Wednesday, May 20, 2009

OCCUPATIONAL TREATMENT by TAYLOR BRADY

AMBER DIPIETRA Reviews

Occupational Treatment by Taylor Brady
(Atelos, 2006)

Some reviews of Taylor Brady’s Microclimates (Krupskaya, 2001) align the writing with Proust’s detailed attention to the minutiae of memory. This is true if one imagines Proust’s brain on quantum mechanics—a scenario in which atoms of lived experience, closely observed, are only partially inhabited as the gaze which calls them back into being simultaneously splices them into the waves and particles of variant sequences, times, and layers of subjectivity. In his newest book, Occupational Treatment, Brady continues this kind of narrative remembrance of things past, potential, present and perishing from the Florida of his childhood.

The book begins with a small play—much in the sparse, absurd style of something by Beckett; including actors such as “Occupant” and “Intruder”, three card “Players” and most notably, the “Radio”. The latter mediates a setting-less foreground through which the other characters interact and also figures as a central character in itself. The rest of the lengthy work (almost 300 pages) is made up of prose blocks set off by headers like “RADIO:” and “TELEVISION:”, long prose sections interspersed with verse fragments, epistolary passages with subtitles/lines of address such as “Dear Surveillance Photo Aged by Speculation”, and prose portions which are narrated as “transmissions” and bracketed by lines that read “...Channel open. Shutdown protocol unsuccessful....” There is also a section that consists of blank rectangles and numbered prose segments; it is a “shot list” and a series of “film stills”. Here a voice says, “Attach the feed. We are aiming at a movie.”

Amid these various modes of narrative and verse, alternately warping into and morphing from each other, “the plot”, as it were, pivots around “clumps of scrub palmetto”, the “scorched earth of redevelopment”, and “slash pine” of an expanse of land that is the “undeveloped scrub woods of Florida”. It is home to what city authorities, those who use “authorized speech,” spin as a “teeming warren of ‘squatters, terrorists, pedophiles and meth cookers”. It is also the gathering place for “the gangs of young men who, having lost their driver’s licenses in a string of DUIs, ride their little brothers’ too-small BMX bikes out under the ozone-yellowed moon for generic cigarettes, homemade crystal meth, and unprovoked assault.” But story, in terms of temporal plot, does not proceed evenly along these lines. The real “plot” exists as strata, like dirt, rocks and dust that are ground down or smoothed over. One works to “lay the plot in the story of botany. Story of waste disposal. Story of zoning. Story of markets. To market.” However, the narrative insists, “I will speak only of the bulldozed camp in terms of the strip mall that will come to stand in its place.”

In this zone of substitution, Brady breaks with Proust and the thrall of recapturing. The highly personalized narration is never trapped in, never allowed to “puke dumb factuality”. It is a story of Brady’s boyhood and, by extension, the land and the time he spent in the woods near his home, but at a cellular level beyond paradigms like personality, land use, gentrification, homelessness, low culture and cultural imperialism. The substitution comes closer to the real violence and falsifications inherent in these terms and in memory itself. This happens because of the visceral quality such substitution lends to the text. More than that of Marcel Proust, Occupational Treatment bears the trace elements of Francois Rabelais in the way that characters—as subjectivities which cling tenuously to scattered ‘I’s’, tags, initials nameless groups like the tent dwellers—become bodies in excess of particularity, aligned with the grotesque transmogrifications of the land.

There is a body-less “barbershop quartet of heads” that function like the chorus in Greek plays as they sing verses such as, “ ‘The body’s full of juices cooking down to jelly, and a jelly’s just a cube with too much heat, like tinted Lucite waiting to become a living room objet.’ ” Often, we meet a kind of main character sleeping in the dumpster amid the clippings of hair behind the beauty college that borders the undeveloped tracts of land. And, in a passage that typifies the experience of bodies in the landscape and the body of the land, there is a detailed account of expectoration.
We walked for what seemed like forever, the converging lines of small-scale irrigation and the vanishing point of our hopes in the distant intuition of the miasmic sea remaining inexhaustible until finally the tempo of value in the municipal relation to the aquifer conquered the tempo of space in our walking as the mid-day water rationing kicked in and the sprinklers went dry, and the uncloaking of infinite circuits of carefully installed desert in the midst of the growing suburb threatened to derail progress altogether until Bottom Dog hit upon the expedient of spitting onto the ground ahead of us in alternation, so that first he and then I would arc a sticky glob some few feet into the future, toward which we would trudge until even with its landing point, the air meanwhile still minimally romantic with the thin dust and ash thrown up by the impact and rendering suitably sublime any reference to a larger scope for our endeavor than that immediate ambit of a step or two, whose terminus having been reached, the spitter would stand glaring intently forward while the other stretched out full length upon the earth as if in worship, slurping up his deeded unit of moisture and thus forestalling collapse through the next repetition of the cycle which now gained a teleology against the illusion of infinity through which it had labored to this point, as we now gauged our linear movement by the approaching finite zero of dehydration, strategically counterbalancing this against the infinite zero of the vanishing point

