Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I sat on Balzac’s lap, Betula said.
The psychiatrist twitched his nose,
Scribbled notes. Where was this?

Outside a Paris cafe. He looked up
At her and stared. Were you alone?
No Balzac was there. He scribbled

More notes, his pen moved quickly
Across the page. Anyone else?
My grandmother. Can she substantiate

You sitting on Balzac’s lap? Yes, she
Was there. Where about does your
Grandmother live? She doesn’t.

Doesn’t what? He asked. Live. She
Died some years back, but she does
Visit. The psychiatrist frowned, scribbled

More notes. Do you see anyone else?
Yes, my sister, Alice. Is she dead, too?
Oh, no, she lives at home with Mother.

He sat back in his chair that squeaked.
Betula put her hands on the arms of
Her chair and moved them backward

And forward, studying the psychiatrist,
His deep set eyes, his thick brows, his
Thin lips. Why did you sit on Balzac’s lap?

He asked. Because he said I could, she
Replied, feeling the warmth from rubbing
Her hands on the arms of the chair. Do you

Know who Balzac was? He asked. He said
He was a writer, Betula said, putting
Her hands in her lap. He died in 1850,

The psychiatrist said. Yes, I know,
Betula muttered, he said. He scribbled
More notes. He gazed at her. It’s all in

Your mind, he said, these things you say
You see and do. Balzac said you’d say that,
She replied, said no one would believe what

I said about him and sitting on his lap.
The psychiatrist took out a peppermint,
Put it in his mouth and sucked. Betula

Looked over his head and said, Grandmother
Says I’m done for, Balzac says, I’m fucked.

To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish it with a final signified, to close the writing. Such a conception suits criticism very well, the latter then allotting itself the important task of discovering the Author (or its hypostases: society, history, psyche, liberty) beneath the work: when the Author has been found, the text is 'explained'- victory to the critic.

roland barthes essay on balzac

http://evans-experientialism.freewebspa ... thes06.htm

Thank you, sweetwater.

Hey Terry, do ya think Betula could sit on my lap? I think if she could then the only thing she could tell her doctor about it all is, "He was a busy, busy man."

You never know what she might do, the mingo.