SONETOS PORTUGUESES - Silva Carvalho

His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.
It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,
Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.
WALLACE STEVENS
The simulacrum for Deleuze, however, is neither a recent nor
a merely cultural event. The simulacrum is not the loss or
abandonment of the real; it is the real. A force of life
becomes by enhancing its powers of variation and its powers
of being affected; it takes on a form other than what it is. It
imagines or projects what it is not (yet). It simulates:
becoming other than itself through the very power of a life
which is always more than itself. If literature is a power of
the simulacrum it is not because it merely quotes or parodies
with no respect for the real; it is because it introduces new
simulations, a new expression of the real.
Claire Colebrook