I am reading Marc... or parts of his work... starting with two essays:
"On Still Life," Yale French Studies, No. 61, Towards a Theory of Description (1981), 276-298.
"From Cuba with Saints," Critical Inquiry 35 (Spring 2009), 383-416.
happy holiday season to all of you!
-Shannon
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Eiffel Tower, near Caiberien Cuba
In the spring of 2008, Marc joined Pedro (Roxy Rojo) and I in Santa Clara Cuba for a couple of days of the national small format theatre festival at El Mejunje. That Saturday, Pedro, Marc, and I jumped into Arrocha's car (along with a lovely lady whose name I have forgotten) and drove toward Pedro's hometown of Caiberien. Along the way, we came upon a kind of miniature sculpture of, or monument to, the Eiffel Tower. Marc made us pull over immediately to take a picture of him in front of the Tower. Anyone who has traveled with Marc in Cuba knows he was not one for the tourist-posed photo opp -- so this was very unusual. He made me promise to send a copy to his daughter by email... once I had given my promise we were back on the road.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Jeremy and Marc -- with smiles, well, with grins
one of my fave pics of Jeremy and Marc -- with grins on their faces!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
another story...
this goes back to when i was an undrgrad in comp. lit and was working with marc on my honors thesis...
i had written it all, was close to being done and met him in his office to see if he had any comments; he'd circled one word in the whole draft--liminal--and asked me why i'd used it; i said i liked it better than threshold, it sounded nicer, more lyrical and he said, no: you can't use use this word until you know what it means; there's a long history to this word and i want you to know what it is and then decide if it's still the word you want. i remember being frustrated for a few moments feeling my neatly laid plans of 'being done' and meeting deadlines, being derailed by more trips to the library, more research, more rewriting...but marc had said it in that voice that brooks no reistance so, ofcourse i immersed myself in the history of the word and it turned out to be one of the most important lessons in not using language loosely, not trusting the dictionary; it is a lesson that still resonates, and one that i continue to apply thanks to marc.
poonam
this goes back to when i was an undrgrad in comp. lit and was working with marc on my honors thesis...
i had written it all, was close to being done and met him in his office to see if he had any comments; he'd circled one word in the whole draft--liminal--and asked me why i'd used it; i said i liked it better than threshold, it sounded nicer, more lyrical and he said, no: you can't use use this word until you know what it means; there's a long history to this word and i want you to know what it is and then decide if it's still the word you want. i remember being frustrated for a few moments feeling my neatly laid plans of 'being done' and meeting deadlines, being derailed by more trips to the library, more research, more rewriting...but marc had said it in that voice that brooks no reistance so, ofcourse i immersed myself in the history of the word and it turned out to be one of the most important lessons in not using language loosely, not trusting the dictionary; it is a lesson that still resonates, and one that i continue to apply thanks to marc.
poonam
Marc's Inventions
Some of you may not know me - I was a grad student in French, back in the days when Marc was still in the French department. I heard about his passing from Kristin and Ellen, two grad students who were in the department with me. I have so many memories of Marc - many of them echo the things that have already been said about him here. Those liberating pieces of advice (Dissertation advice: 'Just write it. It's not like anybody's going to read it' - Strangely, that one really did it for me). His laughter - if I could channel it here I would - and his iconoclasm. The way he had of pulling the intellectual rug out from under you, giving you the perspective on things that nobody else would. I loved his exuberant weirdness.
One of my favorite memories of Marc is of a story (a tall tale?) he once told me about a particularly grey, depressing day in the corridors of Sproul Hall. Everyone was shut in their offices, stressing away. So Marc decided to test out what he referred to as one of his 'inventions' (which suggests that there were others-!!). He described this 'invention' to me as a jump rope with weights attached so that you could work out and jump rope at the same time. Marc took this invention into the corridors and started jumping. Slowly, he says, his colleagues started coming out of their offices. He described each of their reactions: 'I saw an eye peering at me from the office across the hall... Then Marguerita opened her door... Maria was terrified! Liz came out... Then Manfred emerged, shook his head, and said "Diderot would not approve"'. I like this memory so much. It seems to sum up a lot of things about Marc. His mischievousness and his humor. It doesn't matter that I wasn't there to see it, or whether it ever really happened. I will remember Marc this way... jumping rope in the corridors of Sproul Hall.
