La Poetique de l’espace par Gaston Bachelard

Through this reverberation by going immediately beyond all psychology and psychoanalysis, we feel a poetic power rising naively within us. After the original reverberation, we are able to experience resonances, sentimental repercussions, reminders of our past. But the image has touched the depths before it stirs the surface. And this is also true of a simple experience of reading. The image offered us by reading the poem now becomes really our own. It takes root in us. It has been given us by another, but we begin to have the impression that we created it, that we should’ve created it. It becomes a new being in our language, expressing us by making us what it expresses; in other words, it is at once a becoming of expression, and a becoming of being.

Is there one among us who has not spent romantic moments in the tower of the book he has read?

He has already seen what he observes in the microscope and, paradoxically, one might say that he never sees anything for the first time.

I once read somewhere that a hermit who was watching his hour-glass without praying, heard noises that split his eardrums. He suddenly heard the catastrophe of time, in the hour-glass. The tick tock of our watches is so mechanically jerky that we no longer have ears subtle enough to hear the passage of time.

If there exists s borderline surface between such an inside and outside, this surface is painful on both sides.

Intimate space loses its clarity while exterior space loses its void, void being the raw material of possibility of being.

Even figuratively, nothing that concerns intimacy can be shut in, nor is it possible to fit into one another, for purpose of designating depth, impressions that continue to surge up.

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