“The Lost Object—Me”: Notes On Identification within the Crypt

That soul who, here on earth did not push forth its part Divine, has not, even down in Hell, repose.

Thus speake the poet. Yes. The “part divine,” the work born on the encounter with oneself only comes into being if one pushes one's self forth, only if one is acknowledged. Acknowledged by oneself to oneself before the whole world. Sometimes the “whole world” is represented by the occupant of the analyst's chair. Before him this “part divine” is created or, gradually, unveiled. If only the analyst would understand it, admit it, rejoice in it! As one would rejoice in poetry. But how many the ways of reaching there. And how many the traps along the way. Does the analyst have an ear for all “poems” for all “poets”? Surely not. But those whose message he failed to hear; those whose deficient, mutilated text he listened to time after time, the riddles with no key; those who left him without yielding up to him the distinctive oeuvre