I owe him so much. Thanks for setting up this page - I hope some of you enjoy reading about the Marc that I knew, the Marc that I will miss, even though I haven't seen him in years.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
call for pics, happy memories!
I want more pictures of meb smiling! (Jeremy, I am sure you have some great ones.) This is the only one I have-- of me and meb. I will cherish it. (Please share your own photos with him.) Also, to be the ultimate cliche, can we please dwell a minute on his infectious laugh? (A prize to anyone with the most accurate description of his unique gaffaw). I am channeling meb, he wants us to be more light-hearted now. :) I hope to see those of you who are near tonight or Sunday. And those of you who are far, keep writing! Love to you all.
Solidarity, Light, Love and Life-Gathering to Remember Marc
On Sunday (11/15) at 2:00 pm, there will be a "Talk About Marc" gathering in Berkeley. All are welcome to attend. For those of you who are unable to attend the Sunday gathering, there will be an informal gathering on Saturday (11/14) evening at 5:00 pm. Students our encouraged to come and offer their expressions of love, life and solidarity by candlelight. Both gatherings will be at Marc and Raquel's home. The address is 2444 Virginia Street, D, Berkeley CA 94709.
Saturday's gathering will be outside, so bring a jacket. Students: Songs, poetry, readings, stories all offerings will be accepted by Raquel and Lauren (Marc's daughter) in love. If you need transportation to the Saturday gathering or want more information, email Ari Reisman, amreisman@ucdavis.edu.
Friday, November 13, 2009
I never had Marc as as a professor, but I recall that when I was applying to graduate school, he was one of the professors in whose research I had expressed interest. Although I did not know him in a formal capacity, he would always stop and talk whenever I ran into him in the elevator or in the hallway. Sometimes it was a simple "Hello, how is the quarter going?" and other times it was a questions about my work. I remember one day I mentioned that I was writing a dissertation on Pierre Loti, to which Marc replied, "I directed a dissertation on Loti years ago. There is not much out there about him so you have chosen a very rich topic on which to write." ALthough I never knew Professor Blanchard in a formal capacity, I will miss his friendliness and willingness to talk with someone who wasn't even a student of his. My thoughts and prayers are with his family and friends.
A couple more photos...
Drinking my coffee, getting ready to leave for the shop....thought I'd offer up a couple more images. Marc spoke to us all. With passion and unguarded spontaneity...in conversations it wasn't unusual to talk with him and see and hear our voices become one molten pool.. each interjecting a word or phrase where the other had paused. A wave of the hand and I was off track; but a point of the wagging finger, a nod of his head and we would be on our shared path...
Jeremy
Thursday, November 12, 2009
meb
I took a critical theory class with Marc Blanchard in the spring of 2005—my first year as a grad student at Davis. I can say that I have never experienced anything like working with Marc. It is hard to capture what went on in that class—and others I took with him in the years that followed (one always studied with Marc, never from), but I know that who I am as a scholar, a teacher, and as a thinker is indelibly marked by having a chance to work with him.
I laughed to myself when reading something my colleague, Sarah Juliet Lauro, had written in the first few days after Marc’s death. It was about a twenty minute conversation in Marc’s class (our class, he would insist) on the word “field”—it must have been about four years ago when this discussion took place, but I remember it quite vividly and it was one of the first things I thought of in thinking back on my work with Marc. No one taught the importance of etymology and the depth of wisdom contained in the O.E.D. as well as Marc Blanchard. “The O.E.D.—that’s my bible,” I remember him saying. This stuck with me.
