Artículos de revistas sobre el tema "Poet vates"

The torture of Thomas More gave rise to strong reactions throughout Europe, as can be seen in the lamentation “Naenia in mortem Thomae Mori” written by Johannes Secundus and at first attributed to Erasmus. The article aims at exploring the functions and stakes of that poem of a hybrid making, which explores different styles and tones and is based on antique models. If this poem depicts an antithetic couple, Thomas More, painted as a saint and an elegiac poet, and Henry VIII, true parangon of the tyrant, it implicitely supports the project of Charles V’s European imperialism. Moreover, Johannes Secundus mostly famous for his erotic poetry, asserts there his esthetic choices and claims the poetic licence at the service of a politicized poetry.

The question dealt with in the paper is as follows: to what extent might the notion of “religious literature” be functional if applied both to the early modern literature and the contemporary literary culture? Does it mean “sacred literature,” simply opposed to the “secular” one, whatever it might mean? The author’s suggestion is to use the notion of “religious literature” more consistently, depending strictly on the liturgical functions of the text (e.g. of prayers, hymns or homilies), while the term “sacred literature” should be used only with reference to the so-called “Sacred Books,” i.e. the Revelation recognized in a given religious system. The sense of the terms “pious literature” or “pious poet,” however, should be much broader, going beyond the limitations of religious functions of the text and reflecting a quasi-prophetic intellectual and moral status of the writer.

Epistles 1.20, the last poem of its book, begins with an elaborate joke on the entry of Horace's book of epistles into the world and ends with a well-known σϕραγίς describing the poet himself. It will be argued here that this final poem recalls and subverts the pretensions of two earlier final poems in Horace's own Odes, and that its good-humoured depreciation of Horace himself is matched by a similar attitude towards his previous grand poetic claims as a lyric vates.

The question before us at the turn of both century and millennium is how one determines whether Horace is a dangerous love-poet (unrecognised because we read badly). Or a panderer, playing to our delight in the comedy of manners. Or a serious analyst of communication between the sexes—even a prophet for our time. The choice varies from villain to vates, the extremes reminding us how certainly the past exists, as Robert Frost laments in ‘Directive’: ‘Back in a time made simple by the loss/Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off,/Like a graveyard marble sculpture in the weather.’Recently, a Classical scholar, writing about what she termed ‘Horace's detachment as a love poet’, asserted that his readers ‘remain trapped, perhaps by necessity, in male assumptions about desire that they are unable to question.’ She believes that there is a ‘disturbing picture of love and desire’ which critics have missed because we read, almost all of us, with half-closed eyes, ignoring ‘erotic subterfuge’ in the love-odes. We overlook, she insists, ‘the overpowering desire’ of the male ‘poet/lover’ because, in ‘unacknowledged identification’ with Horace, we put on Horatian eyes. This charge raises disquieting questions about distinctions between speaker and poet, persona and historical figure, art and life.

Abstract In competing with Rabelais’ French novel Garguanta, the German author Fischart aims to illustrate the richness of the German language and its poetry in his comic novel Geschichtklitterung. Focusing on the second chapter of this text, which has so far been viewed as nothing more than an absurd play on language, this article offers a new interpretation and demonstrates how the German author stylizes himself as a poeta vates in his Pantagruelian prophecy and presents himself as a being purified by wine in his poem “Glucktratrara”. In the end, inspired by Apollo and the Muses, he seems to create an epic poem praising both Germans and the German language.

This article deals with Martin Opitz’s didactic poem Vesuvius (1633) and tries to elucidate its fundamental poetical and epistemological issues. In his Buch von der Deutschen Poeterey (1624), Opitz establishes a set of rules for the genre of carmen heroicum that comprises both didactic poetry and narrative epics. Especially didactic resp. scientific poetry plays a decisive role in Opitz’s overall concept of poetry as it denies being fiction (‘Erdichtung’) and claims strict factuality. Thus it is not surprising that Vesuvius becomes the opening piece of the posthumous collection of Opitz’s Teutsche Poemata (1644). Vesuvius reveals itself not only as an imitation / translation of De Aetna (a didactic poem included in the Appendix Vergiliana), but also as an attempt to connect literary tradition, natural philosophy and religious knowledge: The purely scientific parts of the poem (on earthquakes and volcanism) are functioning to reveal the natural order of creation (the aspect of theodicy avant la lettre). The Vesuv-catastrophe is interpreted as God’s clear hint for mankind towards the ending of moral deprivation and civil war. The poet’s role as poeta vates resp. poeta theologus is thus to be the mediator / translator / interpreter between god and mankind, a mediation which actually takes the form of philological interpretation and commentary. The text of the 1633 print reflects this constellation by interweaving text and paratext (commentary) to a unique ensemble. With its particular textual arrangement and discoursive complexity, Vesuvius is symptomatic for premodern negotiations between natural sciences, religious knowledge, and literature.

The Estonian poet, physician and politician Johannes Vares-Barbarus (1890–1946) is a contradictory figure in Estonian history and culture. He was a well-known and acknowledged doctor named Vares, but also a poet named Barbarus who was notable for his modernistic poems in the 1920s and 1930s. His actions in the 1940s as one of the leading figures in the Sovietization of Estonia have complicated the reception of his poetry. His opposition to the Republic of Estonia and his left-wing views are nearly always under observation when he or his poems are discussed. Predominantly his poetry has been discussed; his other works have received much less attention. This article analyses his travelogue Matkavisandeid & mõtisklusi (Travel Sketches and Contemplations) based on his trip to the Soviet Union. It was published in the literary magazine Looming in 1935 and reprinted in 1950 in his collected works. Travelogues have proven to be valuable materials when discussing the author and his mentality. The article analyses the image of the Soviet Union in his travelogue published in 1935 and discusses notable changes that were made in the reprint some of which have significantly altered the meaning, so that the text fits perfectly into the Soviet canon.

Abstract This article argues that Lucan references Hesiod’s Typhonomachy in the voice of Erictho (Luc. 6.685-694). The intertext is significant in two respects. It casts Erictho as a nonpartisan proponent of Gigantomachy and cosmic war itself, a portrayal that informs aspects of her character as a theomachos and vates. Likewise, it presents an innovative use of Hesiod’s Theogony: instead of a poem of peace, Lucan adapts it as a paradigm of civil war.

This essay argues that the various images of the laurel wreath and laureation in John Skelton’s The Laurel are marked by ambivalence. Far from a unified and full-throated celebration of his own achievements, the poem partakes of good-humored self-parody, serious self-mockery, and open disgust to undermine and question the political and aesthetic significance of the laurel, and what one must do to achieve it. The Laurel acknowledges and mocks the laureate’s impossible balancing act between a prophetic role as vates and a political role as orator regius; this essay suggests that this tension is played out in the poem as Skelton considers the appealing immediacy of oral poetry and the compromises of written poetry.

The aim of my study is the analysis of the views on the archaic Latin literature in the early modern works based on the theory and practice of poetry, especially in the Swiss humanist’s, Joachim von Watt’s work (De poetica et carminis ratione). The concepts of poeta vates, poeta theologus, and poeta eruditus are commonly used by the Italian authors – who knew the most important authors of the early Roman literature regarding this period ‒ in order to emphasize the moralistic and social morals of the archaic poetry’s lecture. Some of the authors – for example Pietro Crinito ‒ following Suetonius emphasized the historical analysis of the ancient literature in a particular way. The innovation of Joachim von Watt’s work was the adaptation of this view of the Italian authors, and it is not present in the works of other Viennese humanists on poetry in the first half of the 16th century.

La influencia de Virgilio parece haber sido constante en la obra de Antonio de Nebrija. En este artículo se ofrece un análisis de algunos textos poéticos e historiográficos de Nebrija con el fin de mostrar que el humanista interpretó y recreó la Eneida de acuerdo con el virgilianismo político propio de la tradición hispana. Este análisis puede servir para relacionar dos títulos que cabe atribuirle a Nebrija: el de poeta áulico y el de cronista real. Así, el humanista español se presentará como uno de los principales intelectuales al servicio de los Reyes Católicos y de la propaganda de la Reconquista.

Artykuł ma na celu ukazanie zbieżności poglądów dwóch przedstawicieli modernizmu, Thomasa S. Eliota i Konstandinosa P. Kawafisa. Studium porównawcze poprzedza krótka charakterystyka epoki, pozwalająca wysunąć tezę badawczą: Kawafis mógł wyprzedzić o kilkanaście lat postulaty literackie Eliota. Tekst skupia się na podobieństwie postaw literackich obu autorów, dlatego podstawę analiz stanowi wybrana twórczość eseistyczno-krytyczna Eliota oraz Kanon i pisma teoretyczne Kawafisa. Tekst koncentruje się na następujących aspektach: zestawienie świata przedstawionego Kawafisa z klasycystycznymi poglądami Eliota, omówienie głębszej warstwy założeń literackich obu autorów (porównanie Ars Poetica Kawafisa z Theory of Impersonal Poetry Eliota), spojrzenie na styl Aleksandryjczyka przez pryzmat sądów estetycznych Eliota oraz kwestie związane z procesem twórczym i cechami artysty (dojrzałość i miejsce poety w spektrum homo vates – homo faber).

