Affichage des articles dont le libellé est géographie. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est géographie. Afficher tous les articles
lundi 27 février 2012
DESROSIERS, Léo-Paul
Il y a une manière de prendre la lame. Seul, Montour ne la comprend pas bien encore. Bombardier s'efforce de l'aider; il donne des signaux. Mais chaque mouvement de Montour reçoit le commandement de son intelligence et de sa volonté, non celui de l'habitude: alors le mouvement arrive toujours de quelques secondes en retard. (50)
DESROSIERS, Léo-Paul
Turenne suit de vieux sentiers à peine indiqués qui serpentent sous bois, dévalent dans des ravins, franchissent des ruisseaux et des lacs qui ne sont plus, dans le paysage, que de grandes clairières. Le soir vient: l'homme s'arrête, creuse un large trou avec ses raquettes et les suspend ensuite à un arbre. Il allume un grand feu et il mange. Bientôt, il s'allonge sur le lit de branches de sapin, au fond du trou, entre les grosses couvertures; l'air pur passe entre ses lèvres, froid comme de l'eau, des étoiles brillent là-haut dans le firmament bleu noir. Et partout s'étend un silence complet, un silence de planète saisie par le froid, gelée jusqu'en son centre, toute vie détruite. (158)
DESROSIERS, Léo-Paul
Louison Turenne se traîne. De son couteau, il frappe au cœur, à la manière indienne, le caribou couché; puis il boit une gorgée de ce sang très chaud. Il se repose. Puis il détache un morceau de chair, la fait bouillir sur le feu, et il distribue un peu de bouillon à chacun; il suspend au-dessus des flammes l'estomac de l'animal qui contient des substances facilement digestibles, et il extrait la cervelle. Le sommeil le gagne. Mais quand pourra-t-il s'y abandonner? Ces hommes affamés se jetteraient sur la viande crue, qu'il doit leur défendre maintenant comme un poison, et ils mourraient. Déjà, deux d'entre eux agonisent. N'est-ce pas suffisant? (128)
Léo-Paul Desrosier. Les Engagés du Grand-Portage. Bibliothèque canadienne-française, Fides, Montréal, 1969 [1938], 219 p.
Léo-Paul Desrosier. Les Engagés du Grand-Portage. Bibliothèque canadienne-française, Fides, Montréal, 1969 [1938], 219 p.
mardi 16 juin 2009
SEGAL, Eric J.
p. 639 :
Having recognized the need to manage adolescence, and bolstered by a tenable theoretical framework, boys’ workers found further incentive for their mission in the nationalistic rhetoric of expansionism that followed the closing of the American frontier. F. J. Turner's 1893 address, « The Significance of the Frontier in American History, » held that the unique national character of the American people was the product of their evolution in confronting the ever-present, though now bygone, frontier. In its place the city increasingly defined American social life at some peril to values established in the conquest of the frontier. Echoing sentiments of the frontier thesis – its nostalgic acknowledgment of the passing of the untamed West and the consequent need for new kinds of frontiers to secure manliness – Daniel Carter Beard, an early BSA leader, argued :
« The Wilderness is gone, the Buckskin Man is gone, the painted Indian has hit the trail over the Great Divide, the hardships and privations of pioneer life which did so much to develop sterling manhood are now but a legend in history, and we must depend upon the Boy Scout Movement to produce the MEN of the future. »
The Boy Scout movement, then, aimed to counteract the debilitating influences of women, the city, and modern life, taken to be the antithesis of the uniquely American experience of the frontier.
("Norman Rockwell and the Fashioning of American Masculinity" dans The Art Bulletin, Vol. 78, No. 4 (Dec., 1996))
Having recognized the need to manage adolescence, and bolstered by a tenable theoretical framework, boys’ workers found further incentive for their mission in the nationalistic rhetoric of expansionism that followed the closing of the American frontier. F. J. Turner's 1893 address, « The Significance of the Frontier in American History, » held that the unique national character of the American people was the product of their evolution in confronting the ever-present, though now bygone, frontier. In its place the city increasingly defined American social life at some peril to values established in the conquest of the frontier. Echoing sentiments of the frontier thesis – its nostalgic acknowledgment of the passing of the untamed West and the consequent need for new kinds of frontiers to secure manliness – Daniel Carter Beard, an early BSA leader, argued :
« The Wilderness is gone, the Buckskin Man is gone, the painted Indian has hit the trail over the Great Divide, the hardships and privations of pioneer life which did so much to develop sterling manhood are now but a legend in history, and we must depend upon the Boy Scout Movement to produce the MEN of the future. »
The Boy Scout movement, then, aimed to counteract the debilitating influences of women, the city, and modern life, taken to be the antithesis of the uniquely American experience of the frontier.
