tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-566178597384801656.post4078792269873513747..comments2023-05-17T14:36:13.102+01:00Comments on walkingintheceiling: KoolSimon Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09309155964441551619noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-566178597384801656.post-47343895232499254372013-05-04T15:21:58.174+01:002013-05-04T15:21:58.174+01:00Thanks, Simon, this helps.
Sometimes a shot in th...Thanks, Simon, this helps.<br /><br />Sometimes a shot in the dark will find its mark by accident.<br /><br />The lyric is perhaps a hermetic form by nature. There was the adage about the lyric having the quality of eavesdropped-upon conversation.<br /><br />(I believe that was John Stuart Mill, of all people.)TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-566178597384801656.post-24940481294898481232013-05-04T14:58:32.614+01:002013-05-04T14:58:32.614+01:00The image "is" the image of a vanished b...The image "is" the image of a vanished body - it's a photograph of a piece of landscape art by Ana Mendieta (a photograph taken by Mendieta). (I don't attribute images & I should start doing so. I think I feel that they become something else attached to the poem, & I rarely start with the image. Though interestingly I did here. I'd been reading about Mendieta's work.) There's something about uncles .... <br /><br />I worry that my poems continually stage fragmented narratives / histories. That may be to do with how I interact with the blog form: it gives itself to the hermetic lyric. <br /><br />"Nothing that has been seen in this picture will (or would or could or should) ever be forgotten." Thank you, that's beautifully phrased. I'm haunted by the a-dialectic of memory / forgetting. Simon Howardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09309155964441551619noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-566178597384801656.post-49278980840714004902013-05-01T16:27:35.050+01:002013-05-01T16:27:35.050+01:00Mysterious and intriguing poem which invites atten...Mysterious and intriguing poem which invites attention to the several external and internal hints and clues, things unsaid and implied.<br /><br />By external I mean the ekphrastic element, the photo which begins the conversation. <br /><br />In "reading" this photo I am for better or worse guided down a path which takes me either straight into and through the poem... or out the back door into the bin of my own false assumption(?).<br /><br />I "read" the photo, in any case, as an image of elephant grass in the Mekong Delta.<br /><br />(I realize that here I am "reading" a "history" as well.)<br /><br />The river stick, combat fatigues and bare legs in plastic sandals thus figure in my "plot". <br /><br />There would be a faraway, semi-abstract fascist uncle somewhere off beyond the edge of the scene.<br /><br />Nothing that has been seen in this picture will (or would or could or should) ever be forgotten. TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.com