In Rabelais, there is much revelry, excess, and corruption. He who feasts, defecates. The grotesque body, in such a society, is one that emits and one which is porous to the world around it. So here we have Bottom Dog and his companion, navigating the copiously developed, seemingly lush Floridian landscape. What they are really traversing may be the over-fished, deforested, gentrified mirage of a southern state where the wetlands dry up and the coasts erode.
“Like all them trees was just bad hair due for cutting.” muttered Bottom Dog as I lapped his precious froth, by now mostly stale air and grit, from the small hollow it had made in the dirt, frozen in the realization that the landscape suspended our recognition of its actuality precisely in this function of leveling its forward edge so as to point to what would simply be more of itself.

On one level, this is the story of land use, low income neighborhoods and those trailers and tent cities that are literally paved over, will be paved over. On another, Brady creates a textual simulation that in the thirsty spans of impossibly long sentences, bulldozes itself as it builds. The reader gropes for green spaces and finds turned-up soil, looks for bedrock and finds a jungle of dusty moss. This is Florida where it gets pinched and brittle. Somewhere along these airwaves, my transmission. Like Taylor Brady, I grew up in Florida in a town not too far from his place of birth. Toward the beginning of the book, the narrator of the moment is traveling down “Fowler Avenue” the other F street I always confused with the one that my mother’s hair salon was actually on. I spent most of my early years in the back room there while she worked. I was fascinated with the back parking lot, flanked by huge dumpsters full of matted hair clippings and bordered by the scrub woods where I was told never to go. An incidental angle, sure – and “angle of incidence” maybe, as Brady refers to it.

In Googling the author, I got to Microclimates and then from that to reviews and then from that to one librarian from Brady’s hometown who posted a review on Amazon. He writes that Microclimates is an important work which shows that “Florida is a real place and not just the simulacra one sees on the show Cops.” I agree with this statement just as fully as I concur with an opposing view. Occupational Treatment leaves me with the feeling of possessing a shakier foothold in the place where I was born and a better ear for the white n noise that emits from there. “There are figures curled beneath the speed bumps that could have told us this from the beginning. And with that I shift pronouns. We are hundreds of the previously visible crowding emptiness into your streets. Do not mistake the hiss of dead air for closure. We are all transmissions.”

*****

Amber DiPietra works as a resource specialist at the San Francisco LightHouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired. She enjoys tracking the body in real time, thinking about disability as formal innovation, taking P.O.D. (Pigeon-of-the-Day) photos, editing/blog curation for Kelsey Street Press, and publishing the blink zine with co-creator Alexis Brayton. You can find out about more of her projects at: www.adipietra.blogspot.com. Her writing also appears in Make, a Chicago literary magazine, Mirage Period(ical), and Tarpaulin Sky.

MOONGARDEN by ANTHONY MCCANN

REBECCA GUYON Reviews

Moongarden by Anthony McCann
(Wave Books, 2006)

It wasn’t so long ago that I was in a poetry workshop where one poet made it his mission to eradicate the word “thing” from every poem. If anyone dared to use the “t-word” you could guarantee the first discussion comment would come from him: “I just think ‘thing’ is too inexact to be in a poem.” Too bad Anthony McCann wasn’t in this workshop. In his second and most recent collection, Moongarden, “thing” comes up a lot as the poet uses this unfairly maligned word to help create the poems’ shifting worlds, blurring boundaries and looking at reality through a hazy film. There’s great anxiety in the collection over what’s real and what’s not; what takes shape and what doesn’t; what can be called a thing and what hasn’t quite reached this status. McCann explores these conflicts with tight lines, humor, and lyricism, mining these landscapes for all the strange beauty you’d expect from a collection titled Moongarden.

We can see the importance of “thinghood” in the collection’s second poem, “Ode to the Lake.” The poem begins:
I, myself, should have been a thing.

But then the things themselves appeared.

Some were called squibs.

Others, vague and old,
became the higher animals.

They were like

words painted in the lake
or like

clouds riddled through with sun.

And they were also like
some more directions to the builders.

