“So you’re here after all!” the headmaster says to me.
“Why don’t you take notes during the movie? Our little group of co-workers can give you their table.”
“Notes? What kind of notes should I take? On the things in the film?”
“No! You will distill the rhythms of the movie and the rhythms of the hail and you will fuse them with the laughter of those who have witnessed the death of the courtesan: then we will have some inkling of Purgatory.”
Max Jacob, Poem, çev. Jerome Rothenberg, The Random House Book of Twentieth Century French Poetry, der. Paul Auster içinde, NY: Vintage Books, 1984, s. 35.