|Jacket 38 — Late 2009||Jacket 38 Contents page||Jacket Homepage||Search Jacket|
This piece is about 6 printed pages long.
It is copyright © Rachel Blau DuPlessis and Jacket magazine 2009. See our [»»] Copyright notice.
The Internet address of this page is http://jacketmagazine.com/38/duplessis-draft99intransitive.shtml
It’s not just the dead are coming closer it’s
that their smiles their jutting silvery eyes
are are are no more
a rasp or clasp of voice become intransitive.
And then as cellular touches flashes
broken and re-mended remanded
bone fibers are, are not. already already already we entwine
with these lengths
with unimaginable lost intimacies intransigent
with touch no touch with them not the pointing mmmmmmmmm.
A golden intention Diverge! Receive!
motivated this tracking shot yet
the camera leaky conditions whatever whatever whatever total
the old stock too fast for humid gray luminosity for the
time’s pale light on the pines.
It’s not just the dead
are coming but to run to sleep to travel to wonder to die
are hypotenuse announcements
of a literal vector. mathematical crosses metaphoric space.
It’s not just
solidity of claim v. dissolving with an intermittent mark.
It’s their floating across. But where to where?
So band of odd light cross’t green fuzz furze
so pollen stuck in the throat
vvvvvvvvvv who sees what projection coming across or not –
you need the dead closer but not to close too close too tooo
This marks the urge to put everything in. This is it
XXXXXXXXXXXX. This is the Book. X upon X overwritten
wanting to say everything and throw it into dark
matter filling space.
The complete is never complete.
“Everything in it is both head and tail alternately reciprocally”
And listen-- What’s out there? Opalescence? Opacity?
It is the dead,
and coming closer.
Silvery like the
Moon in all 4 corners of the page shedding tricky watermarks, and they
from phase to phase. In dark phases more oddities
seeds or stars are pressed in the paper.
who or which stripped in any vvvvvvvvv, so
walk thru the daily,
a black compost where we stand, rotting generative in transit.
is the effect fecund on the spongy needles as the hikers
tread the up-built bounce of pine.
It’s literally all we have to go on.
The dead are coming closer and those who walk this
raggedy line are XXXXXXXXXXX. This predicament
“alternately and reciprocally” nnnnnnnn.
reddest of the wrens” alit then went.
So chartreuse warbler lands and parts
Plus a tiny toad, too, the opposite
flat as a pancake. flat as a pancake.
Saturate with overtones of echo. You’ll need to
an orange-blind wrap in the most dazzling cloud.
Throb! Furnish! Consider! Avail! repeat repeat repeat line
the echo there already,
which watery call into the waxing wobble--
its impalpable sustenance mmmm.
Wood thrush. That’s what that was. Like our robin, but hidden.
Yet no riddle has an answer. Present imperative only.
But tripled? might be trump. Such irony RE: years, suppose I put
2009. There. And now so what?
Remaining true for now. The date
creeps backward administering odd frissons inside the
inevitable forward dock.
It’s everything crossing that I know on water and beyond.
This says the dead are coming closer with their odd-shaped smiles.
My smile for theirs my lips on theirs we intertwine.
For we exchange a poet’s kiss each other’s eros to the side.
Three things collide—
now, then and after
the ends come loose, pitch down all streams
of the dialectical watershed it’s here, there, and pooling
me you and many else tongue groove and slot
Is there anyone who is focusing this lens?
he’ll be off this set. Refraction pov not quite a
fly’s eye but noir zip and double closer
triple cross. The actor arranges coins in a grid
we know this story, why tell this story?
Alternatives insist on being marked, but dark.
An unused room next door a room in use.
and the corridor after. Secretive, this secret space.
The dead are coming. Each room of itself
in that old time place
with an open side
fanned out to darkened watchers
and breathing worlds.
The coins go over the eyes
and in the mouth.
This text is made of traps.
The man is still there,
an old story of “gaper delay”
a frog, splash hard
on the white page
pen in his hand
and utter irascibility!
Joy to see him just like that.
“Come back,” he said
“when you have learned the alphabet.”
“I will.” A vow. The letters fall.
And go beyond.
What marks to put in the world
and in what world?
and inner life? To inside it
the you of me, the me of it?
Doubled marksmmmm hardly begins to cover it.
So “In this section, there is much crossing of hands.”
18 is l’chaim, or life, with its 180 degree rule, so what’s off sides?
is all the rest.
is when the project finds itself out
political, economic, quotidian, shallow,
rent, obnoxious, highlighted, and enough space to get the grammar suggest
and more grammar “displays of mental confusions
with intrusions of irrelevant information(s).”
19 is after life
Nor is it yet or particularly
death but stands in any place as temporary
“center” and pivots round and round
then moves its site and tries again. It is strangeness woven
in and out the strange, with the sprockets and cells
of estrangement vvvvvvvvvvvvvv and at home, yes, home, but where?
in the world—yes, and yet which world
in the world? analog belatedness? digital freestyle? you need to look out,
and see what the dead keep doing after all.
There was a kiss, a bit a star a clasp.
Indicate! Keep! Expand!
There was the cocoon swaddle of all this music, a seed sac
in the body pod of chord
that splits; and out comes a panting insect silvery and blue unfurl its wings
from the other side. Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Even death? Well… Bulge of wisdom And intensification, And curiosity.
Increase of alphabets. Immersive lexicons.
Notes to Draft 99: Intransitive. This poem was written just after the death of Robin Blaser, May 7, 2009. Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” is the source of the material in italics. “Everything in it is both head and tail alternately reciprocally” is cited from Ron Silliman’s blog of 12 May 2009 and is his citation of a letter from Charles Baudelaire to Arsène Houssaye, serving as the introduction to Paris Spleen. The poet as frog is the “Portrait of Ono no do fu composing a poem,” Japanese, c. 1530, in the Barnes Collection, Philadelphia. “In this section there is much crossing of hands,” is from program notes by John Corigliano for his “Etude Fantasy,” 1976. “Displays of mental confusions with intrusions of irrelevant information(s).” Said by Marlene Dumas, as a self-descriptor of her work, slightly modified, from the information sheet for Miss Interpreted, her show at Philadelphia’s Institute of Contemporary Art, December 1993. Some film terms, loosely speaking, from Carol Clover in conversation. Poem is on the “line of four.”