i was planning to keep here and retrospectively tonight some notes and remarks pushed by the conference held at the University of Jordan these days (may 8-10, 2007) under the title "new horizons in discourse". i attend, i keep my notebook open, my pen active. i prepare to use the mic, then i change my mind: the reason may be that young ambitious student in his badleh
(suit) and the brown tie who considers it his duty to declare that he is devoted to postmodernism- his looks show mostly the special appeal of pre-modernism
on him. "hello everybody"- he starts his comment with-- so melancholic, like a cabaret show sketch. anyway, there are very interesting topics discussed the last two days. I find it even more interesting combined with the teapot tempest of the student elections going on outside the lecture halls. the posters, the appearance
of a Luna
park. if i may use the metaphor of the Luna
park, then our conference can be an impressive mirror hall, with distortions, reflections, reproduction of the image: insightful instance, and this is something i mean. yesterday, the teleconference with Homi Bhaba
was great, I spent it standing, enjoying watching few of my students listening to his analysis very carefully. The professors were addressing him with the holy respect towards Apollo in the Oracle of Delphi
. Which was nice. He enjoyed his part, something between Pythia
and Sibylla in front of some dense and short curtains at Harvard. I missed his texts.
I will come come back to these events.
In this form or another. I even took few photos.
One may assume a lot through http://www.ju.edu.jo/Conferences/conferences_conference%20on%20new%20horizons%20in%20discourse.html
especially the PDF
file to be found there.
But I also wanted to keep a note about my coming back home, walking in heat and finding the Watermelon stand in full glory, forcing the pedestrian to enter the main street again, because of the decorative Watermelons
, al Batikh al
Nevertheless, I omit
everything, because I went just now for a short walk around the building: the street was dark and my encouragement to continue was the succession of jasmine perfume from the one minimal garden to the other. So, poor Spring, this is the voucher of your flight, your (round trip-if lucky) ticket of departure: the untidy crown of jasmine.
Labels: neighbourhood, Spring