Room to Play

Lisa Pasold produced this chapbook with green cover with the stamp of spades in each corner (difficult to see – it’s black on dark green). Its title appropriate to its cover is green as the three of diamonds which immediately sets up a delightful cognitive dissonance with the cover’s illustration. I like the tale of the origins of this chap book. She won at roulette!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

so that’s how i initially got involved in the small press…i took my $320 of roulette winnings and spent most of that money on paper & printing & staples, and then my long-suffering gambling partner and i spent several rather lovely hours folding and trimming and stapling chapbooks on the kitchen table. those 21 poems about blackjack, titled ‘green as the three of diamonds’, had found a way into the world.

http://lisapasold.blogspot.ca/2010/04/why-i-love-roulette.html

Mine is number 25 of 200 with a three of clubs tucked into the front. And it’s treasured not only for the gambling imagery but the luscious gardening metaphors in “the moon — life to you is a dashing bold adventure” which enticingly begins

knight of parrots, valet of roses, you leave
traces of pomegranate
on our lips, you read all our futures as trumps
(it doesn’t matter what bets we lay down)

That’s always read as parrot tulips by me.

And I must simply face the possible curse of copyright infringement and present in toto “card tricks (2)”. It will resonate with anyone who has balanced cards to build tower or house.

your father built card houses

not a metaphor for anything

steady handed, he worked every night
through the suites, beginning always
with clubs

the uppermost storey alternated
diamonds and spades

the buried hearts in interior infrastructure

and at the hospital, you
watch his fingers

(motor control)

you had brought
twelve packs, those cards that are
disposed of after any given night
bullet hole punched through the pack
(nothing leaves a casino intact)

windows you had planned to tell him, imagine
they’re windows
build me a house

As her father built houses, she builds castles.

And so for day 1632
02.06.2011

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Abridgement

In my reading of Fermat’s Enigma by Simon Singh I was struck by the amount of space devoted to the demise of Alan Turing — his persecution & suicide — until later in the book I encountered a similar treatment of the life of Galois. These biographical glimpses serve as digressions and delays on the road to the story of the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem. They also, in a different discourse, model the theme of incomprehensibility and the need for bridges both social and mathematical. Singh presents us with this picture.

The value of mathematical bridges is enormous. They enable communities of mathematicians who have been living on separate islands to exchange ideas and explore each other’s creations. Mathematics consists of islands of knowledges in an sea of ignorance. For example, there is the island occupied by geometers who study shape and form, and then there is the island of probability where mathematicians discuss risk and chance. There are dozens of such islands, each one with its own unique language incomprehensible to the inhabitants of other islands. the language of geometry is quite different from the language of probability, and the slang of calculus is meaningless to those who speak only statistics.

What I of course in the domain of discursive analysis find interesting is the blowing up of bridges to find novel connections. Just a quirk of life history so different from Turing and Galois.

And so for day 1631
01.06.2011

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Capitalist Splitting

My unfortunate encounter (work-mandatory) with a personality profile tool and its pseudo-science trappings (no it wasn’t Myers-Briggs), led me back, for my own sanity, to tracing out the origins of the split between affect and intellect (which readers of Berneval will see is a deeply disturbing construction for me). I came across “The Split between Affect and Intellect” in The Essential Fromm: Life Between Having and Being edited by Rainer Funk who chose under this rubric to reproduce an excerpt from The Moral Responsibility of Modern Man and this selection provides the following comfort to the poor assaulted soul called upon to sunder heart and brain.

There is not space to discuss this, but it has a great deal to do with our mode of production, with our increasing emphasis on technique, with our necessity to develop intellect for purposes of science and science for the purposes of technique. We cannot quite separate the society, in which production becomes the paramount purpose, from human development in which intellect becomes the paramount value. But if we are to overcome our moral problem today, we must make a very serious effort to overcome the split between affect and intellect. We must restore the person to his totality or, as I would rather say, to his reality. I am not a mind and a body. I am I, and you are you, and my heart and my feelings can be just as rational as my thought, and my thought can be just as irrational as my heart. But, I cannot even speak of my heart and my thought because they are one, they are only two aspects of the same phenomenon. There is one logic, one rationality, and one irrationality that pervades them both. Whether we study psychosomatic illness or whether we study the phenomena of mass hysteria, it is all the same. Thought is made stupid by feeling and thought can be enlightened by feeling and vice versa.

