Sentence Slavery

Margaret Webb.
desire, high heels, red wine.

understand the slavery of sentences […] breaking out of control shit like this the critics say women writers have no control over our sentences give us an inch of white space and we charge off like a bunch of lesbians forgetting who invented the line that proper restraint would keep our looser halves from violating poetry with repetitive multiple orgasms repetitive multiple orgasms taste sweet as spilled wine to my lips […]

a sentence is to an orgasm as a line of poetry is to a caress of foreplay ???

And so for day 341
20.11.2007

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X-rated Season

Dionne Brand in Winter Epigrams & Epigrams to Ernesto Cardenal in Defense of Claudia provides us with a remarkable take on the endless pounding of the cold in a season that almost never ends. The epigram is place-specific but its ironic touch travels well.

snow is raping the landscape
Cote de Neige is screaming
writhing under
winter’s heavy body
any poem about Montreal in the winter is pornography

I like the hint that the heavy body is not just the layers of snow upon snow but also the long johns, sweaters, coats and all the gear that weigh us down. There is a strong identificatory moment between the listening subject and the landscape subject of the poem.

And upon further reflection we are made to wonder about the blanket-effect of pornography.

And so for day 340
19.11.2007

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Cubicle Chronicles

Once upon a time there was a big bad employer (short-sighted employer who wanted to gut the collective agreement provisions for job security and merit pay — clawbacks which attacked the younger workers and would hobble the employer’s attempt to recruit and retain the best and the brightest).

So what were the knowledge workers to do? They were distributed in various and sundry work places connected by computer-mediated communication. There in lay the key to their resistance.

The knowledge workers replaced “shock and awe” with “share and ask”. They were a clever bunch.

They were going to flood the email system.

Some of the outspoken senior members at the top of their pay scale with nothing to loose commandeered the @allstaff distribution lists and

  • Urged work-life balance through a recipe swap (with lots of posts and debate about ingredients, methods, pictures, results of taste tests, acceptable substitutes) and collectively planned a collection of the best recipes (which led to discussion about printing versus electronic version, etc. etc.).
  • Engaged in minute analysis of geopolitical trends and what scenarios could be expected to emerge in their corner of the globe (lots of true cost accounting and reconciling divergent views of the evidence-base).
  • Competed to see who could sent the biggest spread sheet to the most people; contrived to send a spreadsheet cell by cell in timed bursts.
  • Posted worried messages about viruses that ate vowels.

Some of the more timid members turned off printers, fax machines, scanners and photocopiers — which took a little while to power up again. But no one was ever sure that their print job would still be in the queue.

Info Tech Support was bombarded with requests for pings to servers to check connectivity…

Others hoarded the paper envelopes (now rare) for interoffice mail.

Workers asked that all transactions go manager-to-manager before they hit their desks — they argued there was no other way of ensuring their messages would not be caught up in the new etiquette of reply all and copy more. The slack in the system by which work was accomplished was significantly reduced.

Outside the organisation, allies asked for information about programs, services, policies, directives and asked about access to data. And asked again. Moreover they shared detailed plans and asked for feedback.

The data stream was relentless. And what was the result of this little exercise in signal to noise ratio manipulation? Glee. Empowerment. Sharing. And lots of profound asking about the fragile cultures of the workplace.

Inspired by Alan Liu The Laws of Cool: Knowledge Work and the Culture of Information and John Brunner The Shockwave Rider.

And so for day 339
18.11.2007

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Circuit

Deep geography.

One follows a horizontal river run. That is Joyce’s “A way a lone a lost a last a loved a long the” which is the end of Finnegans Wake which famously links back to the riverrun opening.

The other is oriented on a vertical axis and follows a slope both in its run and situation.

A / LAKE / A / LANE / A / LINE / A / LONE

The photo by Stefan Powell conveys a little of the slight incline in the alley where this inscription from bpnichol is to be found. (There was audio at the Murmur project of Christian Bök reading the incised words.)

Both whatever their orientations play on vowel currents and waves, float as easily as place names here brought in proximity — Dublin’s River Liffey or Toronto’s Lake Ontario.

And so for day 338
17.11.2007

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Cinders Rising

There is in D.G. Jones A Throw of Particles a poem called “Heavens”. It is a short poem but it opens up to words beyond. It begins with stars and carries on in opportunities of conversation that are ironically circumscribed.

The ferocious stars
keep their distance, become
a conversation piece

The phrase “ferocity of the stars” has been encountered in “Dance Steps” earlier in the collection. There one is treated to the cliche image of sparks flying from a fire into the night sky yet the reader is left with more than the canopy of stars to contemplate.

[…] Dance
then, the bonfire whirling
fossils to the black stars

One recalls Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock” and its reference to billion year old carbon.

And so for day 337
16.11.2007

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Addressing Rhythm

A passage in a review at intercapillary space suggests reading Lisa Robertson The Men besides Djuna Barnes The Book of Repulsive Women. Edmund Hardy writes

“A man is another person – a woman is yourself,” as Nora observes in Nightwood. Barnes subtitled her first book “8 Rhythms and 5 Drawings”, & Robertson’s books could also perhaps be called rhythms: each one has a different rhythmic texture, or syllabic knobbling.