O objetivo deste trabalho é analisar a elegia Tr. 5.3 de Ovídio, em que escreve ao colégio de poetas em ocasião das Liberalia, dirigindo-se, em ocasiões, ao deus Baco de forma direta, solicitando sua ajuda para acabar com sua relegatio na distante Tomos. Esta invocação de Baco e não do deus Augusto, retor do exílio ovidiano, tem levado os críticos a pensar que haveria aqui mais um velado ataque ao princeps. Buscaremos demonstrar, contudo, que a proximidade com Baco é mais uma tentativa de defesa de sua poesia e de afirmação de seu labor como poeta do que uma afronta direta ao princeps, além de contribuir com na construção do seu perfil como vates. Para tanto, em um primeiro momento, nos centraremos em examinar a forma e conteúdo do poema. Após isso, discutiremos diferentes posturas que leem nesta elegia uma afronta a Augusto. Por último, oferecemos nossa argumentação contra este tipo de posturas destacando que a associação de Ovídio a Baco como protetor dos poetas é congruente com a menção da Bacchica serta (Tr. 1.7.2), que coroa o poeta no começo dos Tristia.

Durante seu exílio em Tomos, Ovídio escuda-se na ideia de declínio poético e linguístico, causado pela hostilidade do entorno. A adversidade do lugar em que deve cumprir a relegatio é o argumento para justificar a queda na qualidade de sua produção poética. Neste trabalho, propomos analisar aspectos da descrição etnográfica e geográfica apresentada por Ovídio nos Tristia 3.10 e 5.7, com o objetivo de adicionar mais elementos à longa tradição de estudos dedicados a demonstrar que a ideia de declínio é mais um artificio retórico na construção da persona relegata. Para tanto, a discussão será delimitada pela construção do eu poético como autoridade no tratamento do sofrimento do exílio. Em primeiro lugar, são analisados trechos de Tr. 3.10, dedicados à descrição etnográfica e geográfica da Cítia, na qual se destaca o manejo da sintaxe mimética. Em seguida, oferecemos diferentes observações sobre a já muito comentada intertextualidade entre esta epístola e a descrição da Cítia oferecida por Vírgilio em Geórgicas 3.349-83, destacando que as diferenças entre uma e outra descrição atendem à construção da autoridade de Ovídio como exilado, inclusive ao se arrogar o “direito de corrigir” o poeta anterior. Em segundo lugar, buscamos comprovar que, em Tr. 5.7, Ovídio relegatus continua a se construir como autoridade, reivindicando, no meio de sua aparente barbarização, seu lugar como grande Romanus vates.

ZusammenfassungIn der Geschichte der italienischen Politik hat Dante Alighieri seit jeher eine maßgebliche Rolle gespielt. Dem Dichter und ›Vater der italienischen Sprache‹ begegnet man auch bei Alcide De Gasperi. In den politischen Schriften und Reden des italienischen Staatsmannes wird auf Dante nicht nur in rhetorischem Gestus wiederholt zurückgegriffen (z. B. als Signal eines gemeinsamen kulturellen Hintergrunds); Dante steht vielmehr im Mittelpunkt von De Gasperis politischem Denken, wenn es um die Definition und Konstruktion von Identität, um die Zugehörigkeit zur christlichen Kultur sowie um die Veranschaulichung der Rolle eines Christen in der Welt geht. Am Beispiel von De Gasperis Schriften lässt sich die Resonanz der Figur und des Werks Dantes im politischen Diskurs Italiens im 20. Jahrhundert exemplarisch darstellen.

Celem artykułu jest semiotyczna analiza motywu „pochodu tanecznego” w Carm. III, 30 Exegi monumentum (w. 7-14) w perspektywie toposu spotkania z bóstwem w liryce Horacjańskiej, rozumianego jako forma rytuału przejścia. Autor poszukuje również odpowiedzi na pytanie, jaką funkcję pełni przywołany motyw w kompozycji tekstu oraz w ukształtowaniu figury podmiotu odautorskiego, ukazanego w roli „poety” (vates). Postawiona problematyka wymagała odniesienia się do semiotycznej definicji tekstu oraz ujęcia toposu spotkania z bóstwem jako tekstu kultury. To z kolei wpłynęło na odniesienie się do badań antropologicznych (pojęcie rytuału) oraz kulturoznawczych (κῶμος, χορός), a także językoznawczych w zakresie semantyki i aspektu czasownika. Po przeprowadzonej analizie autor doszedł do wniosku, że motyw „pochodu tanecznego” w pieśni Exegi monumentum został ukazany dwufazowo jako cykliczny, rytualny χορός, który stał się znakiem jednorazowego κῶμος. W tym sensie motyw ten został ukazany jako figura pamięci, odnosząca się do faktu połączenia przez Horacego miar eolskich z literaturą rzymską. W odpowiedzi na pytanie o konstrukcję podmiotu autor wskazał, że na bazie powyższej figury pamięci nastąpiło ubóstwienie wieszcza, który w przeformułowanym toposie spotkania z bóstwem zajmuje miejsce samego bóstwa, aspirując do roli analogicznej do figury „Anakreonta” w poezji anakreontejskiej (Carm. Anacr. 1 W, 1-3, 11-17).

Throughout Gabriele d’Annunzio’s vast and multiform productions, Ovid’s presence shines through with the strength of a model both ancient and modern. Since his years at the “Cicognini”, he feels bound to Ovid by a similarity “in lyrical ways” and by a relationship of “consanguinity” based on their common origins. The assiduity in Ovid’s readings, testified to by the large number of volumes of the Augustan poet in the library of the Vittoriale, is reflected in a dense network of echoes – some perspicuous, others subtle – that can be found in the Vate’s most famous works. During his twilight years, d’Annunzio’s nocturnal exploration finds singular affinities with the Ovidian elegies of exile to which he feels attracted the most. Even in the nascent silent film industry, d’Annunzio, creator and forerunner of fashions, sees a prodigious form of visual art that has in Ovid a millenary antecedent. Beyond the unavoidable differences separating the two temporally distant authors, the paper attempts to outline an overall profile of the correspondences and possible equations between d’Annunzio and Ovid without pretense of exhaustiveness. In the wake of perspectives inaugurated by distinguished masters, it is an attempt to offer cues for interpreting, from the vestiges of classicism, d’Annunzio’s art within the Ovidian framework.

At F. 6.3-8 Ovid lays claim to the kind of vatic authority (cf. fas mihi praecipue…, ‘I have a special right’, 7) which entitles him to a visitation from Juno (13ff.); but this pose soon turns out to be less stable and assured than he would have us believe at the start of the book (cf. facta canam, ‘I shall sing the truth’, 3). Cautioned by Paris' experience and the dangers implicit in favouring one goddess over others in a competitive iudicium (99f), he proves unable to judge between Juno, Juventas and Concordia as the source of the month's name (97f.). Throughout the Fasti, of course, gods and goddesses are invoked to authenticate the causae which Ovid reports for given festivals or rituals, but at the start of Fasti 6 (as at the start of Fasti 5) he is reduced to aporia through the very mechanism—divine invocation—which is normally the bedrock of his vatic authority. This adjustment in his role as vates, from the authoritative mouthpiece of the gods to the uncertain, judicially impotent arbiter, is but one illustration of a broader phenomenon in the Fasti: far from occupying a position of rigidly inflexible authority as he moves through the calendrical cycle, Ovid's vatic persona proves to be a flexible narratological instrument which compromises his vatic authority at different points within the poem.

Abstract:Although we are fairly well informed about the general organization and important events of the dramatic competitions in Athens, there remain significant gaps in our knowledge on many points of detail. In no place is this more true than with regard to the epinikian celebration honouring members of the victorious performance, about which scarcely any unambiguous testimony has come down to us. This study aims to provide new insights into the problem by demonstrating a connection between the iconography preserved in several sculpted reliefs of the Roman period commonly referred to as Dionysos' visit to Ikarios and the representation of a celebration for poetic victory in Plato'sSymposium. Central to the combined testimony of these sources is the ideal of Dionysos’ epiphany to the poet in order to acknowledge and honour his victory in person. So identified as an element of victory celebration, related articulations of this imagined moment can then be detected in several additional representations on vases and in Aristophanic comedy, in both of which other independent elements likewise suggest the activation of an epinikian syntax. Practical matters about the celebration still elude us; what we gain, however, is a clearer sense of the religious ideals that were conveyed through these celebrations in connection with the worship of Dionysos, which formed a nucleus for the dramatic festivals.

Resumo: Amiúde relacionados à geração de poetas boêmios alcunhada “cancioneiro alegre” da época romântica (FRANCHETTI, 1987), Bernardo Guimarães (1825-1884) e Luiz Gama (1830-1882) dispõem, entre si, afinidades poéticas que se manifestam, conforme propomos no presente artigo, não somente nos arranjos formais e temáticos de sua sátira, mas no sentido que ambos conferem à prática poética moderna e seu papel em meio à proeminência estético-cultural do Romantismo no século XIX. Mediante análise do legado devido à sátira latina e gregoriana (HANSEN; MOREIRA, 2013) nos versos de Poesias (1865) e Primeiras trovas burlescas de Getulino (1859), reconhecemos nestas obras os sintomas da visão de mundo romântica, orientada por projeções nostálgico-utópicas, expressas tanto em desencanto melancólico, como em revolta e insubordinação perante as rupturas causadas pelo racionalismo e pelo progresso capitalista (LÖWY; SAYRE, 2015). O manuseio do humor permite aos poetas lamentar a condição impossível da Musa em semelhante contexto, mesmo enquanto troçam a ira desta deidade para com os vates, cuja artificialidade fundamenta novas relações entre a arte e vida, e divertem-se às custas de sua própria Weltanschauung romântica.Palavras-chave: poesia brasileira; romantismo; sátira; Bernardo Guimarães; Luiz Gama.Abstract: As figures often attached to a generation of bohemian romantic poets (FRANCHETTI, 1987), Bernardo Guimarães (1825-1884) and Luiz Gama (1830-1882) reveal a poetic affinity that, as proposed in this essay, does not limit itself to the formal and thematic compositions of their satires, but engages with the deeper meanings of poetic practice as it relates to the modern, prevailing aesthetic of Romanticism in the XIXth Century. Owing partly to the legacy of Ancient Latin and colonial-baroque satires (HANSEN; MOREIRA, 2013), Guimarães’s Poesias (1865) and Gama’s Primeiras trovas burlescas de Getulino (1859) manifest in its verses the symptoms of the romantic worldview, inclined towards nostalgia and utopia, and expressed simultaneously as a melancholy disenchantment and a revolt against the ruptures of rationalism and the establishment of capitalism (LÖWY; SAYRE, 2015). This wielding of farce and humor by the poets allows them to lament the impossible condition of the Muse in such a context, while mocking her ire against the bards who represent the profound artificiality of these new relations between art and life, laughing at the expense of their own romantic Weltanschauung.Keywords: Brazilian poetry; romanticism; satire; Bernardo Guimarães; Luiz Gama.

