Not many can say they have left a trace of themselves in far-flung cultures through the doctoral candidates who flocked to his seminars...
Back Door Side Door Front Door : Which door might a Confucian take
.......for René ETIEMBLE (Jan. 26, 1909 – Jan. 7, 2002)*
In homage - dedicated to the Chair Professor of Comparative Literature
........at the prestigious pre-1968 Sorbonne University
Barely a few speechless moments before your first words
.........burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre » :
...................‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos
.......que van a dar en la mar,
.......que es el morir ;
……………………………
.......y llegados, son iguales
.......los que viven por sus manos
.......y los ricos.’
.......Is the open back door which emboldens courage
No untarnished name to be remembered by
No selfless mate to lay by your honour
.......No issue laying about themselves for your prize
.......Decidedly it was a door of stealth
As if choosing it.....you let it be known
you were only merely passing by
.......and stopped to hang your hat here for a while
Yet you let your kin and callers believe
......your whims were worth putting up with
......your mischievous tantrums and gripes
merely the mental athlete’s unwinding antics
The poïetic birth pangs of imminent glory
......just the mounting stones in the monumental lighthouse
that ages from hence would pick forth
......your works on Montesquieu.....Confucius
your unfathomable literary resource
You upheld dozens who did leave behind a name
......a lasting name...not quite torn from solitary pain
Yet who could deny you could have bettered their fame
......What undisclosed pain you harboured in your brain
Oh so strangely were you endowed with the intelligence
......of the Chun Tzu - that uncanny eagle’s scan
To rout out of the mazes of your students’ past lives
......just that one passage through their Tierra del Fuego
But then you who completely espoused the rigours
......of that step by step mounting of respectful steps
Were unsparing in your demands of adherence
......to old Master Kung’s hierarchical obedience
An open hand ready to sign any cheque
......to succour the caller’s needs
......was alas ! also the whip hand
To keep the renegades in constant check
You were possessed of a rare brand of anger
......which shook the land about you
At those who bent justice to their unsavoury will
......such thunder boiled from within the guts of the earth
Now you’re gone and empty lecture halls echo your
......uncontainable ire where forged resounding silence
You said at the start of a seminal master-seminar :
......« Nul n’est prophète dans son pays ! »
With the distaff side hanging on your every word
......wondering if your plans were for something yet undone
No stray notes lie about to record your travail
.....No visible correspondence to make it all credible
Only books and books...files magazines and books
.....and an overcrowdedly conquered mental pad
jumbled words scratched into shaded inchoate sketches
.....ganglia synapses ...... shot-up neurons
......no clues to a ragingly flailing mind
.............none to record the lives you succoured
.....................nor even the beneficiaries’ hurriedly scribbled thanks
.......nor besides to the beclouding relations with one and all
...............not even a hint at why you may have refused
.......................to forge a name beyond the beaten path of fame
Would going by the front door
in a fanfare of tv talkshows conference papers prize-giving ceremonies paper-interviews in ample studied poses and thoughts for future auto-memoirs volume one to seven the rest put-together posthumously in an omnibus
expurgated version with prefaces notes introductions critiques eulogies
...............would it have been less like you
...............................................................to exit by the side-door
the baywindow leading to reflected glory
........in a cool cloister of buffeted leaves
stray poems in the tradition of your schooled masters
or did you burn them all
..................................................................................in a fit of (cou)rage
......... tore them to bits...incinerated by your fiery mind
............................or squashed within yesterday’s leftovers
not caring who thought what
.................the mocking condescension
...............................................................towards
qu’en-dira-t-on
* The late Professor René Etiemble held the Chair of Comparative Literature at the old, pre-1968 Sorbonne University but retired in 1978 while a professor at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University. In later life, he even refused nomination to the French Academy of Letters, though he did accept the Academy’s Prize. He was a prolific critic, essayist, and memorialist, having published some poetry (one book, he burned the rest) and three novels. Like most French greats, he finished schooling at the highly competive Louis le Grand Lycée which runs alongside the Sorbonne. A renowned linguist (he could either speak or do research into a dozen languages) and grammarian (a graduate of the prestigious and elite Ecole Normale Supérieure de rue d’Ulm, Paris), he remained until his very last days an inveterate Sinophile. He edited the Gallimard-instituted UNESCO oriental literary classics series, a fitting tribute to his encyclopaedic learning. He was also one of the editors of the Encyclopedia Universalis. His father died when he was four, and his mother did menial chores in rich homes to pay for his upkeep. He never ever forgot how the rich folk maltreated and abused her. (Perhaps some self-chosen psychiatrist in AD will be able to lift some lines from the Mayo Clinic site to characterize Etiemble's behaviour?)