From early on in The Men (the last two lines to the opening “rhythm”)

Young men of sheepish privilege becoming
Sweet new style

From late in The Book of Repulsive Women

Until her songless soul admits
       Time comes to kill:
You pay her price and wonder why
       You need her still.

It is Nora’s observation as reported by Edmund that here plays in my little sandbox of quotation, serving as a cypher, gliding through the genders of the the game of identification and projection. And precisely because it is mapped onto the polarities of man and woman only contingently (the polarities can be reversed) the rather unmarked place of the interlocutor becomes a complex question not only of gender but also of singleness versus plurality. A you can be two or more. And how then does the configuration of the interlocutor affect the rhythm?

And so for day 336
15.11.2007

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Inoculated

Jason Taniguchi
VERY SENSIBLE STORIES AND POEMS FOR GROWN PERSONS
from “The Plague” entry to “The Genre in Brief (100-word stories)”

Even those few individuals who did manage to panic were met with equanimity by their neighbours; for it had always been assumed that the end of the world must torment some people. They were simply playing an expected role in a long-awaited script.

Part of the charm here is the indirectness offered by the indefinite articles. It underlines the restricted nature of “some”.

Some people want to get their hands on the Kelp Queen Press issue of Mr. Taniguchi’s stories. Some people have been infected by the few they have read in The Stars as Seen from this Particular Angle of Night edited by Sandra Kasturi. Some are ready for more exposure. Some are already vectors.

And so for day 335
14.11.2007

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Niggle Nibble

You take a bite out of the poem and swallow these delicious rhymes.

We build great ships
plan great, precise, arcing journeys,
yearning,
yearning to change,
fly out of our green, nibbling little lives,
to touch,
enter
be
that brightness.

You digest the delicacies that are these “nibbling little lives” and realize solar power on a different scale.

And you thank Peter Bloch-Hansen for “Why Starships Should be Named for Moths” collected in The Stars as Seen from this Particular Angle of Night edited by Sandra Kasturi.

And so for day 334
13.11.2007

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Finding Loss

Trish Salah Wanting in Arabic has a piece that opens with a fateful sentence.

She awoke to an appetite for narrative.

Notice she awoke “to” not “with”. Notice also “narrative” not “narration” (the story vs the telling). The appetite might just devour her. A diegesis spoken by another threatens.

What is not told here has been shown earlier in the book with a poem sequence ending:

how like a boy
to take the long view.

Note the period marking ending.

The long view may not find its ending until the very end of mortal coil. Which serpentine path may contain transformations. A life lived is not lived until it ends.

As a boy reader, I have been remembering lines from a song on The Pretenders album Get Close “Hymn to Her” and wondering how it is a boy can identify with the tripartite maid-mother-crone. And part of the answer is in the lyrics — an openness to continuity and change.

And she will always carry on
Something is lost
But something is found
They will keep on speaking her name
Some things change
Some stay the same

We are at once cut off from the “they” and imaginatively linked. Just as Salah’s “she” is, via memory over pages of text, linked to the “boy” who by virtue of the poetic voice and its ironic inflection has but a long view in a longer sequence. Again we are called to notice not so much the narrative (the told) but the narration (the telling) which sets us, the readers, into intimate relation with what is an ongoing sequence that carries us away from the text into a consideration of our relations with other readers including ourselves at some future point. Lost and found.

And so for day 333
12.11.2007

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Mortal Musings

Robin Romm’s narrators interject into the telling miniature meditations on the nature of dying and the consequences of death for the surviving. These are not just of the memento mori variety. The story “The Tilt” which gives its name to the collection for example draws a fine distinction between fury and defeat and in so doing describes the pitch and range of emotion that is elicited from the situation and the niceties lead into the pain of interrogation.

But she’s still here. She still makes jokes about the dog and gets angry with the doctors. She can’t figure out how to use her cell phone or get the stains out of the grout in the kitchen. But when I touch her skin, the heat is different. There’s a defeat and a fury right below the coolness of it and it’s a frightening combination — defeat that won’t do you in and fury that can’t save you. And sometimes I try to imagine the silence that will fall everywhere after she dies. I call her now with offhanded questions about taxes or recipes and I think that soon there will be no answers. And the question mark will lose its curve, will grow and straighten inside of my ribs, getting so large and sharp and unwieldy that it finally splits my body in two.

Split we are led stylistically to believe between fury and defeat.

The mother is also the source of wisdom in “Fluency”.

In your body when you’re dying, my mother told me, there is a lot of talking. It gets stranger and stranger, she said, the talking, until you seem to know anther language. And when you are fluent, you have to leave.

Robert Glück in the back cover blurb to The Tilt reads this collection of stories as posing a question: “How can we contain loss and harm, so that we can live, when loss and harm are where we live most deeply?” Part of the answer lies in reading words shaped to a sharp fluency.

And so for day 332
11.11.2007

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