The collaborative photographs of Andreas Embiricos and Matsi Hatzilazarou This article explores Andreas Embiricos’ and Matsi Hatzilazarou’s collaborative photographs. Made during their marriage in the late 1930s and early 1940s, these images are unique in the history of Greek photography; their experimentality and playfulness sets them apart from the ideologically charged photography produced by professional Greek photographers at the time. These photographs nonetheless prove to be a pivotal moment in the history of Greek surrealism: their technique observes the movement’s international traits, while they are one of the very few occasions in which two surrealist Greek artists join forces to work on a common project. In the first part of the article I discuss the two poets’ photographic archive, while in the second I inquire into an unpublished manuscript by Matsi Hatzilazarou, dated to 1943, containing notes on the photographic illustrations of a book with texts by Odysseus Elytis. Some of these texts were later included in Elytis’ essay collection Open Papers (Ανοιχτά Χαρτιά, 1974); this points to the fact that Elytis at the time envisaged a photographically invested publication resembling André Breton’s books Nadja, Les Vases communicants and L’Amour fou. Despite the fact that the project never came to fruition, the manuscript showcases Hatzilazarou’s intense interest in photography and can be classified as an important surrealist artifact; the notes contain exciting poetic ideas which she thought could be developed into images.

Whatever Luca Giuliani writes is usually worth reading. Image and Myth, a translation and revision of his Bild und Mythos (Munich, 2003), is no exception. This monograph engages with a topic germane to the origins and development of classical archaeology – the relation of art to text. Giuliani begins, rather ponderously, with an exposition of G. E. Lessing's 1766 essay Laokoon, ‘on the limits of painting and poetry’. Lessing, a dramatist, predictably considered poetry the more effective medium for conveying a story. A picture, in his eyes, encapsulates the vision of a moment – likewise a statue. The Laocoon group, then, is a past perfect moment. A poet can provide the beginning, middle, and end of a story; the artist, only the representation of a fleeting appearance. Giuliani shows that this distinction does not necessarily hold – works of art can be synoptic, disobedient of Aristotelian laws about unity of place and time (and scale). Yet he extracts from Lessing's essay a basic dichotomy between the narrative and the descriptive. This dichotomy dictates the course of a study that is most illuminating when its author is being neither narrative nor descriptive but analytical – explaining, with commendable care for detail, what we see in an ancient work of art. But is the distinction between narrative and descriptive as useful as Giuliani wants it to be? One intellectual predecessor, Carl Robert, is scarcely acknowledged, and a former mentor, Karl Schefold, is openly repudiated; both of these leave-takings are consequent from the effort on Giuliani's part to avoid seeking (and finding) ‘Homeric’ imagery in early Greek art. The iconography of Geometric vases, he maintains, ‘is devoid of narrative intention: it refers to what can be expected to take place in the world’ (37). In this period, we should not be asking whether an image is ‘compatible’ with a story, but rather whether it is incomprehensible without a story. If the answer is ‘no’, then the image is descriptive, not narrative. Thus the well-known oinochoe in Munich, clearly showing a shipwreck, and arguably intending to represent a single figure astride an overturned keel, need not be read as a visual allusion to Odyssey 12.403–25, or some version of the tale of Odysseus surviving a shipwreck. It is just one of those things that happens in the world. Well, we may be thinking – let us be glad that it happens less frequently these days, but double our travel insurance nevertheless. As Giuliani commits himself to this approach, he is forced to concede that certain Geometric scenes evoke the ‘heroic lifestyle’ – but, since we cannot admit Homer's heroes, we must accept the existence of the ‘everyman aristocrat’ (or aristocratic everyman: either way, risking oxymoron). Readers may wonder if Lessing's insistence on separating the descriptive from the narrative works at all well for Homer as an author: for does not Homer's particular gift lie in adding graphic, descriptive detail to his narrative? And have we not learned (from Barthes and others) that ‘descriptions’, semiotically analysed, carry narrative implications – implications for what precedes and follows the ‘moment’ described? So the early part of Giuliani's argument is not persuasive. His conviction, and convincing quality, grows as artists become literate, and play a ‘new game’ ‘in the context of aristocratic conviviality’ (87) – that of adding names to figures (as on the François Vase). Some might say this was simply a literate version of the old game: in any case, it also includes the possibility of ‘artistic licence’. So when Giuliani notes, ‘again we find an element here that is difficult to reconcile with the epic narrative’ (149), this does not, thankfully, oblige him to dismiss the link between art and text, or art and myth (canonical or not). Evidently a painter such as Kleitias could heed the Muses, or aspire to be inspired; a painter might also enjoy teasing his patrons with ‘tweaks’ and corrigenda to a poet's work. (The latter must have been the motive of Euphronios, when representing the salvage of the body of Sarpedon as overseen by Hermes, rather than by Apollo, divergent from the Homeric text.) Eventually there will be ‘pictures for readers’, and a ‘pull of text’ that is overt in Hellenistic relief-moulded bowls, allowing Giuliani to talk of ‘illustrations’ – images that ‘have surrendered their autonomy’ (252).

Mergulhado em um cenário onde predominava a visão de verdejantes e coloridas colinas que se sucediam formando vales de indescritível beleza, experimentava, naquela doce e fresca manhã, uma serenidade digna dos anjos. O que via na natureza e o que sentia criava uma verdadeira mistura entre misticismo e sensibilidade. Podia precisar, sem nenhuma dificuldade, a época e o lugar em que me encontrava: a poética e impetuística Alemanha de Klopstock. Subitamente, me vi transportado para Place de La Concorde, na França de 1790, assumindo a personalidade de um parlamentar girondino, prestes a ver separada de meu pescoço a minha preciosa cabeça. Tinha diante de mim duas importantes figuras daqueles difíceis tempos, as quais me eram muito familiares – o meu editor executivo e o seu sócio – incorporando respectivamente as personagens Maximilien Robespierre e Saint-Just. Estavam para me oferecer indulgência, quando uma chamada telefônica me acordou. O sonho tornou-se realidade e realidade virou sonho. Robespierre estava ao telefone; havia se transportado do século XVII aos nossos dias e agora me cobrava o editorial. Ainda sob efeito do terrível pesadelo e achando que poderia salvar a minha vida, prometi o editorial para o mesmo dia. Entretanto, recuperado dos efeitos da inusitada experiência, sabia que a promessa feita ao editor teria que esperar, porque havia algumas inquietações que me incomodavam e que teriam quer ser resolvidas. Não era a coincidência entre o real e o imaginário que me preocupava, afinal sempre fizeram parte de minha existência e já me havia acostumado a premonições e coisas similares. O que importunava era a convivência de dois sonhos que se intercomunicaram e que foram a expressão de sentimentos tão díspares: a extrema serenidade e o mais intenso e pior dos pavores. Resignado pela falta de equacionamento temporário das questões levantadas, retorno à tarefa de elaborar o editorial e me lembro de que ainda não houve tempo para levarmos até os nosso leitores a nossa mensagem de final de ano. Tenho, então, a oportunidade de agora fazê-lo. Sustentados por uma fala social desprovida de qualquer senso de reflexão, há séculos mantemos uma tradição cultural de desejarmos aos nossos os intermináveis e repetidos votos de feliz ano novo. A expressão toma para si a tarefa quase mecânica de manter e levar adiante os costumes que nosforam legados pelos nossos antepassados. A linguagem falada, imaginada em um mimetismo circunstanciado a um cumprimento do dever, não está mais, de um modo geral, a serviço do que realmente pensamos e acaba evidenciando uma contradição entre aquilo que realmente desejamos e aquilo que exprimimos. Querendo fugir deste ambiente ingenuamente falso, reporto-me às duas situações que vivi quando dormia. Agora, substituindo os tradicionais votos de muitas felicidades, etc, etc! sonhando acordado, construo e ofereço, para reflexão de todos, dois momentos. Um primeiro, que seria a opção de uma navegação tranqüila através de verdejantes montanhas, onde os nossos atos serão aprovados pelo conjunto de regras facultativas que normalmente avaliam o que fazemos e que Foucault chama de ética. Um segundo, em que, no momento de desespero, deixamos que o instinto profissional canibalizado por uma concorrência desleal e injusta nos leve a também desrespeitar a convivência profissional por outros ultrajada e acabe, com o tempo, por nos inserir como vítimas dos jacobinos da Place de la Concorde de 1790. A Revista Fisioterapia Brasil longe, portanto, de desejar um feliz 2005, deseja apenas uma boa reflexão, esperando que os nossos atos se identifiquem com o primeiro momento. Vivamos com dignidade e ética e sejamos felizes em 2005,2006, 2007...1 Friederich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724-1803), destacado poeta, alemão, autor de vários hinos à natureza de poemas à amizade e ao amor.

