Aphorisms

Jim Finnegan, proprietor of the ursprache blog, read The Zürau Aphorisms of Franz Kafka (Schocken Books, 2006), translated by Michael Hofmann, on a plane recently and sent these thoughts: “The original aphorisms, though known of and posthumously published but only partly, were discovered in a folder in an archive in the new Bodleian Library at Oxford University. It was evident from the care in which they were composed (carefully hand written, numerated and ordered on thin strips of paper) that they were meant to be read as a whole series. In the introduction and the concluding essay to the volume, the Kafka scholar Roberto Calasso gives context to these aphorisms and the period of their undertaking. They were composed by Kafka in 1917-18 during a convalescence and a time of relative ease (except for the torment of household mice), while he was living with his sister in the town Zürau.  As the introduction states, the aphorisms, though few in number (just over a hundred), are a varied lot. Some are short and pithy, as we expect of the aphorism. But quite few run to paragraph length. And some, but not the best of them, delve into theological issues based on Biblical themes. Others are sophisticated philosophical musings. A few are lovely collapsed parables, like this one:

The dogs are still playing in the yard, but the quarry will not escape them, never mind how fast it is running through the forest already.

Strangely, almost none of these aphorisms speak directly about fiction, literature or the practice of writing. This one comes closest:

‘And then he went back to his job, as though nothing had happened.’ A sentence that strikes one as familiar from any number of stories—though it might not have appeared in any of them.

And since that one comes very close to the end of the collection, it might serve as an apt summation for these fleeting illuminations written while Kafka himself was relieved for a time from the obligations and stresses of work; and fitting, too, because the aphorism, as genre, was a type of literary work he never returned to.”

Kafka is featured on pp. 372–374 of Geary’s Guide, but here are some Zürau aphorisms not in my book:

You can withdraw from the sufferings of the world—that possibility is open to you and accords with your nature—but perhaps that withdrawal is the only suffering you might be able to avoid.

Theoretically, there is one consummate possibility of felicity: to believe in the indestructible in oneself, and then not to go looking for it.

He runs after the facts like someone learning to skate, who furthermore practices where it is dangerous and has been forbidden.

In the struggle between yourself and the world, hold the world’s coat.

Leopards break into the temple and drink all the sacrificial vessels dry; it keeps happening; in the end, it can be calculated in advance and is incorporated into the ritual.

There is a destination but no way there; what we refer to as way is hesitation.

Thomas Fitzgerald has cooked up an original mix of aphorisms (what he calls “the stuff of life”) and bread recipes (what has long been known as the staff of life). Daily Bread consists of 705 original aphorisms and a clutch of recipes from some of America’s foremost bread makers. “We might look upon aphorisms and epigrams … much as we look upon bread,” Fitzgerald writes, “as an essential substance that nourishes us on a most fundamental level, while leaving us with a warm and enduring sense of satisfaction. Indeed, what aphorism or epigram is not a sort of manna wrought from the grist of life itself, smeared over with a most-pleasing confection?” Which only serves to prove what I’ve always argued: Aphorisms are all you really knead.

Every liar must possess in memory what he lacks in conscience.

Anger acknowledged is information; anger acted upon, error.

Humility is the last lesson learned, the first forgot.

A single rose is an expression of love; a dozen, an admission of guilt.

Maturity is wasted on the mature.

He who laughs last laughs alone.

Eric Nelson, whom you may recall from this 2009 post, is back with some more of his haiku-like aphorisms. Some of these sayings have unmistakeable Zen overtones, such as the aphorism below about the green mountain. Yet others, like the one about chickens and hawks, are much more in the proverbial tradition. An interesting combination, since Zen-like aphorisms tend towards the paradoxical while proverbs are much more matter-of-fact, a mix that gives these poems/haikus/koans/aphorisms a tinge of Eastern mysticism along with a dollop of Mid-Western (or maybe Southern?) plainspeaking.

In the gray brain nothing
Is black or white.

The dead know nothing,
The only thing
You can’t imagine.

A thousand shades of green
Make the mountain
A singular green.

Whether you see them or not
Stars are always there,
Always falling.

If you’ll have chickens
Expect hawks.

This just in from Jim Finnegan, proprietor of the ursprache blog: “Charles Simic was born in 1938 in Belgrade, Serbia (Yugoslavia at the time). His family came to the U.S. in 1954 and settled in Chicago. He has published numerous books of poetry and critical prose, and has won major awards for his poetry, a Pulitzer Prize, MacArthur Foundation ‘genius grant’, and the Wallace Stevens Award, among others. He has keen eye for the unusual poetic image and the expressiveness of everyday circumstances. Inflected by philosophical notions and the darker aspects 20th-century history, his poetry has an easy way of blending the profound and comic. In 2008 he published a collection of his aphorisms, The Monster Loves His Labyrinth (Ausable Press, 2008).” A selection of aphorisms from The Monster Loves His Labyrinth:

The new American Dream is to get very rich and still be regarded as a victim.

The infinite riches of an empty room. Silence makes visible what now appears to be the most interesting grain of dust in the whole world.

Being is not an idea in philosophy, but a wordless experience we have from time to time.

Consciousness: this dying match that sees and knows the name of what it throws its brief light upon.

We live in the nameless present convinced if we give things names we will know where we are.

Everything, of course, is a mirror if you look at it long enough.

Check out ursprache for more of Jim Finnegan’s musings…

The latest issue of the excellent FragLit Magazine is out and it includes aphorisms by Simon May and Daniel Liebert, both alums of this blog and of Geary’s Guide. FragLit is edited by Olivia Dresher, an accomplished aphorist herself. Here’s my current favorite from Mr. Liebert

Jugglers magically replace a moment with the same moment

one of the very few aphorisms about juggling, by the way, (for more from Mr. Liebert follow this link) and from Mr. May:

All ways home are a detour.

(for more from Mr. May follow this link). Grateful acknowldgement is hereby given to Olivia and FragLit Magazine.

Gregory Norminton describes himself as a “novelist and seated person.” From that sedentary position, he also writes really good aphorisms, which you can peruse on his aptly titled website How to be Awake. Norminton is a fan of E.M. Cioran and La Rochefoucauld and it shows (and I mean that in a good way): Their dark insights into the human condition glitter around the edges of these aphorisms. And like those two great aphorists, Norminton clearly feels no dismal truth is so bleak that it doesn’t also deserve a laugh. Whereas the laughter in Cioran’s sayings often sounds like a wracking cough from a graveyard, and the laughter in La Rochefoucauld is as sarcastic and mocking as it is hearty, Norminton’s laughter is genuinely jolly and a bit wisecracking. He describes his aphoristic agenda thusly: “Is it procrastination or literature? A bit of both, probably. Here you’ll find a selection of aphorisms as they ‘occur’ to me (i.e. once I’ve puzzled over every comma). Enjoy. And observe copyright.” I trust I will have strictly observed copyright while still offering a small selection of Norminton’s most profound procrastinations. Go to How to be Awake to read more.

The failure of extraterrestrial intelligence to contact us may well be proof of its existence.

We declare the person fascinating who listens to us longest.

What’s blindingly obvious cannot be looked at.

A better word for triumph is reprieve.

One day, the messengers of the world will rise up and shoot first.

If a truth falls on deaf ears, does it make a sound?