“What is a field?” Marc asks, and we all try to offer our very learned, theoretical, “sophisticated” answers. And what does Marc say: “no, no, no a field is where you keep the cows”….Marc had a way of pulling us out of a fog of jargon and “graduate-school-speak” and actually getting us to do something so rare as thinking. The case in point being that this discussion about the word “field” became so fascinating that it stuck with both Sarah and I to this day—even though I am certain we never discussed it until these reflections and it was one of the first moments I thought of in trying to convey the experience of being a student in Marc’s classes.
Marc questioned the cult of the individual—and not merely by speaking or writing about the importance of collectivity, but he taught us to work, think, and speak collectively. This is one of the many gifts that he gave us—one that stays, that marks, that shifts one’s thinking, writing, teaching. An inescapable gift.
Syllabus? What? No syllabus could be found in Marc’s graduate classes as we never knew where our discussions might lead us. Can you imagine the lesson in thinking, in questioning, in what a seminar or education really is, that one learns in that one moment when the unassuming grad student who is new to Marc’s classes raises a tentative hand and asks “where is the syllabus?” That was always a great moment. When I think about myself as a teacher I am embarrassed by how much I admire Marc’s teaching style and how little I incorporate it into my own. The way Marc stepped out of what was expected in the classroom—not merely for the sake of shock or blind-rebellion, but as an intelligent resistance to solidified, regurgitative scholarship at the level of practice—offers us an immense challenge to live up to as thinkers and as teachers.
Once I heard a fellow grad student say “Blanchard, oh I dropped his class because he was too political.” Well, this comment came as no surprise to me. I think Marc would be happy to be known as “too political”—His classroom was often overtly “political” in his examples of the University of California/Bechtel/Los Alamos contract placing us in “the belly of the beast” on the UC campus, along with his work on the militarization of the University, or analysis of the media representation of a local Chevron oil spill which causes us to weep for injured birds while ignoring the Richmond ghettos. Certainly his theories that race, gender, and animal rights debates often mask THE debate over class, might be called “too political” by some, but I would insist that Marc’s teaching style is far more revolutionary, far more incendiary, and “political” than any subject matter ever addressed in his seminars.
In a seminar years after I had first studied with Marc, once, out of the blue in mid-sentence he broke off from his point, looked right at me and said “Are you happy? What’s going on with you?” After my utter shock—Professors in seminars are supposed to pose interesting questions, throw out theoretical conundrums, offer thoughtful reflections—but interrupt class for some personal comment on a grad student’s mental state—who does that? That is one Pandora’s box most professors know better than to even get near. But Marc’s response to my bewildered look was: “Let’s have coffee.” It personalized a rather impersonal system—and a few days later I found myself sitting across from this brilliant man who could reflect on any subject in staggering depth and detail—but we were talking about me and my future and my experiences in grad school. He talked about his daughter, and his divorce, and his experiences living and teaching abroad and didn’t just give me some quotations from a book. He really just sat down and talked to me. Again: Who does that? At everyone’s passing they will say “how unique” “how special” “how one of a kind.” And I want to say that here. But I think it is the last thing Marc would think—the least important thing to be. I don’t know. I took two or three seminars with Marc, saw him here and there at lectures over the last few years. I didn’t know him all that well. But just from the little part of him that I knew, his ways of thinking and being feel so much a part of my own ways—I can only imagine the influence and effect he had on countless other students, colleagues, friends, and family who had more years to share with him.
I laughed to myself when reading something my colleague, Sarah Juliet Lauro, had written in the first few days after Marc’s death. It was about a twenty minute conversation in Marc’s class (our class, he would insist) on the word “field”—it must have been about four years ago when this discussion took place, but I remember it quite vividly and it was one of the first things I thought of in thinking back on my work with Marc. No one taught the importance of etymology and the depth of wisdom contained in the O.E.D. as well as Marc Blanchard. “The O.E.D.—that’s my bible,” I remember him saying. This stuck with me.
“What is a field?” Marc asks, and we all try to offer our very learned, theoretical, “sophisticated” answers. And what does Marc say: “no, no, no a field is where you keep the cows”….Marc had a way of pulling us out of a fog of jargon and “graduate-school-speak” and actually getting us to do something so rare as thinking. The case in point being that this discussion about the word “field” became so fascinating that it stuck with both Sarah and I to this day—even though I am certain we never discussed it until these reflections and it was one of the first moments I thought of in trying to convey the experience of being a student in Marc’s classes.