Terra de exílio é o título da obra do autor Clóvis Da Rolt, Mestre e Doutor em Ciências Sociais, pela Universidade do Vale dos Sinos – RS, atualmente professor da Universidade Federal do Pampa – Campus Jaguarão – RS.A obra é um compilado de treze encontros (textos), de modalidade ensaística que, mesmo mantendo um rigor metodológico, são mais livres do ponto de vista estilístico. Literatura, Cultura, Filosofia, Educação e Arte são assuntos que perpassam as linhas da obra.No ensaio intitulado “Notas sobre a sedução primeira: arte e literatura como formas de inoculação”, o autor enfatiza, através de duas lembranças pessoais, a importância da liquidez e fluidez no processo de formação. Afirma que formação depende da insatisfação, da busca pela atualização, do transcender, do mudar-se constantemente e que, nesse processo, a arte e a literatura possuem a capacidade de nos seduzir e inserir em nós aquilo que é necessário para a mudança. As sedutoras (arte e literatura) nos oferecem a completude, no sentido de que tendemos a ser mais inteiros quando admitimos nossos medos, fracassos e erros.Seduzido pela literatura, o autor inicia o segundo ensaio com o questionamento “Leitura literária, a que se destina?”. Nele, Rolt se volta à função da leitura literária. Ler literatura é estar diante de um labirinto com diversas direções e possibilidades de percurso que, assim como a própria existência, é uma via de conhecimento. Ao leitor literário é necessário persistência no ato de ler, uma responsabilidade prazerosa assumida cotidianamente. A escolha do livro é tão importante quanto o compromisso de ler. A boa literatura cria rupturas, inocula, transcende, completa, conduz o leitor a interpretações mais profundas, pois o texto exuberante não se esgota em suas interpretações, sempre há algo a se descortinar. Contudo, isso só se adquire perseverando diante da excelência daquilo que se lê.Ainda na esfera da boa literatura, o terceiro ensaio nos convida ao renascimento através da poesia. Em “Oscar Bertholdo: poesia como um sopro inaugural”, o autor faz uma citação sobre a obra bertholdiana e sua relação de pertencimento a um lugar, no caso, os Vales da Serra Gaúcha, a cultura e o cotidiano da região de colonização italiana. Contudo, seus escritos não são limitados à região, o “poeta do vale” traz em seu jogo de palavras metafóricas, sentidos que remetem ao local e ao universal. Em seus textos mostra o mundo através do vale, literatura exuberante e sedutora, que provoca rupturas e transcende. Uma poesia que convida à restauração e chama à beleza, a um sopro de vida, diante de um mundo exaurido.Falar de literatura que não se esgota e não citar Marco Lucchesi é dificílimo. No quarto ensaio desenvolvido na terra de exílio, “Um exame de palavras no coração: Marco Lucchesi e a densidade humana da escrita”, há uma apresentação da escrita profunda e rizomática de Marco Lucchesi, dono de uma construção intelectual, cultural, espiritual e humana admiráveis. Ele nos envolve em uma literatura labiríntica, de modo que a cada curva nos deparamos com algo que nos convida, nos invade, ora nos localizando na realidade, ora levando-nos aos mais altos estratos da imaginação. É amor à primeira leitura. Nesse ensaio, o autor também comenta brevemente quatro obras de Lucchesi, destacando características e temas presentes em sua escrita, que é inteligente, contudo, não segregada da alma, direcionada, segundo Rolt, não ao reino dos neurônios, mas à majestade do coração peregrino.A escrita poética modifica a realidade através do arranjo sedutor de metáforas e imagens, transformando uma simples árvore em um “Monge verde na procissão do bosque”, título dado ao quinto ensaio. Nele, o autor nos mostra o poder da poesia diante de um mundo tecnicista, dicotômico, categórico, que coloca preço em quase tudo, ao passo que o quase, não possuindo um preço, logo se faz inútil. Viver extrapola os gráficos e experimentos laboratoriais. Instabilidade, incerteza e imprecisão. É no caos que se instaura o fenômeno poético. Baseando-se em escritos de Constantin Nóica (2011), nos diz que é na desordem que se faz o contato entre a potencialidade criadora e o ser humano. A transmutação da realidade e seu entendimento pode ser feito também pela via cômica, em “Sátira cultural, terras jocosas e peripécias bufoliterárias em Joaquim Pepperoni, PhD”, a função do humor no texto literário e o papel do riso na cultura é destacado. Nesse sexto ensaio, Rolt tece um breve comentário sobre a historicidade do humor e traz como exemplo de boa literatura, pela via cômica, os textos de Joaquim Pepperoni, pseudônimo de um escritor da Serra Gaúcha, que traz o humor já em seu grau de titulação, pois se apresenta como PhD, especialista em Etnomilhografia, história geral do Polentariado e por aí segue. Pepperoni criou personagens, lugares e situações que envolvem aspectos da cultura e da vida de imigrantes italianos na Serra Gaúcha, não com a intenção de ridicularização, mas, antes, como uma denúncia, mostrando aquilo que se quis esconder no percurso. A literatura nos faz perceber, através de seus olhos, o que não conseguimos enxergar com os nossos.Humor, percepção, consciência, tristeza, amor, solidão, espiritualidade, todas idiossincrasias humanas. No sétimo ensaio, ou reencontro, o autor nos mostra como nos encontrar e nos conectar a essas idiossincrasias. Em “Dos aprendizados no deserto: a experiência mística e a travessia da interioridade”elenca características conotativas e denotativas do deserto. Lugar de busca, de travessia, de transformação, de silêncio, de encontro no corpo nas relações, na inteligência e na fé. Elucida o contexto de deserto em diversos autores, relacionando-o às experiências místicas. Deserto é exílio, que faz o homem se encontrar com sua humanidade. Homem. Corpo em movimento. Corpos e movimento, estes são os assuntos que preenchem o oitavo e nono ensaios dessa obra. Neles, o autor fala do corpo na arte cinematográfica. Em “Corpo e escrita em O livro de cabeceira, de Peter Greenaway”, aborda aspectos do filme produzido em 1996, pelo diretor britânico Peter Greenaway. Sua produção fílmica se baseia no texto japonês “o livro de travesseiro”, de Sei Shônagon, porém, não se trata de uma reprodução, sua obra tem aspectos singulares que falam por si mesmos, relacionando corpo e escrita (corpo-livro). A mão (parte do corpo), ao escrever, une o pensamento ao concreto. Uma ponte entre o imaterial e o material. Já no ensaio “Com uma mirada sem corpo: notas sobre a memória em o cidadão ilustre” Rolt trata do corpo-memória como construtor de narrativas. O filme O cidadão ilustre, de 2016, nos conta a história do retorno de Daniel Mantovani, ganhador do Nobel de Literatura, à sua cidade natal. O renomado escritor é convidado a retornar à pequena comunidade de Salas, na Argentina. Memória, pertencimento, identidade, vivência são assuntos abordados a respeito dessa obra fílmica. Um constante conflito quando se tenta descobrir o que realmente levamos conosco, independentemente de onde vamos, pois somos acumuladores. Acumuladores de uma insuportável virtude, aquela que cultua o futuro, deserdando o passado e não percebendo o presente. No décimo ensaio “Herdeiros de nós mesmos: educação e formação frente aos labirintos da tecnologia”, o autor, inconformado, convida-nos a visitar o passado e aprender com ele. Mostra-nos como enxergar no presente o potencial futuro. O que estamos deixando para nós mesmos? Não é formar para o futuro, é estar-se formando e formando no agora com o outro, é uma simbiose que leva ao futuro. É nesse presente que precisamos pensar o papel ocupado pela tecnologia na educação, como ela foi, como é e como pode ser utilizada. Sua função, a real necessidade, seu propósito e o risco de desvinculá-la de valores éticos na formação do educando.Os meios de comunicação de massa, a quantidade de informação que se recebe, a facilidade e velocidade com que ela nos alcança podem criar um ambiente de coletivismo extremo, despersonalizado, totalitário, ameaçando a pessoa em sua integridade e transcendência. Diante dessa questão “O conceito de pessoa e suas implicações éticas no personalismo de Emmanuel Mounier” é apresentado no décimo primeiro ensaio da obra. Nele, Rolt examina alguns aspectos das ideias de “pessoa” em Mounier, encontrando os conceitos que estruturam o pensamento do filósofo e, através do qual, é possível se dar continuidade, o que seria benéfico ao cenário contemporâneo, que visa a eficiência e funcionalidade e “coisifica” o homem.Se não tem um valor monetário ou uma funcionalidade imediatista, se não vislumbra um objetivo científico, não é útil. Em “As evocações do inútil no ensino de arte”, décimo segundo ensaio, evidencia-se o cenário eficientíssimo educacional que vivemos, onde alguns conhecimentos são enaltecidos e outros desprezados. Ele mostra que por ser considerado inútil é que o ensino da arte se faz necessário e adverte que não é qualquer pessoa que pode ensiná-la, mais do que sensibilidade é preciso conhecimento. A inutilidade constrói a humanidade do ser humano. Rolt diz que não podemos deixar morrer o inútil que em nós habita, ele é o que resta, quanto todo o concreto eficiente se cala.No derradeiro ensaio “Inger Enkvist: percursos de um pensamento”, Clóvis da Rolt nos apresenta as linhas de pensamento de Inger Enkvist, literata sueca que vem ganhando notoriedade no campo da pedagogia e das políticas educacionais. Ela questiona a nova pedagogia que, em seu estudo, está esgotada em si própria. Denúncia que na nova forma de ensinar e aprender, o fazer pedagógico, abriga o facilismo, o igualitarismo artificial, a falsa autonomia discente, o anti-intelectualismo e o irracionalismo. Não é possível escapar da ética, pois está relacionada à ação, à vida. Nesse sentido, a escritora propõe o regresso da moderação e do bom senso, um entendimento do passado para construção do presente e possível futuro. Mas isso depende de esforço, empenho, escolha e vontade.Exilados em território metodológico, solo compactado, onde até boas sementes são esmagadas pela forma ou queimadas pelo ego. É nessa terra que produzimos e nela que devemos insistir em caminhos possíveis, linhas de fuga. Aprendemos isso com a leitura dos ensaios de Rolt. Aprendemos que ensaios são como chuva em terras áridas. Fluídos. Aos poucos permeiam os horizontes edáficos mais rígidos, abrindo possibilidades e criando ambientes que permitirão, esperemos que logo, a germinação de boas sementes, que crescerão e frutificarão. Transformando, assim, a paisagem da terra de exílio, permitindo que nós, exilados, possamos compartilhar, em encontros, a beleza e as paixões alegres contidas na poética do ser e do existir.