The speaker begins by asserting, emphatically, that he should have been a thing, implying that he is not, thus setting him apart from the actual things. Within two lines it’s clear that the speaker is alone—not just lonely, but in a completely different category from every other creature. The poem quietly alludes to the Garden of Eden as creatures suddenly appear and some are classified as “higher animals,” though in this case the creatures seem to name themselves. Regardless, this allusion, though subtle, imbues the poem with a sense of mysticism and inevitability. Yet, even as the “things” come into being, the speaker describes them through simile, a tool that compares rather than creates. Furthermore, the similes compare the creatures to ephemeral sights and sounds, suggesting that even the “things” are not quite stable.

As the poem continues, the speaker plunges deeper into the mystical landscape, yet ultimately he can only reaffirm his lack of being, which began the poem.
It’s true–I should have worn protective gear.

But whether I woke up in the park
smeared in pink and yellow thread

or when I walked around the lake
damaging the geese

I stayed exactly how I am.

So when I rush along the world
it leaves a rushing in my ears

and I am placed along the water
as the lake becomes a thing.

Although “I should have worn protective gear” is a funny line, it also reemphasizes that the speaker is at risk and the use of the conditional tense suggests that something did in fact harm the speaker. Yet, immediately after bisecting the poem with this jarring line, the speaker dives back into the world of strange and ephemeral things—even something tangible, like thread, or simple, like walking around a lake, is rendered strange by the actions of smearing and damaging. And yet despite all this the speaker “stays the same”; he is still not a thing, which is reaffirmed in the last line as he sits by the lake as the lake becomes a thing. By the end, “thing” seems to be a substitute for presence; if an object, be it an animal or a lake, takes space and matters in this world, it is a thing. The speaker, who only echoes the sound of rushing, is empty; he has no presence in the world.

By viewing a thing as something that has presence, a direct connection can be made with the collection’s equal obsession over physical shape. Both “thinghood” and shape serve as proof that the object exists, which is why the speakers are obsessed with these categories. In the poem, “Miami International Airport Hotel,” the speaker mediates on this issue, jumping between physicality and thought. The three-part poem begins,
The alarm goes off—I’m still in the airport. Is it impossible to imagine my physical shape? I was dreaming of jobs again and of t-shirts that scream “Chicago!” And then I am absent, suddenly, accepting the fact: it remains impossible to imagine this hotel.

Within these opening prose lines, the speaker jumps between the physical that can be verified—the alarm, the airport—to a large question about whether he too has shape, physicality. As he can’t picture his shape, he becomes absent. The hotel, which initially looms large, succumbs to the same fate. The loss of shape becomes a loss of self; if shape cannot be imagined, then the person or place cannot exist. Placing the poem in an airport hotel fits this theme since, as anyone who has ever had the unfortunate experience of staying at an airport hotel can attest to, it is an unexpectedly eerie place; you aren’t supposed to be there, yet you are, so it’s easy to loose track of yourself, and that is exactly what happens to the speaker.

McCann doesn’t only slip between the ephemeral and the real, but also between schools of writing. In many ways McCann draws on Romantic tropes—“Ode to the Lake” is one of many odes in the collection, for example—yet he pairs them with a sense of post-modern irony, creating speakers who are aware of the trap of sentimentality and try to resist it, but ultimately are sincere in their emotions. This movement can be seen in the poem, “Ode to the Sky (Seattle).” Beyond using the ode form, this poem draws on Romantic sensibilities through its beckoning of the beloved and awe of nature. Yet, throughout the poem McCann uses vocabulary pulled from a myriad of sources and constantly undercuts any sentimentality with ironic humor, all tools taken from the post-modern tool kit. The poem begins with the sky, and then moves indoors where the speaker and his beloved are talking. (Though, I should add that McCann does not lay out the scene in such a prosaic manner.) The speaker then breaks the scene with a memory:
I remember:

we were sitting on this iron bench
above the north south interstate.

All my nerves
were stuffed
deep in your pants.

Behind us
the sky turns green, then gray
and pink and black.

This memory, recovered
by myself

working alone
without the guidance
of licensed professionals
just this very afternoon,

may not bear up under
cross-examination.

But I know the sky was blind

and my extremities were trembling.


In this passage alone the poem bounces back and forth between sincerity and irony, a veritable poetic ping-pong match. First, there is the calling of a memory, a sentimental gesture, and then the assertion of sexuality and expectation, but with great humor—how do nerves get stuck in one’s pants?— and then back to beauty, the sky’s amazing shift of color, which contributed to the importance of the moment for the speaker. Then he undercuts the whole memory with a drawn out joke that also works to question whether the moment happened at all. And yet, the speaker can’t let it go, asserting that he knows something important happened that day, asserting the moment’s sincerity. This back and forth movement between styles allows McCann to have his cake and eat it too. Lines that might seem too clever or cheesy in a poem running on either an ironic or sentimental tone become unexpected and exciting in a poem pulling from both.

