I also got acquainted tonight with someone who introduced himself as Leon, who I soon found out hails from Lyon in France, same as where Dominique comes from, and when Leon said Lyon is in southeast of France, near Switzerland, I quickly asked if it was near Annecy, and he said yes and that his brother lives there, and I say it must have a nice view of the Alps. He studied linguistics, same as Dominique, and was also a student of journalism. He studied English and Spanish and is also now studying German. I asked if he was studying with the Goethe Institut, he said yes, and so I quickly showed him my lanyard bearing the website address of goethe.de from the Goethe Institut from which I hang all of my keys. I also said I have a library card at the Goethe and learned German many years ago. Leon is here as an interpreter, not quite a translator, and he begun to explain the difference. I said, yes, I understand, you almost have to get inside the culture you are interpreting for the other culture and vice versa. I mentioned that Umberto Eco had a lecture and published a book Experiences in Translation which he delivered at the University of Toronto some years back, and that hes been to visit several times. Leon was quite new and naive about McLuhan (outside of what little was taught him from his journalism classes), and so I proceeded to tell him some of what I know about the man and his ideas (on literature as a function, the tetrad of the laws of media, figure+ground, etc), and that over there was his youngest son, there his grandson, and many around in the room his students from years ago. I explained that losing Marshall McLuhan (he died in the mid-80s) from the university was like experiencing the fall of the Berlin Wall. It is something you remember if you were in its presence and its sudden absence. The night proceeded with one of McLuhans sons presenting unpublished photographs of McLuhan from the photographer Yousuf Karsh and telling stories how the young boy (Michael) met John Lennon and Yoko Ono when they visited his dad at the Coach House in the 60s. There were many other stories told by his former students and lifelong friends (artists, composers, physicists, poets), some singing (creating acoustic space), and the slam poetry, and a showing of unpublished film of McLuhan dug up from the Ottawa Library Archives that were tagged under miscellaneous. The whole affair was ended abruptly when a gentleman appeared to have been having a seizure stroke. I was one of about four people to dial 911. He revived and did not actually need a paramedic, but his friend insisted they go check in at emerg. I hung up on the call, and the dispatcher promptly called back and I had to relay the message that immediate help was not needed at the time. It was a premature end to the return of the Coach House. We were looking forward to more poetry (a sultry one was promised) from Adeena Karasick. That will have to fall under the coulda-beens. I am looking forward to meeting Prof Ian Hacking there when he shows up in the next few.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Oct 2013 05:01:03 +0000