Many have been fascinated by Dante’s treatment of Virgil in his Commedia. He is simultaneously Dante’s beloved master, and a character who does not escape Hell. Robert Hollander famously asserts that Dante wields Virgil to classify him as a failed poet-vates, and therefore by contrast, to show himself, Dante, as theologus-poeta. In this paper, I will show that more than demonstrating himself a true prophet, Dante also utilises Virgil to suspend Christian comedy above classical tragedy. This paper will explore the Siren theme throughout Purgatorio, namely in Cantos II, XIX, and XXX, for observing how Dante himself moves beyond the Siren, and concurrently evinces Virgil’s failure to do so. As Beatrice is contrasted to the Siren, Dante is paired with Virgil, his Commedia with the Aeneid. In making this argument, I tie everything together by showing how the appearance of Beatrice alludes to Nisus and Euryalus (a hitherto unnoticed allusion), the very characters that Virgil had written to insert higher morality into Homer’s Odysseus and Diomedes. While those characters met tragic end, Dante and Beatrice, by contrast, are reunited in Christian splendor—that is, redemptive and transformative grace. Dante’s Commedia is therefore a comedy because Dante moves beyond the Siren to Beatrice, a feat that Virgil was not able to accomplish.

AbstractOswald Egger presents himself as both poeta vates and poeta doctus, challenging his readers with texts that have often been described as hermetic and thus hermeneutically inaccessible. In recourse to mathematical (topology) and philosophical (Johann Georg Hamann) contexts, the essay shows how poetry on the one hand, science and erudition on the other hand intersect in Egger’s texts in an aesthetically and hermeneutically ambitious way.

The myth of Medea has become familiar in the Greek literature since Homer’s time. He told the story about the trip of the Argonauts guided by Jason. The mythical narrative has different versions that survived in various informative supports such as the texts of the dramatic poets and the images of the Greek vases. In this essay, we propose to analyse the remote information and reference of the action of the myth of Medea through the Greek vases. We selected to research about the episode that has been known as Pelíades. We may infer there are two versions about Medea and Pelias, in the most remote of them the priestess of Hekate belongs to the seventh century and, in this period, Medea has the ability to cure and rejuvenate an old person. This information shows the mythological narrative of Pelias and Medea is very ancient.

In Germany, beginning from the last decade of XIX century, the fame of Gabriele d’Annunzio grew increasingly thanks to a continue flow of translations, which made him one of the most celebrated writers of the Jahrhundertwende in the country of Goethe. Among the German admirers of the ‘Vate’ there were poets and novelists such as Stefan George, Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Heinrich Mann. On the contrary, Thomas Mann’s appreciation of d’Annunzio was problematic: he disliked his aestheticism, his superficial Nietzschean Übermensch cult and moreover his far too refined, turgidly baroque prose. Nevertheless, he read attentively his colleague’s narratives – albeit using German translations, unlikely George and his senior brother Heinrich –, and undoubtedly made allusions – often in a deeply ironical sense – to d’Annunzio’s Triumph of Death in his novel Tristan. This essay reconstructs the cultural context of the relation between Mann and d’Annunzio, and offers a detailed comparison of selected passages and/or fragments from both works aimed at analysing the nature of Mann’s borrowings from the Italian writer, in order to show the ‘dialectical’ character of such a procedure.

Dentre os poetas surgidos em Portugal a partir do final dos anos 90, decerto Manuel de Freitas possui uma das mais significativas poéticas, mas não deixa de situar-se dentro de um panorama, pois há uma dicção nova na poesia portuguesa, que pode residir sob o título da coletânea que reúne algumas das vozes mais representativas desta geração, poetas sem qualidades, recolha organizada e prefaciada por Freitas. Tal dicção, que privilegia a abordagem de diversas facetas do real em detrimento de um trabalho que autonomize demasiadamente a linguagem, não se furta a atacar certa tradição poética portuguesa, sobretudo a do século XX pós-pessoano, mas recolhe com bastante atenção, sem abrir mão de alguma reverência, diversos nomes consagrados, sobretudo Camões. E Manuel de Freitas será, indubitavelmente, o poeta sem qualidade que mais dialogará com o vate, realizando não apenas um constante exercício de intertextualidade, mas várias vezes nomeando Camões e fazendo ao autor d'Os Lusíadas verdadeiro louvor, sempre pelo viés da discipularidade.