Marc questioned the cult of the individual—and not merely by speaking or writing about the importance of collectivity, but he taught us to work, think, and speak collectively. This is one of the many gifts that he gave us—one that stays, that marks, that shifts one’s thinking, writing, teaching. An inescapable gift.
Syllabus? What? No syllabus could be found in Marc’s graduate classes as we never knew where our discussions might lead us. Can you imagine the lesson in thinking, in questioning, in what a seminar or education really is, that one learns in that one moment when the unassuming grad student who is new to Marc’s classes raises a tentative hand and asks “where is the syllabus?” That was always a great moment. When I think about myself as a teacher I am embarrassed by how much I admire Marc’s teaching style and how little I incorporate it into my own. The way Marc stepped out of what was expected in the classroom—not merely for the sake of shock or blind-rebellion, but as an intelligent resistance to solidified, regurgitative scholarship at the level of practice—offers us an immense challenge to live up to as thinkers and as teachers.
Once I heard a fellow grad student say “Blanchard, oh I dropped his class because he was too political.” Well, this comment came as no surprise to me. I think Marc would be happy to be known as “too political”—His classroom was often overtly “political” in his examples of the University of California/Bechtel/Los Alamos contract placing us in “the belly of the beast” on the UC campus, along with his work on the militarization of the University, or analysis of the media representation of a local Chevron oil spill which causes us to weep for injured birds while ignoring the Richmond ghettos. Certainly his theories that race, gender, and animal rights debates often mask THE debate over class, might be called “too political” by some, but I would insist that Marc’s teaching style is far more revolutionary, far more incendiary, and “political” than any subject matter ever addressed in his seminars.
In a seminar years after I had first studied with Marc, once, out of the blue in mid-sentence he broke off from his point, looked right at me and said “Are you happy? What’s going on with you?” After my utter shock—Professors in seminars are supposed to pose interesting questions, throw out theoretical conundrums, offer thoughtful reflections—but interrupt class for some personal comment on a grad student’s mental state—who does that? That is one Pandora’s box most professors know better than to even get near. But Marc’s response to my bewildered look was: “Let’s have coffee.” It personalized a rather impersonal system—and a few days later I found myself sitting across from this brilliant man who could reflect on any subject in staggering depth and detail—but we were talking about me and my future and my experiences in grad school. He talked about his daughter, and his divorce, and his experiences living and teaching abroad and didn’t just give me some quotations from a book. He really just sat down and talked to me. Again: Who does that? At everyone’s passing they will say “how unique” “how special” “how one of a kind.” And I want to say that here. But I think it is the last thing Marc would think—the least important thing to be. I don’t know. I took two or three seminars with Marc, saw him here and there at lectures over the last few years. I didn’t know him all that well. But just from the little part of him that I knew, his ways of thinking and being feel so much a part of my own ways—I can only imagine the influence and effect he had on countless other students, colleagues, friends, and family who had more years to share with him.
more about love...
On November 7th. about 2:45 in the afternoon I called Marc's house because I wanted to see if it would be okay to visit and whether that day or the next would be a better time. Anthony, his doctor friend answered the phone and said yes, come now, come today; I said I'd be there in a little over an hour since I was driving up from Davis. As I was about to put the phone down he said "wait, wait, Marc wants to talk to you". Marc came on the line and his voice was strong and clear as it hadn't been in weeks and he said, "Poonam, I love you and all my students; I want you all, and Raquel and Lauren to remember me as I was: thank you for being in my life". I said "Marc, Marc, thank you for being in our lives" but there was no more sound at the other end; I don't know if he heard me; I hope he did. I got in the car and raced over to Berkeley, crying and afraid that I might be too late, but I was fortunate enough to see him and to spend the last evening of his life with him. We sat around his bed: Lauren, Raquel, Vicky (Raquel's long time friend), and Jeremy (Marc's dear firend) and we spent the evening telling stories until he said he was tired and wanted to sleep. I like to think that my being there was a symbolic presence of all his students whom he has loved so much.
