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But words are abstract, sadly approximate,
dull with use. I'm afraid to move my mouth,
Afraid to shape sounds which might conjure
the bottom of the universe, mouth which once
knew no more than the sweet suck of mama, Papa.
Before words were,ii there was sensation, the embryo of words. How deeply our thinking is structured by these early bodily experiences that shape usiii and shape our language is the subject of Danielle Quinodoz's evocative book, Words That Touch: A Psychoanalyst Learns to Speak. Quinodoz takes us on a journey beneath the surface of everyday speech, where we can hear (and listen to) an older and deeper experience lying in wait to be awakened and articulated. From her position as interlocutor, she invites us to reflect upon the origins and nature of meaning, and search for a language within which meaning can arise:
If the words I pronounce as analyst awaken or reawaken bodily fantasies in the patient, these words may enable him to find an emotional meaning in forgotten sensory or bodily experiences, which may then become a starting point for his work of thinking—and of symbolization.
In search of a language close to poetry, Quinodoz names this language “incarnate” or “a language that touches” (p. 37). Although their aims are different, poet and psychoanalyst each seek an incarnate language, one that puts flesh on words, bringing words to life and life to words. In Genesis 1:26iv, words made flesh: we were created by speech. Poetry and psychoanalysis are secular endeavors, yet they share a belief in the power of speech to move the listener beyond the confines of a concrete reality and draw her into the realm of meaning and creation. Say aloud the above translation