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the plan

By Fred Moten

I want to say, without arguing too much for it here, but by way of an encounter that Trane and Edouard Glissant have been having in my head for a couple of months, that Zong! (and more generally the black history that is the sea, as Derek Walcott didn’t quite say) is about ascension and consent: an emergence anticipatorily after the fact of the ongoing imposition of a submarine state of emergency. Not buried, not cinders, but drowning, but just generally going for our thang under water.

The interplay of silence and chatter I wrote about last time was a Heideggerian echo, with a little bit of a Levinasian trace, but more immediately and to the point, a replay of the beginning of Ian Baucom’s amazing book/assemblage/idiosyncretic archive, Spectres of the Atlantic, in which the Zong’s inspirited/inspiriting cargo, 132 persons thrown into the sea whose trace remained for so long primarily in the official language and documents of the governmental and financial entities that authored their disappearance, enacts its emergence and meta-emergence again. Thinking, but also living, between silence and chatter, goes on on other registers: not only the silencing of things, the silence of an unheard case, of a muffled appeal consigned to lower frequencies, of disruptive wave and terminally colliding particle where no one can observe; and not only that other effect that constantly nascent and dying capitalism and colonialism produces, the ceaseless chatter of administration, regulation and what Ian calls “phenomenal busy-ness”: but also the silence and chatter of song, which thinkers have been known to misrecognize as an unbearable lightness; but also the hard, sweet life of language on “the spectrum,” where I am an initiate under the protection of my son. He moves between silence and chatter, where the set pieces that adults usually reserve for the forced participation of kids break down in the face of a constant contact improvisation that you have to be ready for, as Al Green or Danielle Goldman would say. The brilliant surprise of the silly abcs (ba, dc, fe, h… sung to the rhythm and melody of the old tune) or the belated christening of arecently discovered dinosaur called the protocerealbox) have to be heard to be believed. But those impositions (How old are you?  Are you ready for Santa Claus? Are you strong? Show me your muscles! Do you like school?) aren’t the only set pieces, all of which aren’t so easily done without. Every returned hello or goodbye or I love you is treasure when every incalculable gift was occasioned by an unimaginable loss and when the gift is often harder to accept, or would be, if it weren’t for what you had already been given by poems, which Charles Bernstein, thinking about Robin Blaser, calls “the flowers of associational thinking.” Lorenzo gives me a fresh bouquet every day while I try to stop mourning for something I never had. One of the hard parts of caring for a child with an “Autism Spectrum Disorder” is the problem of where they should go to school. And if you’re picky about school to the point of not believing in it even though you love it so much you never want to leave it, if you’re so committed to the conservation of the strange and beautiful that your mistrust of the normal is redoubled to a level of intensity that can actually keep up with your desire for your child to have a normal life, then the general necessity of the alternative (school), which may have been a principle you’ve been trying to live by, now becomes concrete and absolute. I imagine that the quest for the right school typically brings parents like Laura (Harris) and me into contact with a whole range of supposedly untrained saints and supposedly well-trained demons and all the while your kid is changing and growing and becoming amazingly and immeasurably complicated just like they all do so that what they need, and what you need, seems to be changing every week. But there are these lucky, and usually temporary, interludes, when it feels like you’re all in the right place. We’ve got that now with our son’s kindergarten, a lovable clubhouse of a place run and staffed by the most well-trained saints you can imagine and where I get to go every Tuesday and Thursday morning to play and get dirty and paint and make bird baths and talk about princesses while Lorenzo and I facilitate communication with the other kids for one another out in the woods, where all those flowers grow. So the first part of my plan is just to tell you a little bit about my morning at school. And the second part of my plan is just to tell you a little bit about my afternoon at school, with the big kids, whose interest in those flowers often goes against the grain of their schooling, where critical and creative attendance upon both silence and chatter is frowned on in the interest of a whole other kind of preparation. In the afternoon we’re gonna try to read Zong! I learned last semester that this means we have to get together to decide how to get together to decide how to read it. A collective enterprise is implied here—I don’t think anybody can do it by themselves. Faded, fading, murmured, submerged, displaced, misspaced, overlaid, Zong! is an effect of a range of superimposition exposed as beauty. We’re gonna need all the help we can get, so we’ll read a bunch of other stuff, especially Ian’s book, and some Glissant and Adrian Piper, some Renée Green and Bill T. Jones, some Cecil Taylor. And now maybe you will help us too. Ok! Now I really do promise to keep it short after this. More this coming Wednesday.