These past few weeks I have thought back to all the classes and office hours I have had with Marc since I was an undergraduate in Comp. Lit. (1994). I could say he was my favorite professor and it would be true, but he was so much more than that. I think about all the ways in which he has held me in his life and allowed me to grow; how he was always there with practical advice and a no nonense attitude; how he made me stay in grad school and explained how not to be intimidated by theory; how he sparked intellectual inquiry and made it the moral principle of my life...in a profound way, I think of Marc as the father of my intellectual life and remain forever grateful for his presence in my life. I love you, Marc. My children whom you invited to your class when I didn't have a baby sitter, remember you as the "cool professor with the pony tail".
There are so many stories I want to share; I start with this one because I want you all to know how much he loved you and thought of you till the very last moment. More later...
Poonam
On November 7th. about 2:45 in the afternoon I called Marc's house because I wanted to see if it would be okay to visit and whether that day or the next would be a better time. Anthony, his doctor friend answered the phone and said yes, come now, come today; I said I'd be there in a little over an hour since I was driving up from Davis. As I was about to put the phone down he said "wait, wait, Marc wants to talk to you". Marc came on the line and his voice was strong and clear as it hadn't been in weeks and he said, "Poonam, I love you and all my students; I want you all, and Raquel and Lauren to remember me as I was: thank you for being in my life". I said "Marc, Marc, thank you for being in our lives" but there was no more sound at the other end; I don't know if he heard me; I hope he did. I got in the car and raced over to Berkeley, crying and afraid that I might be too late, but I was fortunate enough to see him and to spend the last evening of his life with him. We sat around his bed: Lauren, Raquel, Vicky (Raquel's long time friend), and Jeremy (Marc's dear firend) and we spent the evening telling stories until he said he was tired and wanted to sleep. I like to think that my being there was a symbolic presence of all his students whom he has loved so much.
These past few weeks I have thought back to all the classes and office hours I have had with Marc since I was an undergraduate in Comp. Lit. (1994). I could say he was my favorite professor and it would be true, but he was so much more than that. I think about all the ways in which he has held me in his life and allowed me to grow; how he was always there with practical advice and a no nonense attitude; how he made me stay in grad school and explained how not to be intimidated by theory; how he sparked intellectual inquiry and made it the moral principle of my life...in a profound way, I think of Marc as the father of my intellectual life and remain forever grateful for his presence in my life. I love you, Marc. My children whom you invited to your class when I didn't have a baby sitter, remember you as the "cool professor with the pony tail".
There are so many stories I want to share; I start with this one because I want you all to know how much he loved you and thought of you till the very last moment. More later...
Poonam
love, etc.
I remember one day, not too far into the quarter perhaps, Marc said, to our graduate seminar of about 12 students from all different departments, something like, “And just because I’m hard on you, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.” I remember thinking, he loves us?! Of course he did. I was thrilled by this, and by the realization that this might be the key to a different kind of teaching than I had ever before experienced: start by loving your students as people, as colleagues, as fellow philosophers. I tried to implement the strategy immediately, telling my sections of an English survey course for which I was TA that quarter that I loved them. One girl made a face. Two people wrote on my evaluations that my conduct in class was sometimes “inappropriate”—I can only think it must have been this spontaneous display of affection. But, undeterred, and having Marc as a constant model, as I continued to take seminars from him and work with him in various capacities, I continued to love my students, and what I have found is that it makes me love teaching. I have, honest to God, never had a bad class since. Je t’aime, Marc!
ENIGMATIC critique
Following on Christopher's wonderful post. Marc was indeed enigmatic. Fall of 2002, working on my first paper in Marc's 200B (?)... I had done a lot of work on historical impostors and written a draft that I felt good about presenting to him. We met... we discussed... then he said something like, "what you need to do is turn your paper off, and restart it." I asked if he meant I should start again a new document on my computer. He said, "well maybe... but turn the paper off and restart it." I went home and pondered those words for a few days... said to my husband and several colleagues on campus "What the hell does he mean turn my paper off and restart it?" Words of wisdom... comments that actually allowed all of us to figure out our own answers... our own methods... questions that would get us thinking rather than looking to the so-called "expert" (professor) to give us the proper answer, form, approach... I know I try to channel Blanchard as often as possible with my own students: DO IT. Indeed.
