is. The present moment is unlike the memory of it. Remembering is not the negative of forgetting. Remembering is a form of forgetting.


We can assiduously keep a diary and note every event.   Rereading the entries one day, we will se that they cannot evoke a single concrete image. And still worse: that the imagination is unable to help our memory along and reconstruct what has been forgotten. The present – the concreteness of the present – as a phenomenon to consider, as a structure, is for us an unknown planet; so we can neither  hold on to it in our memory nor reconstruct it through imagination. We die without knowing what we have lived. 


- Milan Kundera


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