“Communicating deep feeling in linear solid blocks of print felt arcane, a method beyond me” — Audre Lorde in an interview with Adrienne Rich (Lorde 87) How do you disclose? In writing, in spoken words, in movements, in sounds, in the quiet energetic vibration and its trace in discourse? Is disclosure a narrative account of a self, or a poetic fragment, sent into the world outside the sanction of a story or another recognisable form (see fig. 1)?These are the questions that guide my exploration in this essay. I meditate on them from the vantage point of my own self-narrative, as a community performance practitioner and writer, a poet whose artistry, in many ways, relies on the willingness of others to disclose, to open themselves, and yet who feels ambivalent about narrative disclosures. What I share with you, reader, are my thoughts on what some may call compassion fatigue, on boredom, on burn-out, on the inability to be moved by someone’s hard-won right to story her life, to tell his narrative, to disclose her pain. I find it ironic that for as long as I can remember, my attention has often wandered when someone tells me their story—how this cancer was diagnosed, what the doctors did, how she coped, how she garnered support, how she survived, how that person died, how she lived. The story of how addiction took over her life, how she craved, how she hated, how someone sponsored her, listened to her, how she is making amends, how she copes, how she gets on with her life. The story of being born this way, being prodded this way, being paraded in front of doctors just like this, being operated on, being photographed, being inappropriately touched, being neglected, being forgotten, being unloved, being lonely. Listening to these accounts, my attention does wander, even though this is the heart blood of my chosen life—these are the people whose company I seek, with whom I feel comfortable, with whom I make art, with whom I make a life, to whom I disclose my own stories. But somehow, when we rehearse these stories in each others’s company (for rehearsal, polishing, is how I think of storytelling), I drift. In this performance-as-research essay about disclosure, I want to draw attention to what does draw my attention in community art situations, what halts my drift, and allows me to find connection beyond a story that is unique and so special to this individual, but which I feel I have heard so many times. What grabs me, again and again, lies beyond the words, beyond the “I did this… and that… and they did this… and that,” beyond the story of hardship and injury, recovery and overcoming. My moment of connection tends to happen in the warmth of this hand in mine. It occurs in the material connection that seems to well up between these gray eyes and my own deep gaze. I can feel the skin change its electric tonus as I am listening to the uncoiling account. There’s a timbre in the voice that I follow, even as I lose the words. In the moment of verbal disclosure, physical intimacy changes the time and space of encounter. And I know that the people I sit with are well aware of this—it is not lost on them that my attention isn’t wholly focused on the story they are telling, that I will have forgotten core details when next we work together. But they are also aware, I believe, of those moments of energetic connect that happen through, beyond and underneath the narrative disclosure. There is a physical opening occurring here, right now, when I tell this account to you, when you sit by my side and I confess that I can’t always keep the stories of my current community participants straight, that I forget names all the time, that I do not really wish to put together a show with lots of testimony, that I’d rather have single power words floating in space.Figure 1. Image: Keira Heu-Jwyn Chang. Performer: Neil Marcus.”water burns sun”. Burning. 2009. Orientation towards the Frame: A Poetics of VibrationThis essay speaks about how I witness the uncapturable in performance, how the limits of sharing fuel my performance practice. I also look at the artistic processes of community performance projects, and point out traces of this other attention, this poetics of vibration. One of the frames through which I construct this essay is a focus on the formal in practice: on an attention to the shapes of narratives, and on the ways that formal experimentation can open up spaces beyond and beneath the narratives that can sound so familiar. An attention to the formal in community practice is often confused with an elitist drive towards quality, towards a modern or post-modern play with forms that stands somehow in opposition to how “ordinary people” construct their lives. But there are other ways to think about “the formal,” ways to question the naturalness with which stories are told, poems are written, the ease of an “I”, the separation between self and those others (who hurt, or love, or persecute, or free), the embedment of the experience of thought in institutions of thinking. Elizabeth St. Pierre frames her own struggle with burn-out, falling silent, and the need to just keep going even if the ethical issues involved in continuing her research overwhelm her. She charts out her thinking in reference to Michel Foucault’s comments on how to transgress into a realm of knowing that stretches a self, allows it “get free of oneself.”Getting free of oneself involves an attempt to understand the ‘structures of intelligibility’ (Britzman, 1995, p. 156) that limit thought. Foucault (1984/1985) explaining the urgency of such labor, says, ‘There are times in life when the question of knowing if one can think differently than one thinks, and perceive differently than one sees, is absolutely necessary if one is to go on looking and reflecting at all’ (p. 8). (St. Pierre 204)Can we think outside the structure of story, outside the habits of thought that make us sense and position ourselves in time and space, in power and knowledge? Is there a way to change the frame, into a different format, to “change our mind”? And even if there is not, if the structures of legibility always contain what we can think, there might be riches in that borderland, the bordercountry towards the intelligible, the places where difference presses close in an uncontained, unstoried way. To think differently, to get free of oneself: all these concerns resonate deeply with me, and with the ways that I wish to engage in community art practice. Like St. Pierre, I try to embrace Deleuzian, post-structuralist approaches to story and self:The collective assemblage is always like the murmur from which I take my proper name, the constellation of voices, concordant or not, from which I draw my voice. […] To write is perhaps to bring this assemblage of the unconscious to the light of day, to select the whispering voices, to gather the tribes and secret idioms from which I extract something I call myself (moi). I is an order word. (Deleuze and Guattari 84).“I” wish to perform and to write at the moment when the chorus of the voices that make up my “I” press against my skin, from the inside and the outside, query the notion of ‘skin’ as barrier. But can “I” stay in that vibrational moment? This essay will not be an exercise in quotation marks, but it is an essay of many I’s, and—imagine you see this essay performed—I invite the vibration of the hand gestures that mark small breaches in the air next to my head as I speak.Like St. Pierre, I get thrown off those particular theory horses again and again. But curiosity drives me on, and it is a curiosity nourished not by the absence of (language) connection, by isolation, but by the fullness of those movements of touch and density I described above. That materiality of the tearful eye gaze, the electricity of those fine skin hairs, the voice shivering me: these are not essentialist connections that somehow reveal or disclose a person to me, but these matters make the boundaries of “me” and “person” vibrate. Disclose here becomes the density of living itself, the flowing, non-essential process of shaping lives together. Deleuze and Guattari (1987) have called this bordering “deterritorialization,” always already bound to the reterritorialisation that allows the naming of the experience. Breath-touch on the limits of territories.This is not a shift from verbal to a privileging of non-verbal communication, finding richness and truth in one and less in the other. Non-verbal communication can be just as conventional as spoken language. When someone’s hand reaches out to touch someone who is upset, that gesture can feel ingrained and predictable, and the chain of caretaking that is initiated by the gesture can even hinder the flow of disclosure the crying or upset person might be engaged in. Likewise, I believe the common form of the circle, one I use in nearly every community session I lead, does not really create more community than another format would engender. The repetition of the circle just has something very comforting, it can allow all participants to drop into a certain kind of ease that is different from the everyday, but the rules of that ease are not open—circles territorialise as much as they de-territorialise: here is an inside, here an outside. There is nothing inherently radical in them. But circles might create a radical shift in communication situations when they break open other encrusted forms—an orientation to a leader, a group versus individual arrangement, or the singularity of islands out in space. Circles brings lots of multiples into contact, they “gather the tribes.” What provisional I’s we extract from them in each instance is our ethical challenge.Bodily Fantasies on the Limit: BurningEven deeply felt inner experiences do not escape the generic, and there is lift available in the vibration between the shared fantasy and the personal fantasy. I lead an artists’ collective, The Olimpias, and in 2008/2009, we created Burning, a workshop and performance series that investigated cell imagery, cancer imagery, environmental sensitivity and healing journeys through ritual-based happenings infused with poetry, dramatic scenes, Butoh and Contact Improvisation dances, and live drawing (see: http://www.olimpias.org/).Performance sites included the Subterranean Arthouse, Berkeley, July and October 2009, the Earth Matters on Stage Festival, Eugene, Oregon, May 2009, and Fort Worden, Port Townsend, Washington State, August 2009. Participants for each installation varied, but always included a good percentage of disabled artists.(see fig. 2).Figure 2. Image: Linda Townsend. Performers: Participants in the Burning project. “Burning Action on the Beach”. Burning. 2009. In the last part of these evening-long performance happenings, we use meditation techniques to shift the space and time of participants. We invite people to lie down or otherwise become comfortable (or to observe in quiet). I then begin to lead the part of the evening that most closely dovetails with my personal research exploration. With a slow and reaching voice, I ask people to breathe, to become aware of the movement of breath through their bodies, and of the hollows filled by the luxuriating breath. Once participants are deeply relaxed, I take them on journeys which activate bodily fantasies. I ask them to breathe in colored lights (and leave the specific nature of the colors to them). I invite participants to become cell bodies—heart cells, liver cells, skin cells—and to explore the properties and sensations of these cell environments, through both internal and external movement. “What is the surface, what is deep inside, what does the granular space of the cell feel like? How does the cell membrane move?” When deeply involved in these explorations, I move through the room and give people individual encounters by whispering to them, one by one—letting them respond bodily to the idea that their cell encounters alchemical elements like gold and silver, lead or mercury, or other deeply culturally laden substances like oil or blood. When I am finished with my individual instruction to each participant, all around me, people are moving gently, undulating, contracting and expanding, their eyes closed and their face full of concentration and openness. Some have dropped out of the meditation and are sitting quietly against a wall, observing what is going on around them. Some move more than others, some whisper quietly to themselves.When people are back in spoken-language-time, in sitting-upright-time, we all talk about the experiences, and about the cultural body knowledges, half-forgotten healing practices, that seem to emerge like Jungian archetypes in these movement journeys. During the meditative/slow movement sequence, some long-standing Olimpias performers in the room had imagined themselves as cancer cells, and gently moved with the physical imagery this brought to them. In my meditation invitations during the participatory performance, I do not invite community participants to move as cancer cells—it seems to me to require a more careful approach, a longer developmental period, to enter this darkly signified state, even though Olimpias performers do by no means all move tragically, darkly, or despairing when entering “cancer movement.” In workshops in the weeks leading up to the participatory performances, Olimpias collaborators entered these experiences of cell movement, different organ parts, and cancerous movement many times, and had time to debrief and reflect on their experiences.After the immersion exercise of cell movement, we ask people how it felt like to lie and move in a space that also held cancer cells, and if they noticed different movement patterns, different imaginaries of cell movement, around them, and how that felt. This leads to rich discussions, testimonies of poetic embodiment, snippets of disclosures, glimpses of personal stories, but the echo of embodiment seems to keep the full, long stories at bay, and outside of the immediacy of our sharing. As I look around myself while listening, I see some hands intertwined, some gentle touches, as people rock in the memory of their meditations.nowyour light shines very brightlybut I want youto knowyour darkness alsorichand beyond fear (Lorde 87)My research aim with these movement meditation sequences is not to find essential truths about human bodily imagination, but to explore the limits of somatic experience and cultural expression, to make artful life experiential and to hence create new tools for living in the chemically saturated world we all inhabit.I need to add here that these are my personal aims for Burning—all associated artists have their own journey, their own reasons for being involved, and there is no necessary consensus—just a shared interest in transformation, the cultural images of disease, disability and addiction, the effects of invasion and touch in our lives, and how embodied poetry can help us live. (see fig. 3). For example, a number of collaborators worked together in the participatory Burning performances at the Subterranean Arthouse, a small Butoh performance space in Berkeley, located in an old shop, complete with an open membrane into the urban space—a shop-window and glass door. Lots of things happen with and through us during these evenings, not just my movement meditations.One of my colleagues, Sadie Wilcox, sets up live drawing scenarios, sketching the space between people. Another artist, Harold Burns, engages participants in contact dance, and invites a crossing of boundaries in and through presence. Neil Marcus invites people to move with him, gently, and blindfolded, and to feel his spastic embodiment and his facility with tender touch. Amber diPietra’s poem about cell movement and the journeys from one to another sounds out in the space, set to music by Mindy Dillard. What I am writing about here is my personal account of the actions I engage in, one facet of these evenings—choreographing participants’ inner experiences.Figure 3. Image: Keira Heu-Jwyn Chang. Performers: Artists in the Burning project. “water burns sun”. Burning. 