During WWII, he taught at Chicago University and was co-opted into the State Department for the war effort in New York.
DEATH, INDEED...DOES MAKE US ALL EQUAL. THE TRULY GIFTED ARE SELDOM UNDERSTOOD YET THEY ARE RESPECTED AND APPRECIATED FOR BEING WHO AND WHAT THEY ARE. I THINK THE BACK DOOR...MERELY A GUESS, OF COURSE. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...HIS+INSPIRATIONS
I can't tell if this is a post-mortem love/hate dialog, or
a purely intellectual write interspersed with reverence.
Either way, it's fascinating to read.
Bonjour Ron ! Hope you're putting up with the lockdown as best you can. Out here, it's pretty tough, indeed, with hordes and broads defying the authorities and tripping out un-masked. I've added a couple of sentences to the bio-data which might interest you, if not some other... To come to your point about Etiemble's penchant for the language - of course, you're right. His name became an household word, during 1964 onwards, in every Francophile country with the publication of "Parlez-vous franglais?" (meaning: "Do you speak Frencinglish" - more or less). The other point about students "flocking" to his seminars was, of course, an overstatement: they came to have his signature on their doctoral diplomas which assured them an uncontested rise in the academic world. For myself (I'll include an anecdotal essay on him later for there's already a host of reviews and articles on him), I must record here that he recommended me to the foremost research organization in the world, the CNRS, and our relationship continued for a decade or so, for which I'm most grateful. Unfortunately, the extreme good luck turned almost instantly into HELL ever since. By the way, doctoral candidates - once they are accepted - don't see their directors until they have finished their research and writing-up. Had a good day, Ron!
Another great poetic tribute to one of your mentors, Professor René Etiemble. Certainly a man of letters and mentor of many doctoral students along the way. I sense that he had a great anger against the abuse of language and evil whenever he found it. I have known professors like that. These great professors have been the backbone of civilization. I fear with the loss of academic freedom and lifetime positions spanning decades in a single institution, the world will have lost some of its ability to steer the course of our civilization.
Adjunct professors are too busy trying to make a religion and looking for their next job paying a bit more without any benefits, to try to mentor students the way they should be any more. It is sad that without a firm anchor in the ivory tower, learning will be turned backward into practical, trade education like the Middle Ages before the Renaissance.
To answer the question, I am too unfamiliar with Confucius. But I am familiar with confusion. I usually open the door that is hardest to open. But the light of the front door is most attractive.
Yankee Doodle Daddy is a historical Appalachian Family Saga. The story follows a mother's reckoning as she struggles to survive and keep her four daughters alive.
Exploring the impact of literary icon Flannery O'Connor's noted legacy on the cultural realities of modern-day America, the world, and a certain author.
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a purely intellectual write interspersed with reverence.
Either way, it's fascinating to read.
Adjunct professors are too busy trying to make a religion and looking for their next job paying a bit more without any benefits, to try to mentor students the way they should be any more. It is sad that without a firm anchor in the ivory tower, learning will be turned backward into practical, trade education like the Middle Ages before the Renaissance.
To answer the question, I am too unfamiliar with Confucius. But I am familiar with confusion. I usually open the door that is hardest to open. But the light of the front door is most attractive.
Ron