("Norman Rockwell and the Fashioning of American Masculinity" dans The Art Bulletin, Vol. 78, No. 4 (Dec., 1996))
PORTELLI, Alessandro
p. 81 :
America’s fluid frontiers, its composite, mobile, egalitarian democracy, the degree to which it seems, more than any other nation, to live in the present : all these traits are intentionally evoked in American literary writing by the improvisational, digressive, expansive, fluid and time-bound mark of the voice.
(The Text and the Voice, 1994)
America’s fluid frontiers, its composite, mobile, egalitarian democracy, the degree to which it seems, more than any other nation, to live in the present : all these traits are intentionally evoked in American literary writing by the improvisational, digressive, expansive, fluid and time-bound mark of the voice.
(The Text and the Voice, 1994)
HAZARD, Lucy Lockwood
p. xviii :
[L]ife in America has been conditioned by the perennial rebirth of the frontier. The successive frontiers present a moving picture of American life – moving geographically and chronologically from the Atlantic settlements of the 17th century to the California mining camps of the 19th century ; moving economically from the pathfinder, the trapper, to the exploiter, the land-speculator.
(The Frontier in American Literature, 1967)
[L]ife in America has been conditioned by the perennial rebirth of the frontier. The successive frontiers present a moving picture of American life – moving geographically and chronologically from the Atlantic settlements of the 17th century to the California mining camps of the 19th century ; moving economically from the pathfinder, the trapper, to the exploiter, the land-speculator.
(The Frontier in American Literature, 1967)
KOUWENHOVEN, John A.
p. 5 :
The least mechanized of all aspects of our society – the lives of men and women on the advancing frontier – depended upon the machine-made rifles and revolvers which enabled the pioneers to kill game and outfight the Indians, upon the steamboats and railroads which opened up new country for settlement, and upon the telegraph which made rapid intercommunication possible.
(The Arts in Modern American Civilization, 1967)
The least mechanized of all aspects of our society – the lives of men and women on the advancing frontier – depended upon the machine-made rifles and revolvers which enabled the pioneers to kill game and outfight the Indians, upon the steamboats and railroads which opened up new country for settlement, and upon the telegraph which made rapid intercommunication possible.
(The Arts in Modern American Civilization, 1967)
KOUWENHOVEN, John A.
p. 132 :
These new “folk arts” are […] the product of people directly involved with the dynamic forces of contemporary life […]. In order to distinguish them from the more familiar folk arts, I labeled these the vernacular arts – meaning by that the empirical attempts of ordinary people to shape the elements of their everyday environment in a democratic, technological age. Specifically, I meant the books, buildings and artifacts of all sorts whose forms have been shaped as a direct response to the new elements which democracy and technology have introduced into our environment within the past hundred and fifty years.
(The Beer Can by the Highway : Essays on What’s “American” about America, 1961)
These new “folk arts” are […] the product of people directly involved with the dynamic forces of contemporary life […]. In order to distinguish them from the more familiar folk arts, I labeled these the vernacular arts – meaning by that the empirical attempts of ordinary people to shape the elements of their everyday environment in a democratic, technological age. Specifically, I meant the books, buildings and artifacts of all sorts whose forms have been shaped as a direct response to the new elements which democracy and technology have introduced into our environment within the past hundred and fifty years.
(The Beer Can by the Highway : Essays on What’s “American” about America, 1961)
COOVER, Robert
p. 6 :
Not that Americans are superstitious, of course. How could they be, citizens of this, the most rational nation (under God) on earth? They need no omens to pull a switch, turn a buck, or change the world, for these are the elected sons and daughters of Uncle Sam, né Sam Slick, that wily Yankee Peddler who, much like that ballsy Greek girl of long ago, popped virgin-born and fully constituted from the shattered seed-poll of the very Enlightenment – « slick, » as the Evangels put it, « as a snake out of a black skin! » Young Sam, « lank as a leafless elm, » already chin-whiskered and plug-hatted and all rigged out in his long-tailed blue and his striped pantaloons, his pockets stuffed with pitches, patents, and pyrotechnics, burst upon the withering Old World like a Fourth of July skyrocket, snorting and neighing like a wild horse : « Who – Whoo – Whoop! Who’ll come gouge with me? Who’ll come bite with me? Rowff – Yough – Snort – YAHOO! In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress, I have passed the Rubicon – swim or sink, live or die, survive or perish, I’m in fer a fight, I’ll go my death on a fight, and with a firm reliance on the pertection of divine protestants, a fight I must have, or else I’ll have to be salted down to save me from spilin’! You hear me over thar, you washed-up varmints? This is the hope of the world talkin’ to you! I am Sam Slick the Yankee Peddler – I can ride on a flash of lightnin’, catch a thunderbolt in my fist, swaller niggers whole, raw or cooked, slip without a scratch down a honey locust, whup my weight in wildcats and redcoats, squeeze blood out of a turnip and cold cash out of a parson, and out-insructabullize the heatin Chinee […]! Lo, I say unto you, I have put a crimp in a cat-a-mount with my bare hands, hugged a cinnamon b’ar to death, and made a grizzly sing « Jesus, Lover of My Soul » in a painful duet with his own arsehole – and I have not yet begun to fight! Yippee! I’m wild and woolly and fulla fleas, ain’t never been curried below the knees, so if you wish to avoid foreign collision you had better abandon the ocean, women and children first! For we hold these truths to be self-evident : […] that nothing is sartin’ but death, taxes, God’s glowin’ Covenant, enlightened self-interest, certain unalienated rights, and woods, woods, woods, as far as the world extends!
