Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Marc Kregting

What is a hand?

What is a hand? That might seem a naive question, but in the age of reproduction, and, whether as a result of the clash of cultures or not, plastic surgeonisation, the artist hardly resembles the superman Romanticism and Futurism would have made of him. Maybe that’s for the best. It isn’t always pleasant but at least beneficial to achieve a proximity to oneself. After all, the exploitation of bluffing rarely did anyone much good and without evidence to the contrary every reproduction has its original, which, without irony, is legitimately referred to as ‘natural’. One can now submit his own hand to a thorough investigation, as if that rather intimate limb has grown into something figurative. Does this make the hand of the one the hand of the other? In 1968, when at least a generation clash and a memory clash had wanted heralding in, Ton Lemaire wrote in his essay Tenderness: ‘The hand – instrument of the disaffected consciousness – comes to itself in the mercilessness of the all-embracing transfigurer and the consolation of the loving caress.’

Wat is een hand? Dat lijkt een naïeve vraag, maar in een era van reproducties en, al dan niet door the clash of cultures veroorzaakte, plastische chirurgieën lijkt de kunstenaar in weinig nog op de supermens die de romantiek en het futurisme van hem wilde

Wat is een hand? Dat lijkt een naïeve vraag, maar in een era van reproducties en, al dan niet door the clash of cultures veroorzaakte, plastische chirurgieën lijkt de kunstenaar in weinig nog op de supermens die de romantiek en het futurisme van hem wilden maken. En misschien is dat maar goed ook. Het is niet altijd even prettig maar wel heilzaam om in de nabijheid van zichzelf te raken. Van de exploitatie van bluf is althans zelden iemand beter geworden en zonder tegenbericht kent een reproductie een origineel, dat men onironisch ‘natuurlijk’ mag noemen. Men kan nu zijn eigen hand aan een gedegen onderzoek onderwerpen, alsof dat toch tamelijk intieme lichaamsdeel oneigenlijk raakte. Wordt de hand van de een dan de hand van de ander? In 1968, toen er ten minste een generatieclash en een geheugenclash wilde ingeluid, schreef Ton Lemaire in het essay De tederheid: ‘De hand – orgaan van het ongelukkig bewustzijn – komt tot zichzelf in de meedogenloosheid van de allesvervormer en de vertroosting van de liefkozing.’
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What is a hand?

What is a hand? That might seem a naive question, but in the age of reproduction, and, whether as a result of the clash of cultures or not, plastic surgeonisation, the artist hardly resembles the superman Romanticism and Futurism would have made of him. Maybe that’s for the best. It isn’t always pleasant but at least beneficial to achieve a proximity to oneself. After all, the exploitation of bluffing rarely did anyone much good and without evidence to the contrary every reproduction has its original, which, without irony, is legitimately referred to as ‘natural’. One can now submit his own hand to a thorough investigation, as if that rather intimate limb has grown into something figurative. Does this make the hand of the one the hand of the other? In 1968, when at least a generation clash and a memory clash had wanted heralding in, Ton Lemaire wrote in his essay Tenderness: ‘The hand – instrument of the disaffected consciousness – comes to itself in the mercilessness of the all-embracing transfigurer and the consolation of the loving caress.’

What is a hand?

What is a hand? That might seem a naive question, but in the age of reproduction, and, whether as a result of the clash of cultures or not, plastic surgeonisation, the artist hardly resembles the superman Romanticism and Futurism would have made of him. Maybe that’s for the best. It isn’t always pleasant but at least beneficial to achieve a proximity to oneself. After all, the exploitation of bluffing rarely did anyone much good and without evidence to the contrary every reproduction has its original, which, without irony, is legitimately referred to as ‘natural’. One can now submit his own hand to a thorough investigation, as if that rather intimate limb has grown into something figurative. Does this make the hand of the one the hand of the other? In 1968, when at least a generation clash and a memory clash had wanted heralding in, Ton Lemaire wrote in his essay Tenderness: ‘The hand – instrument of the disaffected consciousness – comes to itself in the mercilessness of the all-embracing transfigurer and the consolation of the loving caress.’
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