2009. My desires echo Lorde’s poem: “I want you”—there’s a sensual desire in me when I set up these movement meditation scenes, a delight in an erotic language and voice touch that is not predicated on sexual contact, but on intimacy, and on the borderlines, the membranes of the ear and the skin; ‘to know’—I continue to be intrigued and obsessed, as an artist and as a critic, by the way people envision what goes on inside them, and find agency, poetic lift, in mobilising these knowledges, in reaching from the images of bodies to the life of bodies in the world. ‘your darkness also’—not just the bright light, no, but also the fears and the strengths that hide in the blood and muscle, in the living pulsing shadow of the heart muscle pumping away, in the dark purple lobe of the liver wrapping itself around my middle and purifying, detoxifying, sifting, whatever sweeps through this body.These meditative slow practices can destabilise people. Some report that they experience something quite real, quite deep, and that there is transformation to be gained in these dream journeys. But the framing within which the Burning workshops take place question immediately the “authentic” of this experiential disclosure. The shared, the cultural, the heritage and hidden knowledge of being encultured quickly complicate any essence. This is where the element of formal enframing enters into the immediacy of experience, and into the narration of a stable, autonomous “I.” Our deepest cellular experience, the sounds and movements we listen to when we are deeply relaxed, are still cultured, are still shared, come to us in genres and stable image complexes.This form of presentation also questions practices of self-disclosure that participate in trauma narratives through what Canadian sociologist Erving Goffman has called “impression management” (208). Goffman researched the ways we play ourselves as roles in specific contexts, how we manage acts of disclosure and knowledge, how we deal with stigma and stereotype. Impression management refers to the ways people present themselves to others, using conscious or unconscious techniques to shape their image. In Goffman’s framing of these acts of self-presentation, performance and dramaturgical choices are foregrounded: impression management is an interactive, dynamic process. Disclosure becomes a semiotic act, not a “natural,” unfiltered display of an “authentic” self, but a complex engagement with choices. The naming and claiming of bodily trauma can be part of the repertoire of self-representation, a (stock-)narrative that enables recognition and hence communication. The full traumatic narrative arc (injury, reaction, overcoming) can here be a way to manage the discomfort of others, to navigate potential stigma.In Burning, by-passing verbal self-disclosure and the recitation of experience, by encountering ourselves in dialogue with our insides and with foreign elements in this experiential way, there is less space for people to speak managed, filtered personal truths. I find that these truths tend to either close down communication if raw and direct, or become told as a story in its complete, polished arc. Either form leaves little space for dialogue. After each journey through bodies, cells, through liver and heart, breath and membrane, audience members need to unfold for themselves what they felt, and how that felt, and how that relates to the stories of cancer, environmental toxins and invasion that they know.It is not fair. We should be able to have dialogues about “I am poisoned, I live with environmental sensitivities, and they constrict my life,” “I survived cancer,” “I have multiple sclerosis,” “I am autistic,” “I am addicted to certain substances,” “I am injured by certain substances.” But tragedy tugs at these stories, puts their narrators into the realm of the inviolate, as a community quickly feel sorry for these persons, or else feels attacked by them, in particular if one does not know how to help. Yes, we know this story: we can manage her identity for her, and his social role can click into fixity. The cultural weight of these narratives hinders flow, become heavily stigmatised. Many contemporary writers on the subjects of cancer and personhood recognise the (not always negative) aspects of this stigma, and mobilise them in their narratives. As Marisa Acocella Marchetto in the Cancer-Vixen: A True Story puts it: ‘Play the cancer card!’ (107). The cancer card appears in this graphic novel memoir in the form of a full-page spoof advertisement, and the card is presented as a way to get out of unwanted social obligations. The cancer card is perfectly designed to create the communal cringe and the hasty retreat. If you have cancer, you are beyond the pale, and ordinary rules of behavior do no longer apply. People who experience these life-changing transformational diagnoses often know very well how isolating it can be to name one’s personal story, and many are very careful about how they manage disclosure, and know that if they choose to disclose, they have to manage other people’s discomfort. In Burning, stories of injury and hurt swing in the room with us, all of these stories are mentioned in our performance program, but none of them are specifically given individual voice in our performance (although some participants chose to come out in the sharing circle at the end of the event). No one owns the diagnoses, the identity of “survivor,” and the presence of these disease complexes are instead dispersed, performatively enacted and brought in experiential contact with all members of our temporary group. When you leave our round, you most likely still do not know who has multiple sclerosis, who has substance addiction issues, who is sensitive to environmental toxins.Communication demands territorialisation, and formal experimentation alone, unanchored in lived experience, easily alienates. So how can disclosure and the storytelling self find some lift, and yet some connection, too? How can the Burning cell imaginary become both deep, emotionally rich and formal, pointing to its constructed nature? That’s the question that each of the Olimpias’ community performance experiments begins with.How to Host a Past Collective: Setting Up a CirclePreceding Burning, one of our recent performance investigations was the Anarcha Project. In this multi-year, multi-site project, we revisited gynecological experiments performed on slave women in Montgomery, Alabama, in the 1840s, by J. Marion Sims, the “father of American gynecology.” We did so not to revictimise historical women as suffering ciphers, or stand helpless at the site of historical injury. Instead, we used art-based methods to investigate the heritage of slavery medicine in contemporary health care inequalities and women’s health care. As part of the project, thousands of participants in multiple residencies across the U.S. shared their stories with the project leaders—myself, Aimee Meredith Cox, Carrie Sandahl, Anita Gonzalez and Tiye Giraud. We collected about two hundred of these fragments in the Anarcha Anti-Archive, a website that tries, frustratingly, to undo the logic of the ordered archive (Cox et al. n.p).The project closed in 2008, but I still give presentations with the material we generated. But what formal methods can I select, ethically and responsibly, to present the multivocal nature of the Anarcha Project, given that it is now just me in the conference room, given that the point of the project was the intersection of multiple stories, not the fetishisation of individual ones? In a number of recent presentations, I used a circle exercise to engage in fragmented, shrouded disclosure, to keep privacies safe, and to find material contact with one another. In these Anarcha rounds, we all take words into our mouths, and try to stay conscious to the nature of this act—taking something into our mouth, rather than acting out words, normalising them into spoken language. Take this into your mouth—transgression, sacrament, ritual, entrainment, from one body to another.So before an Anarcha presentation, I print out random pages from our Anarcha Anti-Archive. A number of the links in the website pull up material through chance procedures (a process implemented by Olimpias collaborator Jay Steichmann, who is interested in digital literacies). So whenever you click that particular link, you get to a different page in the anti-archive, and you can not retrace your step, or mark you place in an unfolding narrative. What comes up are poems, story fragments, images, all sent in in response to cyber Anarcha prompts. We sent these prompts during residencies to long-distance participants who could not physically be with us, and many people, from Wales to Malaysia, sent in responses. I pull up a good number of these pages, combined with some of the pages written by the core collaborators of our project. In the sharing that follows, I do not speak about the heart of the project, but I mark that I leave things unsaid. Here is what I do not say in the moment of the presentation—those medical experiments were gynecological operations without anesthesia, executed to close vaginal fistula that were leaking piss and shit, executed without anesthesia not because it was not available, but because the doctor did not believe that black women felt pain. I can write this down, here, in this essay, as you can now stop for a minute if you need to collect yourself, as you listen to what this narrative does to your inside. You might feel a clench deep down in your torso, like many of us did, a kinesthetic empathy that translates itself across text, time and space, and which became a core choreographic element in our Anarcha poetics.I do not speak about the medical facts directly in a face-to-face presentation where there is no place to hide, no place to turn away. Instead, I point to a secret at the heart of the Anarcha Project, and explain where all the medical and historical data can be found (in the Anarcha Project essay, “Remembering Anarcha,” in the on-line performance studies journal Liminalities site, free and accessible to all without subscription, now frequently used in bioethics education (see: http://www.liminalities.net/4-2). The people in the round, then, have only a vague sense of what the project is about, and I explain why this formal frame appears instead of open disclosure. I ask their permission to proceed. They either give it to me, or else our circle becomes something else, and we speak about performance practices and formal means of speaking about trauma instead.Having marked the space as one in which we agree on a specific framework or rule, having set up a space apart, we begin. One by one, raw and without preamble, people in the circle read what they have been given. The meaning of what they are reading only comes to them as they are reading—they have had little time to familiarise themselves with the words beforehand. Someone reads a poem about being held as a baby by one’s mother, being accepted, even through the writer’s body is so different. Someone reads about the persistence of shame. Someone reads about how incontinence is so often the borderline for independent living in contemporary cultures—up to here, freedom; past this point, at the point of leakage, the nursing home. Someone reads about her mother’s upset about digging up that awful past again. Someone reads about fibroid tumors in African-American women. Someone reads about the Venus Hottentott. Someone begins to cry (most recently at a Feminisms and Rhetorics conference), crying softly, and there is no knowing about why, but there is companionship, and quiet contemplation, and it is ok. These presentations start with low-key chatting, setting up the circle, and end the same way—once we have made our way around, once our fragments are read out, we just sit and talk, no “presentation-mode” emerges, and no one gets up into high drama. We’ve all taken strange things into our mouths, talked of piss and shit and blood and race and oppression and love and survival. Did we get free of ourselves, of the inevitability of narrative, in the attention to articulation, elocution, the performance of words, even if just for a moment? Did we taste the words on our tongues, material physical traces of a different form of embodiment? Container/ConclusionThe poet Anne Carson attended one of our Anarcha presentations, and her comments to us that evening helped to frame our subsequent work for me—she called our work creating a container, a vessel for experience, without sharing the specifics of that experience. I have since explored this image further, thought about amphorae as commemorative vases, thought of earth and clay as materials, thought of the illustrations on ancient vessels, on pattern and form, flow and movement. The vessel as matter: deterritorialising and reterritorialising, familiar and strange, shaping into form, and shaped out of formlessness, fired in the light and baked in the earth’s darkness, hardened only to crumble and crack again with the ages, returning to dust. These disclosures are in time and space—they are not narratives that create an archive or a body of knowledge. They breathe, and vibrate, and press against skin. What can be contained, what leaks, what finds its way through the membrane?These disclosures are traces of life, and I can touch them. I never get bored by them. Come and sit by my side, and we share in this river flow border vessel cell life.ReferencesBritzman, Deborah P. "Is There a Queer Pedagogy? Or, Stop Reading Straight." Educational Theory 45:2 (1995): 151–165. Burning. The Olimpias Project. Berkley; Eugene; Fort Worden. May-October, 2009Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987.Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality: Vol. 2. The Use of Pleasure. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage, 1985.Goffman, Erving. Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Anchor, 1969Kuppers, Petra. “Remembering Anarcha: Objection in the Medical Archive.” Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies 4.2 (2006): n.p. 24 July 2009 < http://liminalities.net/4-2 >.Cox, Aimee Meredith, Tiye Giraud, Anita Gonzales, Petra Kuppers, and Carrie Sandahl. “The Anarcha-Anti-Archive.” Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies 4.2 (2006): n.p. 24 July 2009 < http://liminalities.net/4-2 >.Lorde, Audre. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Berkeley: The Crossing Press, 1984.Marchetto, Marisa Acocella. Cancer Vixen: A True Story. New York: Knopf, 2006.St. Pierre, Elizabeth Adams. “Circling the Text: Nomadic Writing Practices.” Qualitative Inquiry 3.4 (1997): 403–18.