Remembering Marc Blanchard
In the winter of 2004 at UC Davis, I had enrolled in a critical theory seminar that, after the first week, I regretted signing up for. I looked online at the other offerings, and there was a seminar on Foucault, taught by one Marc Blanchard. I decided to email him to see if I could join the class, albeit a week late. I went on and on about how much I appreciated Foucault’s contributions to theory, how I had applied Foucault’s writings on panopticism to my Master’s thesis, etc., etc. Marc wrote back a positive if utterly cryptic email, in all-caps, with no greeting, no punctuation, no sign-off:
I remember thinking: What am I getting myself into?
Now, looking back over my notes from that first seminar, here is what I see:
Marc wanted us to develop, over the course of the quarter, a provisionary outline, a plan, for a final project—this I have in quotes: “Something that is important to your guts.” Yes, that sounds about right. Marc was not interested in ‘theory’ as an academic pursuit pf postures and alignment. He was interested in things that were important to our guts, to our actual lives. And this, in turn, would make for the best academic engagements with 'theory' I could ever imagine.
Marc recommended that we learn to become intellectual “pickpockets”: that as we read, we learn to take things that are useful, and in this nefarious sounding advice was one of his truly profound (and practical) contributions to my own scholarship and pedagogy. Ideas are definitively not property, and that is precisely what makes them revolutionary and potentially emancipatory. Marc taught us how to become familiar with ideas that might not be ‘ours’, but also might not be anyone’s, and therefore the ideas could be used to illuminate any number of contexts—and always: the more real, the better.
In one class, Marc explained the goal of the class as such: “We go very slow, then we get bogged down, then it is the end of the quarter—and we stop.” How many times have I unknowingly repeated some variation on this theme to my students? For it is so true: as humanists, the best we can do is to endlessly decelerate, conceding each ‘end’-point as the beginning of another, even slower, set of inquiries.
For Mark, slowing down and asking serious questions—he called this “field work”—was a direct mode of critique. He once said, “The regime doesn’t want you to say anything, so that you’ll just shut up and shop.” I don’t think anyone left class and went shopping that night. And I think we all had more questions about this regime—questions that we would go on to vocalize, in class as well as at home and at work.
Of course, Marc was nothing if not enigmatic. One time he claimed, “problem solving is a capitalist idea.” Wait—what were we supposed to do if not solve the very problems that we discovered through theory? But Marc would be on a new point, explaining how “to think is to make a norm.” Wait—as a critic of social norms, how can I not think? Marc’s seminars were relentless investigations that reported to no agency, no authority—and yet this somehow caused everything to be profoundly ethical, and everywhere to be open to scrutiny. And somehow, to enhance the paradox, this never resulted in existential disorientation. Rather, what happened in those seminars—and what has influenced so many of Marc’s students outside of class—was a supremely human connection: fiercely intellectual, and remarkably grounded in the everyday. Marc brought to life the best of the humanities, in its fully engaged self-aware, thoroughly critical mode. Marc’s lessons are dear to my heart and ingrained in my mind, and through these lessons Marc's spirit comes to life in spontaneous contexts and fresh applications every single day.
DO IT
I remember thinking: What am I getting myself into?
Now, looking back over my notes from that first seminar, here is what I see:
Marc wanted us to develop, over the course of the quarter, a provisionary outline, a plan, for a final project—this I have in quotes: “Something that is important to your guts.” Yes, that sounds about right. Marc was not interested in ‘theory’ as an academic pursuit pf postures and alignment. He was interested in things that were important to our guts, to our actual lives. And this, in turn, would make for the best academic engagements with 'theory' I could ever imagine.
