A small stanza from Hans Magnus Enzensberger's joyous poem on Etienne Jules Marey (E.J.M. 1830-1904)
The pigeon, tied to the jib of a merry-go-round – does it fly, or is it flown? The trail of its wings is invisible: yet it’s followed by, pneumatically steering through a chaos of tubes and drums, a steel spike; quivering, it scratches the soot-blackened paper. What writes and draws there, measuring itself, is a hallucination, known as ‘Nature.’ -- # distributed via <nettime>: no commercial use without permission # <nettime> is a moderated mailing list for net criticism, # collaborative text filtering and cultural politics of the nets # more info: https://www.nettime.org # contact: [email protected]
