Samuel Beckett – Apr 13, 1906 – Dec 22, 1989 (age 83)

This little story by Samuel Beckett “Stirrings Still” always reminds me of those convoluted latinate poems of e.e. cummings, the ones you must not only memorize, but perform internally and externally, fuse and merge beyond the memory of its actual enactment, a forgetting in the moment of saying… no matter how glum I get Beckett can make me smile inside… there has always been and will always be a kindness, a gentleness in his nihilism that goes beyond the banal truths… his ability to put the void in language, to distill out of the abyss a non-meaning that has something like an after spark rather than a taste of death in it… quintessential Beckett… this sense of absence in motion.. a pressing of the void that is this absence against the horizon…But that’s it isn’t it? In Beckett nothing ever truly ends: it’s this endless void dancing in motion, a waiting without end – two clowns in operatic speechlessness speaking past each other to the absence that never was there…yet, has always remained in its very nothingness. Samuel Beckett: the black mote in a comic’s eye, the voice both in and out of the end game. The best complement you could pay in homage to Beckett: Even his shadow is longer than time…

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“Waiting to see if he would or would not. Leave him or not alone again waiting for nothing again.”

           – Samuel Beckett,   The Complete Short Prose of Samuel Beckett, 1929-1989

3 thoughts on “Samuel Beckett – Apr 13, 1906 – Dec 22, 1989 (age 83)

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