(The Public Burning, 1977)
Not that Americans are superstitious, of course. How could they be, citizens of this, the most rational nation (under God) on earth? They need no omens to pull a switch, turn a buck, or change the world, for these are the elected sons and daughters of Uncle Sam, né Sam Slick, that wily Yankee Peddler who, much like that ballsy Greek girl of long ago, popped virgin-born and fully constituted from the shattered seed-poll of the very Enlightenment – « slick, » as the Evangels put it, « as a snake out of a black skin! » Young Sam, « lank as a leafless elm, » already chin-whiskered and plug-hatted and all rigged out in his long-tailed blue and his striped pantaloons, his pockets stuffed with pitches, patents, and pyrotechnics, burst upon the withering Old World like a Fourth of July skyrocket, snorting and neighing like a wild horse : « Who – Whoo – Whoop! Who’ll come gouge with me? Who’ll come bite with me? Rowff – Yough – Snort – YAHOO! In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress, I have passed the Rubicon – swim or sink, live or die, survive or perish, I’m in fer a fight, I’ll go my death on a fight, and with a firm reliance on the pertection of divine protestants, a fight I must have, or else I’ll have to be salted down to save me from spilin’! You hear me over thar, you washed-up varmints? This is the hope of the world talkin’ to you! I am Sam Slick the Yankee Peddler – I can ride on a flash of lightnin’, catch a thunderbolt in my fist, swaller niggers whole, raw or cooked, slip without a scratch down a honey locust, whup my weight in wildcats and redcoats, squeeze blood out of a turnip and cold cash out of a parson, and out-insructabullize the heatin Chinee […]! Lo, I say unto you, I have put a crimp in a cat-a-mount with my bare hands, hugged a cinnamon b’ar to death, and made a grizzly sing « Jesus, Lover of My Soul » in a painful duet with his own arsehole – and I have not yet begun to fight! Yippee! I’m wild and woolly and fulla fleas, ain’t never been curried below the knees, so if you wish to avoid foreign collision you had better abandon the ocean, women and children first! For we hold these truths to be self-evident : […] that nothing is sartin’ but death, taxes, God’s glowin’ Covenant, enlightened self-interest, certain unalienated rights, and woods, woods, woods, as far as the world extends!
(The Public Burning, 1977)
samedi 6 juin 2009
EGGERS, Dave
p. 47 :
Please look. Can you see us? Can you see us, in our little red car? Picture us from above, as if you were flying above us, in, say, a helicopter, or on the back of a bird, as our car hurtles, low to the ground, straining on the slow upward trajectory but still at sixty, sixty-five, around the relentless, sometimes ridiculous bends of Highway 1. Look at us, goddammit, the two of us slingshotted from the backside of the moon, greedily cartwheeling toward everything we are owed. Every day we are collecting on what's coming to us, each day we're being paid pack for what is owed, what we deserve, with interest, with some extra motherfucking consideration - we are owed, goddammit - and so we are expecting everything, everything. [...]
[...] Try to stop us, you pussy! You can't stop us from singing, and you can't stop us from making fart sounds, from putting our hands out the window to test the aerodynamics of different hand formations, from wiping the contents of our noses under the front of our seats. You cannot stop me from having Toph, who is eight, steer, on a straightaway, while I take off my sweatshirt because suddenly it's gotten really fucking hot. [...]