Looking back, the most striking development on the TV screen during the last decade, at least in the Netherlands, was without any doubt the explosive rise of what is usually called reality television. As reality TV almost always shows a profound interest in ‘real’ people’s emotions (hence the term ‘emotion television’ or ‘emo-TV’ as it is commonly shortened in Dutch), it has been heavily criticized for its apparently unscrupulous use, or rather abuse, of people’s feelings for the purpose of achieving higher ratings and profits. It has also been condemned for being television for large audiences at the expense of ordinary people. However, as time passes and the amount of ‘real’ emotions on the TV screen grows, more balanced assessments of the phenomenon are being offered. Now TV critics as well as scholars claim that, although there may be aspects of the genre that should be watched carefully, it has its own specific qualities as well (Glynn, Grindstaff). Thus, emo-TV raises intriguing questions, not only about the shifting social and cultural boundaries in love and other human relations, but also about the role of the media in these developments. I will explore these questions, using as specific examples of the sub-genre two originally Dutch emo-TV formats that became international successes during the 1990s. The first one is Love letters, a game show in which three participants propose to their lovers in a spectacular and especially emotional way, after which they have to compete to marry at the end of the show in front of the live audience as well as the viewers at home. First broadcast in 1990, it has been exported throughout Europe during the 1990s. Even more controversial (and successful) was All you need is love, a dating show in which participants are invited to record a love message on videotape for their lover, ex-lover or, most intriguing, their secret love. This show, which started in 1992, has by now been exported to fourteen countries worldwide, including the United States and Australia. The creator and producer of both shows is John de Mol, currently CEO of the rapidly expanding television production company Endemol, and better known as the devisor of that other infamous reality TV format: Big Brother. Postmodern romance Given the enormous success of the concepts of Love letters and All you need is love in so many different countries throughout the world, one might wonder why such huge numbers of viewers are attracted to images of people attracted to each other. To put the issue in more sociological terms, what does the interaction of the audiences with this kind of television tell us about the relation between communities in society in general, and about the relation between television and its audiences in particular? First of all, what does it mean for the (re/de)construction of love and romance in postmodern societies? Regarding the participants first and foremost, one of the critiques most often heard on All you need in this respect, is that by participating in the show, people actually prove to be unable to express their feelings for each other in a direct, interpersonal way. This, as the reasoning often continues, is a quite convincing sign of the state of alienation in which individuals in the anonymous, depersonalized western world today find themselves. In other words, television has to help out where life fails. In my view, such a critique is totally beside the point. Following Angela McRobbie’s argument on (post)modern romance in general, a point she made in an interview with Anil Ramdas on Dutch television, the way people express themselves in these shows is a sign of the playfulness with which many young people give expression to their feelings of love, a playfulness which combines their knowledge and experience with hopes and desires that are often at odds with each other. The result is a self-reflexive showing off of what John Caughie in another context called “ironic knowingness”: the (re)presentation of one’s real, deeply felt emotions in a way that at the same time shows the irony, construction and relativity of them (54). Participants in All you need often refer to, and make jokes about, the playfulness of the spectacle, while at the same time being shy and dead-serious about their feelings. Being self-reflexive in the way in which they ‘organize’ their proposal (i.e. the format of the program), they appear to be well aware of the construction, and to enjoy it. This is exactly what makes the show so different from traditional dating shows, even a sophisticated American example like Studs. These shows are about the game of seduction, with all its frivolous playfulness. The participants always have the excuse that they came for the game, not for a particular person. In All you need, there is no excuse: the stakes are extensively focused on from the start, and they are about a person, not the play. In fact, this is just a televisual form of Umberto Eco’s much-quoted example. He stated that if you love someone today, you can’t just say “I love you madly” anymore, as this would probably only produce a laugh as response. The only strategy left - not only to say the same thing but also to reach the same effect with it - is intertextuality. Thus, you show that you know that it has been said a million times before, “As Barbara Cartland would say: I love you madly”. Now, some ten years later, you go to Love letters or All you need, make a TV-performance out of your proposal and thus (implicitly) tell him or her: “As Eric Forrester would say ...”. In the above-mentioned interview McRobbie pointed to the liberating elements this irony in romance has, especially for young women. As the traditional concept of romance has always placed women in a passive and dependent position, this ironic playfulness opens up opportunities to change ways of behavior and (power) relations in romance. It does so not by ignoring or denying the old fantasies that we have come to know (and perhaps even love), as it would be impossible and (to some of us) undesirable to just simply forget them. But it does so by making fun of them while at the same time enjoying them. Using this irony, we can explore the ambiguity of romance, with all its historically and culturally determined creativities and constraints. And this is exactly what happens in shows like Love letters and All you need, where ‘real’ people playfully experiment with representations of ‘real’ romance, in front of our very eyes Emo-TV, gender and other relations Regarding the issue of gender relations and representations on TV, the fact that emotions are the central theme of prime time shows like these, is interesting in itself. After all, emotions are traditionally said to be the central focus of interest for women, in real life and (arguably as a consequence) on the screen. As arguments about the tastelessness or inappropriateness of real and fierce emotions on the screen most often come from male viewers/critics, is it really ‘natural’ to think of these kinds of emotions as private, and to reject their showing on TV as a degeneration of good taste or cultural value? And, why do so many people today feel an urgent need to reveal their emotions and watch these shows on television, against their ‘natural tendencies’? One of the issues obviously at stake here is the dichotomy of the public versus the private. In this context, it could be argued that shows like these take an important step in the feminist project of formulating the personal as political, by making the personal very public. From the first tentative qualitative research, we know that these shows generate conversation in the home, including that between men and women, making power structures in personal relationships an easier (or less easily avoidable) topic for discussion. Besides, as available statistics show that roughly 40% of the average viewing public of these programs consists of men, it would not be too optimistic to suppose that some of them like the shows too. If so, it is clear that this shift in values will affect our common, social understandings of the public and private spheres (Bondebjerg). This dichotomy of public versus private also has to do with yet another power relation that is shifting within, and being shifted by, emo-TV: the power over the medium as such. This relates to one of the quite generally shared criticisms of emo-TV, claiming that it exploits ordinary people by (ab)using their emotions to make highly successful, profitable TV programs. Of course it is true that the program producers do ‘use’ people’s emotions to ‘gratify’ their audiences, and that their experience with the medium gives them advantages in foreseeing its effects. But this, in itself, doesn’t mean that this process happens at the cost of the people involved. In fact, participants in emo-shows not only seem to be quite aware of the consequences of being on TV, they often actively speculate on its effects. In a recent interview on Dutch television, de Mol stated that he sees this as a crucial development in the television medium as well as its role in (however public) personal relations. Once being understood as a view on the public world presented to us by professional journalists and actors, for younger generations television has developed into just another tool that can be used in all sorts of private matters. In this sense, the above lament, that television has to assist where life has failed, seems quite irrelevant. Indeed, the participants actively and purposefully take television into their lives to accomplish very real goals. This comment also applies to the discussions about the in-authenticity of the emotions in these shows, endlessly restated by critics claiming these are provoked by the television cameras and therefore never real. It is hard to see why this medium is not at least as relevant for the emotions as the result of a love poem, a bunch of roses or any other love(ly) cliché. Which brings us to the last dichotomy: the shifting relation between television and its audiences. The growing role of emo-TV in the programming schedules means more stories from ordinary people on the TV screen. Television is thus developing from a medium filled with messages made (up) by professional television makers, to a medium (or better, a means) by which we, the people, tell each other our own intimate stories in more or less our own way. It turns out that people are not only quite willing and able to articulate their emotions, they enjoy watching other people tell or show or play out theirs as well (Ross). Television makers do indeed seem to have no other choice than giving love more space and time on TV. Therefore, emo-TV is the genre-par-excellence to raise the intriguing question of whose medium it is anyway, even more so in the light of recent developments on television like reality soaps. Works Cited Bondebjerg, Ib. “Public discourse/private fascination: Hybridization in ‘true-life-stories’ genres”. Media, Culture and Society, vol. 18. 1996: 27-45. Caughie, John. “Playing at being American: Games and tactics.” Ed. Patricia Mellencamp. Logics of television: Essays in cultural criticism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990. 54-55. de Mol, John. Interviewed on Netwerk (Network). November 22, 1999. Eco, Umberto. Postscript to The name of the rose. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovitch, 1984. Glynn, Kevin. Tabloid culture: Trash taste, popular culture and the transformation of American culture. Duke University Press, 2000. Grindstaff, Laura. The money shot: Trash, class and the making of TV talk shows. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. McRobbie, Angela. Meisjesstijlen: gesprek met Angela McRobbie en Ann Phoenix (Girls’ styles: discussion with Angela McRobbie and Ann Phoenix. Ed. Anil Ramdas In mijn vades house (In my father’s house). Amsterdam: Jan Mets, 1994. 61-78. Ross, Andrew. No respect: Intellectuals and popular culture. London: Routledge, 1989. 102-134. Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Reesink, Maarten. "The Eternal Triangle of Love, Audiences and Emo-TV" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.6 (2002). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/emo-TV.php>. APA Style Reesink, M., (2002, Nov 20). The Eternal Triangle of Love, Audiences and Emo-TV. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 5,(6). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/emo-TV.html