Comments (9)

  • On January 11, 2010 at 1:45 am Sarah Allen wrote:

    Wow, lots to think about! As always, thanks for your awesome information and inspiration.

    Sarah Allen
    (my creative writing blog)

  • On January 11, 2010 at 11:52 am Thom Donovan wrote:

    I’ll be teaching Hughson’s Tavern with In the Break (Emmet Till excerpt) this semester. trying to think about phonic substance and commons. maybe some Piper too. I like what you say about her work after the Max’s Kansas City performance–that it is non-collaborative. Her work has such an incredible trajectory–a drama really–conceptualist transcendentalism taken to its furthest point (Piper as the limit of conceptualist practices) banging into the (glass ceiling of the) real, dealing with this aporia (if only to ‘just’ write, talk, teach, practice Yoga). very beautiful this too: “while I try to stop mourning for something I never had.”

  • On January 11, 2010 at 3:19 pm Bhanu Kapil wrote:

    Hi Fred, I am your comrade, Bhanu. Thank you for sharing this about your son — the “incalculable gift” of responsiveness. I, too, am teaching ZONG! which I can’t ittalicize. Was preparing for a class I am beginning tomorrow, “Literature of Exile and Diaspora.” The sentence I keep returning to is Glissant’s: that the antidote to “non-history” is “sensation.” Intense sensation, but in a different place. So I’ve begun to work with that and am extremely grateful for and moved by your post. The lithograph of the sea…

  • On January 12, 2010 at 3:24 pm Gabriele wrote:

    Thanks so much for doing this blog! I am a huge fan of your work since seeing you speak at the Remapping Black Germany conference. I want to learn how to better incorporate avant-garde and experimental texts into my teaching, and so I am especially excited to hear more about your teaching of <i?Zong! I wonder if you might be willing to say something in passing about your interest in blackness and the baroque? Will you have work on this coming out soon? I think it’s very exciting. I’m trying to think in my own work about what relationship, if any, Langston Hughes’s poetry (particularly his more experimental work and his connection with Latin America) might have to the baroque.

  • On January 14, 2010 at 12:42 pm Fred Moten wrote:

    I’m still trying to figure out how to fold Piper in; everything’s up in the air, or down on the ground, now. what I was thinking about ahd to do with the figure of the (black) soloist and where that variously supposed impossibility comes from. we’ll see what happens

  • On January 14, 2010 at 12:49 pm Fred Moten wrote:

    hey comrade bhanu! Glissant is so in my head right now, it’s amazing. am reading POETIC INTENTIONS in a new translation about to come out. it’s beautiful and harrowing, on what it is “to be bound for the deleterious island,” the brutal fugitivity that’s now inescapable horror and inescapable spectacle. let’s make a new calculus so we can combine our classes

  • On January 14, 2010 at 12:50 pm Fred Moten wrote:

    i bet blackness and the baroque will come up somehow; i hadn’t thought about it re: hughes but now am totally excited to see what you have to say. will you send me some stuff?

  • On January 14, 2010 at 1:04 pm Bhanu Kapil wrote:

    In short: yes! I am so happy right now, to read your words, comrade, I can’t write properly, which is code for speak.

  • On January 14, 2010 at 5:48 pm Asher Ghaffar wrote:

    Hi Fred– I recently finished your “In the Break: the Aesthetics of the Black Radical Tradition.” I’m trying to work through a paper on Dunbar and Hughes. Looking forward to reading and rereading your posts. I wish someone would write about Casanova’s “The World Republic of Letters,” a text I’m really struggling with…

    Asher


Posted in Uncategorized on Sunday, January 10th, 2010 by Fred Moten.