Marc recommended that we learn to become intellectual “pickpockets”: that as we read, we learn to take things that are useful, and in this nefarious sounding advice was one of his truly profound (and practical) contributions to my own scholarship and pedagogy. Ideas are definitively not property, and that is precisely what makes them revolutionary and potentially emancipatory. Marc taught us how to become familiar with ideas that might not be ‘ours’, but also might not be anyone’s, and therefore the ideas could be used to illuminate any number of contexts—and always: the more real, the better.
In one class, Marc explained the goal of the class as such: “We go very slow, then we get bogged down, then it is the end of the quarter—and we stop.” How many times have I unknowingly repeated some variation on this theme to my students? For it is so true: as humanists, the best we can do is to endlessly decelerate, conceding each ‘end’-point as the beginning of another, even slower, set of inquiries.
For Mark, slowing down and asking serious questions—he called this “field work”—was a direct mode of critique. He once said, “The regime doesn’t want you to say anything, so that you’ll just shut up and shop.” I don’t think anyone left class and went shopping that night. And I think we all had more questions about this regime—questions that we would go on to vocalize, in class as well as at home and at work.
Of course, Marc was nothing if not enigmatic. One time he claimed, “problem solving is a capitalist idea.” Wait—what were we supposed to do if not solve the very problems that we discovered through theory? But Marc would be on a new point, explaining how “to think is to make a norm.” Wait—as a critic of social norms, how can I not think? Marc’s seminars were relentless investigations that reported to no agency, no authority—and yet this somehow caused everything to be profoundly ethical, and everywhere to be open to scrutiny. And somehow, to enhance the paradox, this never resulted in existential disorientation. Rather, what happened in those seminars—and what has influenced so many of Marc’s students outside of class—was a supremely human connection: fiercely intellectual, and remarkably grounded in the everyday. Marc brought to life the best of the humanities, in its fully engaged self-aware, thoroughly critical mode. Marc’s lessons are dear to my heart and ingrained in my mind, and through these lessons Marc's spirit comes to life in spontaneous contexts and fresh applications every single day.
Marc June, 2009
I thought I'd share a photo of Marc that was a little more current.
Its great to see that you have started this up.
There is a hole, a rift, never, I think, to be filled and/or repaired. Merely marked with reminders, celebrated with thoughts, shared with the ideas that Marc was certain to spark. Marc hated the terminology wrapped around cancer... fighting, attacking, beating cancer were not in his vocabulary. He was content to simply live with it and have it live with him. A room mate... if it would only live with him and share his body...
Marc approached cancer in a way I'd never seen before. He was always in. Present and accounted for. He is my friend even in death. I will miss him, and always hold his memory dear.
Jeremy
Malanga
Cuba, 2005, I am the only grad student and Marc's informal "TA" on the UCD Study Abroad trip: One night I eat some very bad chicken and get sick as a dog. I spend about a day alone up in my room at the casa where all the undergrads and I are staying. I had spent the full day laying on the floor next to the toilet in my room. That evening Marc shows up at my door with a big plate of malanga. He tucked me in bed and then sat on a chair to watch me while I tried to eat. He stayed long enough to make sure I could keep a little of it down. I think this was one of the sweetest things ever!! I'm not sure why I start my postings here with this memory as opposed to any other of the many memories of El Profesor... I guess it was the first time that I saw that tender side of Marc....
I am currently in Puerto Rico and had to chuckle when there were bits of malanga in my chicken soup yesterday... yes, as I nursed another travel-related stomach ache... love you Marc!!
I am currently in Puerto Rico and had to chuckle when there were bits of malanga in my chicken soup yesterday... yes, as I nursed another travel-related stomach ache... love you Marc!!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Get together?
I was talking last night to some students in the French department, and there is interest in having a get together sometime soon, since the UC Davis memorial for Marc may be a bit far off yet. If anyone wants to take on the task of organizing something-- and I mean like, picking a bar and a time when we can all show up-- that would be great. Or actually, maybe the Delta Venus would be best, as I am sure that his undergraduates would like to attend as well. But how could we get the word out? Any ideas?
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