The past couple of days have been a furious blur. I know its the medication thats been affecting my short term memory - tons of brain farts. I'm slowly adjusting to the dosage and the side effects aren't as strong.
My writing juices have stopped. There's too many crazy things happening in my life that I haven't been able to reflect or turn away. Its difficult to write on something so real, so absurd, that I'm very confused as to what exactly is going on.
Tomorrow is the first day of 2008. I hope that shortly after the turn, I'll be able to finally understand what I've been seeing.
The island will always be the same. Year after year, I return here.
In this house, this strange home to some of my past.
In January I am moving to Manhattan in search of (in a sense) a new life. I know the general practice is to first apply for jobs and interviews BEFORE moving. But I want to risk it. I want to really feel that sense of urgency in a city of possibilities.
Kierkegaard has got to be one of the quirkiest, most imaginative and wonderful philosphers. Same goes for Nietzsche. I'm currently reading Either/Or and cannot help but stop at certain passages to chuckle or muse in delight. I'm still on "Either." Its going to take me some time to really wade through it. I wish I had my copy of Adorno's Concepts and Categories to compare. =)
I've been re-reading Noelle Kocot's Poem for the End of Time.
I'm trying to figure out why I love this lengthy poem so much (33 pages, I can't even count the number of stanzas right now).
The poem gives me the same weird feeling that I get from reading a more structured poem such as a sestina or a ghazel (sp.?). There's a lot of repetition: clear in its visual and aural intentions.
The poem repeats most often these two phrases (I'm so mad I can't replicate the exact spacing of the lines, someone teach me how to format on blogger):
"My neighborhood my neighborhood my neighborhood
Up in flames my neighborhood"
and different variations of "On apocalypse waves of scalene dreams"
If I knew how to get the spacing on blogger, you would see "my neighborhood" in "waves."
Since I'm reading "Either" I am reminded of A's thoughts on music, its sensual immediacy. Not anything specific, but just to think of the poem as music, a song. How full bodied it is.
My first encounter with the poem was at Kocot's reading in Chicago. She read the poem in its entirety. I was surprised how at first I wasn't very interested in the poem and how it slowly grabbed my attention and how I ended up in awe of its beauty. 1. the sound. all that repetition.
2. sense. 3. image.
Here's an example of the powerful effect that Kocot has when combining 2 and 3. She breaks away from the more song like and
"I woke to the dread of my driver’s test, and to a deer with tremendous/ antlers looking in at me from the patio. I did not know not to touch the /glass. I did not know:
That the animal could shatter the glass and tear through the house/
That the glass could shatter and tear my throat in scalene waves of/
apocalypse dreams"
This passage is so intense. I'm not sure what she meant by it. I know as a reader, that it connects with me. Being back in Long Island. This strange home.
[im no lit critic. forgive me for the messiness.]
In this house, this strange home to some of my past.
In January I am moving to Manhattan in search of (in a sense) a new life. I know the general practice is to first apply for jobs and interviews BEFORE moving. But I want to risk it. I want to really feel that sense of urgency in a city of possibilities.
Kierkegaard has got to be one of the quirkiest, most imaginative and wonderful philosphers. Same goes for Nietzsche. I'm currently reading Either/Or and cannot help but stop at certain passages to chuckle or muse in delight. I'm still on "Either." Its going to take me some time to really wade through it. I wish I had my copy of Adorno's Concepts and Categories to compare. =)
I've been re-reading Noelle Kocot's Poem for the End of Time.
I'm trying to figure out why I love this lengthy poem so much (33 pages, I can't even count the number of stanzas right now).
The poem gives me the same weird feeling that I get from reading a more structured poem such as a sestina or a ghazel (sp.?). There's a lot of repetition: clear in its visual and aural intentions.
The poem repeats most often these two phrases (I'm so mad I can't replicate the exact spacing of the lines, someone teach me how to format on blogger):
"My neighborhood my neighborhood my neighborhood
Up in flames my neighborhood"
and different variations of "On apocalypse waves of scalene dreams"
If I knew how to get the spacing on blogger, you would see "my neighborhood" in "waves."
Since I'm reading "Either" I am reminded of A's thoughts on music, its sensual immediacy. Not anything specific, but just to think of the poem as music, a song. How full bodied it is.
My first encounter with the poem was at Kocot's reading in Chicago. She read the poem in its entirety. I was surprised how at first I wasn't very interested in the poem and how it slowly grabbed my attention and how I ended up in awe of its beauty. 1. the sound. all that repetition.
2. sense. 3. image.
Here's an example of the powerful effect that Kocot has when combining 2 and 3. She breaks away from the more song like and
"I woke to the dread of my driver’s test, and to a deer with tremendous/ antlers looking in at me from the patio. I did not know not to touch the /glass. I did not know:
That the animal could shatter the glass and tear through the house/
That the glass could shatter and tear my throat in scalene waves of/
apocalypse dreams"
This passage is so intense. I'm not sure what she meant by it. I know as a reader, that it connects with me. Being back in Long Island. This strange home.
[im no lit critic. forgive me for the messiness.]
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