Profound and illuminating Hanif. Thank you. There is a great story about Becket’s first encounter with Joyce in Paris. Hours of silence, “nothing to say”! Apocryphal possibly. Thrilled you are ‘home’. Love, Don
Very rich reflections. At one point you came very close to Lacan, in ways tht Judith Butler has done as well. That is when you spoke of our internal censor; you can say, internalized censor. More specifically for lacan and butler, and freud and nietzsche for that matter, it is the father—or what Lacan calls the Name of the Father, the figure who plays that role of telling us no and punishing us for violating his rules…. That voice, internalized, punishes us. We identify with it, in order to defeat its efforts to silence us, so that it speaks, through us, through our words, through our mouths. It speaks and we speak it, and, eventually, crucially, we have identified with it, the one we both love and want to be, and hate and revolt against. It isn’t too much to say that all our words are made up of this love identification and hate revolt relationship, all our words. You kept dancing around that point hanif, at times pushing out that Name of the Father onto kafka’s authorities or whatever authority in govt works over our speech, and at times you danced, as always, on the romantic fence of the rebel. But finally, pops, it is there in you, you the father dictating his words to his son, or wife, who is also speaking that double speak we can recognize when you talk about your love for your own father, his own frustrated career as writer, and your own need to be the rebel. The question of where society comes into this picture is answered when we realize that language itself, the words we absorb and change each time we speak, are both their words and our own. That’s we can also see how that father is much bigger than our own as well. (And by father, Name of the Father, it is just the role that is a question, a role a mother often plays as well as the biological father).
Said indeed.interesting enough, silence is a current theme in a story I am completing for television. Silence speaks volumes I feel. Thanks for a smashing read this morning.hope you are eating a hearty English brekky .
This was brilliant- until the last line. We do NOT know what silence will be like. There is so much in here that points out so many ways that words and speech- all communication especially through arts- are essential in our existence. Of course oppressors find ways to muffle and silence us, down to killing us. The inner oppressors do that too. I'm not in favor of living in silence though I have done it for large parts of my life. There were many parts of this essay that intrigued me and excited my mind- it's very apt. We live in a cacophony of voices, all wanting - or needing - to be heard, wanting to be heard so much that wanting to be heard often becomes the thing rather than what the individual needs to communicate, and drowns out any awareness whatsoever of those who are the intended audience.
There is a reality to our lives that runs parallel to the political, the dialogs, the thoughts; there is what and who we are in our actions, and our essential being, and our need to speak can betray this that is- give it away . In no way does this touch on a patient-in-a-hospital's need to be heard. This is absolutely essential for him or her- it's basic. To correct the injustices in society, one must be able to communicate them. But therein lies the rubbery road- which is reaction. We are all constantly reacting to things- accepting or rejecting them, based on our own multitudes of factors. So our communication cannot necessarily be met by acceptance, and often is not, because others like us also reject. And there we have our hitching post, which is our silence within which all things exist. It sounds like I am saying "don't speak, don't speak, don't speak, don't speak, don't speak," but I am saying speak consciously. And I say this not only in a wholehearted response to this wonderful, magically prescient essay, but to myself, to remind myself not to remain silent, but to speak up. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, on a practical level. I am saying to myself, go beyond doubt, and speak when something needs to be said, when something needs to be heard even if only one's own self is listening. At least we are listening. But not to deny the richness of silence itself, the hidden counselor, with which we should never cease to communicate. Please excuse me for mouthing off. There, I said it!
Thank you for this beautiful and embracing text. I've been a amazed reader of your novels for more than 20 years, and your writing, plots and characters, have been giving me words to what I couldn't tell, to what I was afraid I could even feel. Your words giving peace to my angry silence.
I'm a speech therapist and I work with people who lost their words, trying to find a way to express themselves, to connect and interact with others and yourself, and also in that perspective this "Loose tongues" keeps resonating in my mind, and in my heart.
My heart is with you and your recovery and enthusiastic about your way back home.
And the world has been changed simply by words. By hearing them by reading them - it’s a living thing these words it’s a serious business writing words down. Then we could get into language and you have touched on dreams. I’m completely beholden to my dreams and their many layered meanings. I am struck by the image of the Tower of Babel- suddenly everyone was separated by words by language. I liked your excursion into art and culture and the expression there - we give our stories up one way or another.
I have periods where the need to be quiet is strong and have noticed this upsets some people - they don’t like it. And prod at you to ‘join in’. Maybe it is a depression of sorts I call it an underlying sadness but it’s ok and copeable. Anyway again you have prodded in a good way Hanif and I wonder if you feel more alright with this return - each day brings new stuff I mean if only I could throw off my angst with the energy supplier- a new one rang me on Friday and his patience was limitless- I was testy shouty demanding and all that. He is going to fix it he says. I know. And the important four letter word hovers doesn’t it. Now absolutely nothing interesting has happened I am talking to my daughter again I bought more plants (my obsession) I’m reading the Saturday Guardian. From a cool and blowy village in North Yorkshire big love to you and your entourage Hanif xx Maddi xx
What a jam-packed essay! Thankyou for sharing - I’m a big believer in dreams helping us to find answers. Since my mobility worsened, a lot of my dreams involve travel, packing and unpacking, and directing school productions (and losing scripts, musicians, actors, props as the dream continues! I need to sleep so I’ll stop now. Take care, love and light, Kate xx
Orwell made clear that language matters in the politics of how we speak of the world. You move him forward to the revolution of simply opening our own mouth to say what you know. Thank you!