I’m grateful that resistance to dichotomous constructions arising from instrumentalist notions is not new and there is such eloquence to draw on. I am saddened that at this late remove we still must search out great companions because of the persistence of ignorance. I would wish for better motives. Still it’s a relief for heart and head to find statements of the vice versa.

And so for day 1630
31.05.2011

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Anaphora in the Service of Memento Mori

Marsha Lederman, in reflecting on the announcement that Gord Downie from The Tragically Hip has been diagnosed with fatal brain tumour, closes her piece with a turn that opens as a return to the where and when she first heard the music and veers into a contemplation of life as “hard, huge and haunted”.

This week, feeling something more sharp and painful than nostalgia, I pumped Fully Completely at full blast. Nearly a quarter-century and thousands of kilometres from that Hamilton flat, the trees outside my Vancouver home were bursting green, obscuring the mountains. My past came crashing through the window as I contemplated life – hard, huge and haunted.

I thought about the years, so many years, gone by; people gone from my life, people gone from the world, people on their way out of it. What can you do? They’ve all gone. We’ll go, too.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/music/musics-link-to-the-brain-means-when-we-lose-an-artist-we-love-it-hurts/article30187841/

Go. Gone. Going.

And so for day 1629
30.05.2011

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North American Indian Ways of Mourning & AIDS

I find myself at odds with At Odds with AIDS by Alexander García Düttmann (translated by Peter Gilgen and Conrad Scott-Curtis). Although he uses the moves of deconstructive criticism he falls short in pushing the analysis. This is especially true for the cross-cultural example he provides in a footnote. First let us recall how he sets this up.

The question of an im-pertinent [sic] existence is the question of a relation to sickness and death that distinguishes itself essentially from the work of mourning, from the perpetuation of the complex of melancholia, and from the idealizing denial of what has been endured.

To this passage is connected a note that begins

That the work of mourning is not necessarily a constant becomes clear to one who turns to other forms of faith and views of the world […] The aporias of mourning in the time of AIDS are described with precision in an article printed in the New York Times in Dec. 1992. Docotrs and therapists are searching for new forms and rites of mourning: “Dr. Terry Tafoya, a psychologist at the University of Washington, and Dr. Leon McKusick, a psychologist a the University of California at San Francisco, have borrowed mourning rituals from American Indian culture to help those suffering from multiple loss. Because American Indians had no immunity to European diseases, 92 percent of them died within two generations of their initial contact with whites, said Dr. Tafoya, an Indian, himself.

Düttermann leaves it at that. No analysis.

Let’s look closer at the source

Dr. Terry Tafoya, a psychologist at the University of Washington, and Dr. Leon McKusick, a psychologist at the University of California at San Francisco, have borrowed mourning rituals from American Indian culture to help those suffering from multiple loss.

Because American Indians had no immunity to European diseases, 92 percent of them died within two generations of their initial contact with whites, said Dr. Tafoya, an Indian himself. “So there is tremendous parallel in the Native American experience and what the gay community is going through in the 90’s.”

Dr. Tafoya, dressed in full tribal garb, mesmerized an audience of 500 at the AIDS meeting in Amsterdam last spring as he chanted to a drum, inviting others to share stories of the dead. “There is an old saying that sorrow shared is halved and joy shared is doubled,” he said.

The relentless nature of the current losses is compounded by the relative youth of the victims and of those who have survived. Most people who are experiencing multiple losses, largely men and women in their 30’s and 40’s, viewed death as an academic concept until AIDS arrived.

http://www.nytimes.com/1992/12/06/us/to-a-drumbeat-of-losses-to-aids-a-rethinking-of-traditional-grief.html?pagewanted=all

Elisabeth Rosenthal, To a Drumbeat of Losses to AIDS, A Rethinking of Traditional Grief

We have wandered from the melancholy/mourning considerations. What strikes me here is the tension in the comparative moment: between a universalized acceptance and openness to all cultural practices and the incommensurability of comparing different historical experiences. Düttmann misses the occasion and misses the point.

