(the shimmer) (“visions and revisions that a moment will reverse” –T.S. Eliot)
Poetry for how it seems to stop or seems it might stop and then doesn’t, goes on anyhow, enjambment’s aha, the image’s translucency (you see through it to the medium, check out Elaine Scarry’s Dreaming by the Book) and the echo echo echo of sound sound. The “rep & rev” of Susan Lori-Parks and the spiral pattern in the prose of Carole Maso or the use of color in the work of Bhanu Kapil. Gertrude Stein’s repeated beginnings, and on every side of Marcel Duchamp’s descending nude those tracers (feathery slices of flesh repetitions, archive of gesture). We are where we were even as we try to get at where we’re going: and here we are that pile of wreckage Walter Benjamin envisions as gathered at the feet of something—not human—not part of the mess. And still in motion, still and in motion: zombified, parts falling off. Can’t get at it with still photography, that hushed posed strained slice of the ever-changing real but mooooovies, time in action, “transition the meaning.” Not the bird on the branch but the bird in the air between a branch that “flies back into the night” (cf Sandra McPherson, cf William James and his description of the language we need to look at: the “transitive”), and then the word both noun and verb as Lyn Hejinian reminds us. Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana. The winged-thing in the air and the rattle of manual typewriters where them fool Black Mountain boys got their guns out again, hittin’ the moonshine hard. Hardeeharhar. If you’re going out there, if you got to go out there…put on something bright.