Profound and illuminating Hanif. Thank you. There is a great story about Becket’s first encounter with Joyce in Paris. Hours of silence, “nothing to say”! Apocryphal possibly. Thrilled you are ‘home’. Love, Don
Very rich reflections. At one point you came very close to Lacan, in ways tht Judith Butler has done as well. That is when you spoke of our internal censor; you can say, internalized censor. More specifically for lacan and butler, and freud and nietzsche for that matter, it is the father—or what Lacan calls the Name of the Father, the figure who plays that role of telling us no and punishing us for violating his rules…. That voice, internalized, punishes us. We identify with it, in order to defeat its efforts to silence us, so that it speaks, through us, through our words, through our mouths. It speaks and we speak it, and, eventually, crucially, we have identified with it, the one we both love and want to be, and hate and revolt against. It isn’t too much to say that all our words are made up of this love identification and hate revolt relationship, all our words. You kept dancing around that point hanif, at times pushing out that Name of the Father onto kafka’s authorities or whatever authority in govt works over our speech, and at times you danced, as always, on the romantic fence of the rebel. But finally, pops, it is there in you, you the father dictating his words to his son, or wife, who is also speaking that double speak we can recognize when you talk about your love for your own father, his own frustrated career as writer, and your own need to be the rebel. The question of where society comes into this picture is answered when we realize that language itself, the words we absorb and change each time we speak, are both their words and our own. That’s we can also see how that father is much bigger than our own as well. (And by father, Name of the Father, it is just the role that is a question, a role a mother often plays as well as the biological father).
Bang on. I’m kind of so full of feelings reading this I’m struck silent.
Well
Said indeed.interesting enough, silence is a current theme in a story I am completing for television. Silence speaks volumes I feel. Thanks for a smashing read this morning.hope you are eating a hearty English brekky .
This was brilliant- until the last line. We do NOT know what silence will be like. There is so much in here that points out so many ways that words and speech- all communication especially through arts- are essential in our existence. Of course oppressors find ways to muffle and silence us, down to killing us. The inner oppressors do that too. I'm not in favor of living in silence though I have done it for large parts of my life. There were many parts of this essay that intrigued me and excited my mind- it's very apt. We live in a cacophony of voices, all wanting - or needing - to be heard, wanting to be heard so much that wanting to be heard often becomes the thing rather than what the individual needs to communicate, and drowns out any awareness whatsoever of those who are the intended audience.
There is a reality to our lives that runs parallel to the political, the dialogs, the thoughts; there is what and who we are in our actions, and our essential being, and our need to speak can betray this that is- give it away . In no way does this touch on a patient-in-a-hospital's need to be heard. This is absolutely essential for him or her- it's basic. To correct the injustices in society, one must be able to communicate them. But therein lies the rubbery road- which is reaction. We are all constantly reacting to things- accepting or rejecting them, based on our own multitudes of factors. So our communication cannot necessarily be met by acceptance, and often is not, because others like us also reject. And there we have our hitching post, which is our silence within which all things exist. It sounds like I am saying "don't speak, don't speak, don't speak, don't speak, don't speak," but I am saying speak consciously. And I say this not only in a wholehearted response to this wonderful, magically prescient essay, but to myself, to remind myself not to remain silent, but to speak up. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, on a practical level. I am saying to myself, go beyond doubt, and speak when something needs to be said, when something needs to be heard even if only one's own self is listening. At least we are listening. But not to deny the richness of silence itself, the hidden counselor, with which we should never cease to communicate. Please excuse me for mouthing off. There, I said it!
Thank you for this beautiful and embracing text. I've been a amazed reader of your novels for more than 20 years, and your writing, plots and characters, have been giving me words to what I couldn't tell, to what I was afraid I could even feel. Your words giving peace to my angry silence.
I'm a speech therapist and I work with people who lost their words, trying to find a way to express themselves, to connect and interact with others and yourself, and also in that perspective this "Loose tongues" keeps resonating in my mind, and in my heart.
My heart is with you and your recovery and enthusiastic about your way back home.
And the world has been changed simply by words. By hearing them by reading them - it’s a living thing these words it’s a serious business writing words down. Then we could get into language and you have touched on dreams. I’m completely beholden to my dreams and their many layered meanings. I am struck by the image of the Tower of Babel- suddenly everyone was separated by words by language. I liked your excursion into art and culture and the expression there - we give our stories up one way or another.
I have periods where the need to be quiet is strong and have noticed this upsets some people - they don’t like it. And prod at you to ‘join in’. Maybe it is a depression of sorts I call it an underlying sadness but it’s ok and copeable. Anyway again you have prodded in a good way Hanif and I wonder if you feel more alright with this return - each day brings new stuff I mean if only I could throw off my angst with the energy supplier- a new one rang me on Friday and his patience was limitless- I was testy shouty demanding and all that. He is going to fix it he says. I know. And the important four letter word hovers doesn’t it. Now absolutely nothing interesting has happened I am talking to my daughter again I bought more plants (my obsession) I’m reading the Saturday Guardian. From a cool and blowy village in North Yorkshire big love to you and your entourage Hanif xx Maddi xx
What a jam-packed essay! Thankyou for sharing - I’m a big believer in dreams helping us to find answers. Since my mobility worsened, a lot of my dreams involve travel, packing and unpacking, and directing school productions (and losing scripts, musicians, actors, props as the dream continues! I need to sleep so I’ll stop now. Take care, love and light, Kate xx
Orwell made clear that language matters in the politics of how we speak of the world. You move him forward to the revolution of simply opening our own mouth to say what you know. Thank you!