Sharing stories is not specific to any one culture; the ways do vary.

In its “other forms of faith and views” Düttman’s note also references Buddhist understandings which allows him to claim that [w]here the delimitation of reality undergoes such a fundamental removal of limitations and boundaries, there seems to remain little room for a work of mourning in the sense of a “test of reality”” which strikes me as othering the other which is simply impertinent (no hyphen).

And so for day 1628
29.05.2011

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Class and Warfare

Judith Martin in Common Curtesy in which Miss Manners solves the problem that baffled Mr. Jefferson recognizes the uses to which etiquette is sometimes put.

This is the sort of thing that gives etiquette a bad name. It is a wonderful instrument of class warfare, although that is only one of the many uses of etiquette. Those who conclude that manners are therefore merely an affectation of the rich to annoy the poor also overlook the fact that codes of manners are employed by all classes going in different directions. The most sophisticated and ruthless inventors of manners, with rigid regulations about dress, speech, and hierarchy, are teenaged street gangs.

She of course does not let this trouble her from her main argument that civilization however artificial is important for individual as well as social well-being. In short, she offers a tract against the encroachment of commercial interests into the domain of private life. And for that we thank her.

And so for day 1627
28.05.2011

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Walk to Borrow, Run to Read

Alan Bennett on Libraries (our emphasis)

A library needs to be handy and local; it shouldn’t require an expedition. Municipal authorities of all parties point to splendid new and scheduled central libraries as if this discharges them of their obligations. It doesn’t. For a child a library needs to be round the corner. And if we lose local libraries it is children who will suffer.

London Review of Books Vol. 33 No. 15 · 28 July 2011

I was put in mind of the small remote fly-in communities in northern Ontario and whether they benefit from interlibrary loan programs. I am blessed to live in a city, Toronto, where the public library is built upon the operation of branch libraries and a wonderful system of holds & loans that have books delivered for pickup at your local library. Yes political will is important for building and maintain intelligent library services.

And so for day 1626
27.05.2011

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The Halting Problem Revisited

John Koethe. Sally’s Hair. “Continuity and the Counting Numbers”

One let’s you trace out what you’ve been or are
Or might yet become; the other is a row of tombstones

You plow right into them because you are carried by the alternatives of past, present and future. And the future is terminal.

And so for day 1625
26.05.2011

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What Colour Is Your Bowl?

I like the enumeration at the end of this passage. It gives you the impression of peering into the cups to appreciate their coloration and the effect it might have on whipped green tea.

The cups Lu Yu liked best had an exquisite blue glaze, so that once the reddish-brown cake tea was served in them, it would look jade green in the cup. The more delicately colored whipped tea inspired Sung ceramicists to come up with strangely beautiful teacups of blue black, black, dark brown, and deep purple.

James Norwood Pratt. The Tea Lover’s Treasury.

Reading this presents us with the memory of all the joy in comparing colour swatches and the names invented to distinguish colourings: Brinjal, Black Blue, Pitch Black, Mahogany (names lifted from a purveyor which markets itself as “Craftsmen in Paint and Paper”). Still love the simplicity of Norwood Pratt’s listing. Luscious even without the presence of jade tea.

And so for day 1624
25.05.2011

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Bovarism Symbolized

Not much of a spoiler to indicate that towards the end of the novel there is a book burning which features a fire-retardant copy of Madame Bovary.

The sixth match dealt with Madame Bovary. But the flame refused to set fire to the page where Emma lies in bed with her lover in the hotel at Rouen, smoking a cigarette and murmuring “you’ll leave me …” This final match was more selective in its fury, choosing to attack the end of the book, where Emma, in the agony of death, fancies she hears a blind man singing:

The beat of the sun of a summer day
Warms a young girl in an amorous way.

This fine twist of incorporating an intertextual quotation into the heart of the diegesis is from Dai Sijie Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress.

And so for day 1623
24.05.2011

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