To our right is the Pacific, and because we are hundreds of feet above the ocean, often with nothing in the way of guardrail between us and it, there is sky not only above us but below us, too. Toph does not like the cliff, is not looking down, but we are driving in the sky, with clouds whipping over the road, the sun flickering through, the sky and ocean below. Only up here does the earth look round, only up here does the horizon dip at its ends, only up here can you see the bend of the planet at the edges of your peripheries. Only here you are almost sure that you are careening on top of a big shiny globe, blurrily spinning - you are never aware of these things in Chicago, it being so flat, so straight - and and and we have been chosen, you see, chosen, and have been given this, this being owed to us, earned by us, all of this - the sky is blue for us, the sun makes passing cars twinkle like toys for us, the ocean undulates and churns for us, murmurs and coos to us. We are owed, see, this is ours, see. We are in California, living in Berkeley, and the sky out here is bigger than anything we've ever seen - it goes on forever, is visible from every other hilltop - hilltops! - every turn on the roads of Berkeley, of San Francisco -
(A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, 2000)
Please look. Can you see us? Can you see us, in our little red car? Picture us from above, as if you were flying above us, in, say, a helicopter, or on the back of a bird, as our car hurtles, low to the ground, straining on the slow upward trajectory but still at sixty, sixty-five, around the relentless, sometimes ridiculous bends of Highway 1. Look at us, goddammit, the two of us slingshotted from the backside of the moon, greedily cartwheeling toward everything we are owed. Every day we are collecting on what's coming to us, each day we're being paid pack for what is owed, what we deserve, with interest, with some extra motherfucking consideration - we are owed, goddammit - and so we are expecting everything, everything. [...]
[...] Try to stop us, you pussy! You can't stop us from singing, and you can't stop us from making fart sounds, from putting our hands out the window to test the aerodynamics of different hand formations, from wiping the contents of our noses under the front of our seats. You cannot stop me from having Toph, who is eight, steer, on a straightaway, while I take off my sweatshirt because suddenly it's gotten really fucking hot. [...]
To our right is the Pacific, and because we are hundreds of feet above the ocean, often with nothing in the way of guardrail between us and it, there is sky not only above us but below us, too. Toph does not like the cliff, is not looking down, but we are driving in the sky, with clouds whipping over the road, the sun flickering through, the sky and ocean below. Only up here does the earth look round, only up here does the horizon dip at its ends, only up here can you see the bend of the planet at the edges of your peripheries. Only here you are almost sure that you are careening on top of a big shiny globe, blurrily spinning - you are never aware of these things in Chicago, it being so flat, so straight - and and and we have been chosen, you see, chosen, and have been given this, this being owed to us, earned by us, all of this - the sky is blue for us, the sun makes passing cars twinkle like toys for us, the ocean undulates and churns for us, murmurs and coos to us. We are owed, see, this is ours, see. We are in California, living in Berkeley, and the sky out here is bigger than anything we've ever seen - it goes on forever, is visible from every other hilltop - hilltops! - every turn on the roads of Berkeley, of San Francisco -
(A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, 2000)
vendredi 29 mai 2009
CHASSAY, Jean-François
p. 77 :
En réalité, c'est la radicale nouveauté [du téléphone] comme mode de communication qui fait problème dans le contexte romanesque américain de la fin du siècle. Les présupposés de la "réaction réaliste", dont le développement commence dans le courant des années soixante et étend ses ramifications jusqu'aux publications des "muckrackers" (Upton Sinclair, D. G. Philips) au début du siècle suivant, intégrant un naturalisme à l'américaine, rendent malaisée la présence d'un moyen de transmission de l'information qui ne laisse pas de traces. La volonté de dépeindre, de décrire le plus précisément possible la société américaine, que ce soit pour en faire la critique ou l'apologie, s'oppose à l'immatérialité de la transmission téléphonique.
(Fils, lignes, réseaux. Essai sur la littérature américaine, 1999)
En réalité, c'est la radicale nouveauté [du téléphone] comme mode de communication qui fait problème dans le contexte romanesque américain de la fin du siècle. Les présupposés de la "réaction réaliste", dont le développement commence dans le courant des années soixante et étend ses ramifications jusqu'aux publications des "muckrackers" (Upton Sinclair, D. G. Philips) au début du siècle suivant, intégrant un naturalisme à l'américaine, rendent malaisée la présence d'un moyen de transmission de l'information qui ne laisse pas de traces. La volonté de dépeindre, de décrire le plus précisément possible la société américaine, que ce soit pour en faire la critique ou l'apologie, s'oppose à l'immatérialité de la transmission téléphonique.
(Fils, lignes, réseaux. Essai sur la littérature américaine, 1999)
jeudi 28 mai 2009
McCARTHY, Cormac
p. 86 :
At a crossroads they sat in the dusk and he spread out the pieces of the map in the road and studied them. He put his finger down. This is us, he said. Right there. The boy wouldn't look. He sat studying the twisted matrix of routes in red and black with his finger at the junction where he thought that they might be. As if he'd see their small selves crouching there. We could go back, the boy said softly. It's not so far. It's not too late.
(The Road, 2006)
At a crossroads they sat in the dusk and he spread out the pieces of the map in the road and studied them. He put his finger down. This is us, he said. Right there. The boy wouldn't look. He sat studying the twisted matrix of routes in red and black with his finger at the junction where he thought that they might be. As if he'd see their small selves crouching there. We could go back, the boy said softly. It's not so far. It's not too late.
(The Road, 2006)
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