Be it shifts between the real and the ephemeral or sincerity and irony, Moongarden is ultimately about being caught in transition, and what a beautiful and horrible place it can be.

====

Rebecca Guyon holds an MFA in poetry from St. Mary's College of California. Her poems are published or forthcoming in Denver Quarterly, 6x6, Octopus, Parcel, Strange Machine, Avatar Review, and more. She has reviews published in The Hollins Critic and forthcoming in Anti-.

MAXIMUM GAGA by LARA GLENUM

ANGELA GENUSA Reviews

Maximum Gaga by Lara Glenum
(Action Books, 2008)

Prepare to read Lara Glenum's Maximum Gaga, but I will tell you now, you cannot prepare. Maximum Gaga will slit your eyeballs open like the straight razor that cuts a woman's eye in Luis Buñuel's "Un Chien Andalou." And you will find the gruesome experience pleasurable.

This monstrosity of a poetry collection – and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible – will leave you with images and phrases you cannot get out of your head, no matter how you try.

Take this excerpt from "The Sign of the Goat" for example:
I saw myself dressed in pink-eye             & tumors :             modeling
the latest vivisection device:             : I saw myself lying on a gurney


surrounded by deer in white jackets :             My spine being pulled out my
asshole :             like a string of diamonds             :

After reading the first half of the book, I found myself walking around the house, chanting some of the character's names and phrases from the book in a sing-song, sinister way: "Minky Momo! Minky Momo!" "I'm flexing my eye-pods & feeling nasty," "My squealing gristle."

Maximum Gaga is filled with a surreal, carnivalesque freakshow of grotesque characters, animals, and machines that will fuck you up, but good. Like a David Lynch movie, you will finish the book feeling violated, yet in some weird way, liking it and wondering how you were manipulated so precisely by a writer. As you read the book, you'll mutter like Minky Momo in the prose poem "Will the Real Minky Momo Please Step Forward, "This is not really happening."

Maximum Gaga is written by, through, and about the body, which is why on page 62, almost exactly halfway through the book, Glenum appropriates three statements from Michel Foucault:
The Body is the Inscribed Surface of Events!

            A Volume in Perpetual Disintegration!

                        The Body is Always Under Siege!

The book is constructed like a play, and is also very film-like, written in Acts and Scenes, which combine poetry, prose poetry, stage directions, letters, documents, an anthem, and even what could be construed as an essay or manifesto ("Proclamation of the Visual Mercenaries"), set in sequence for maximum effect.

Glenum points out how language is a symptom of the body, which, like the rest of the body, ultimately and always fails its owner:
"How to rectify this, o dog of language? How to rectify your losses at the hands of your own tongue?"

Words, on which humans rely to communicate through our bodies, are merely another trap, painful in its limitations yet pleasurable:
"The glorious cage of language from which we never hope to escape!"

The machines in the cast of characters are but extensions of the body: King Minus's Daughters (a Hysteric machine), Ded (a Schizophrenic machine), Icky (a Paranoiac machine), the Miraculating Machine (a Desiring-machine – a simulacrum) and the Traumadrome is a maze of muscles. One never felt so claustrophic inside a body as one does while reading Glenum's book. Beautiful yet grotesque phrases in the book like "dribbling figgity," "cream-slammed oinkers," "twitching placenta paste," "cunning runalingus," ""custardy runtwort," "false tentacular udders" and "vaginaless parent worm" leave you twitching and squirming, and emphasize the claustrophobia of feeling trapped inside a flawed body.

Maximum Gaga could have only been written by a woman with a feminist perspective. In the poem "Feminine Hygiene," the narrator begins, "When I contracted 'the female disease.' " Glenum wrote about a quarter of the poems in this collection while pregnant with her second child, and the entire book was "more or less written/cobbled together in the (utterly sleepless) months right after he was born."

By email, Glenum writes, "To Bakhtin, women represent the quintessential grotesque: they are 'penetrable, suffer the addition of alien body parts, and become alternately huge and tiny.' To me this is on the right track in terms of describing the body, but it's also a fine piece of sexism because it shunts the description of the body that is out of control/forever in the act of becoming onto the female body."

"There's also this great quote from Mary Russo about how the grotesque stands in opposition to the classical model of the body:
"The images of the grotesque body are precisely those which are abjected from bodily cannons of classical aesthetics. The classical body is transcendental and monumental, closed, static, self-contained, symmetrical and sleek; it is identified with 'high' or official culture… with rationalism, individualism, and the normalizing aspirations of the bourgeoisie. The grotesque body is open, protruding, irregular, secreting, multiple and changing; it is identified with non-official 'low' culture, and with social transformation…"

Glenum says, "Obviously, the classical body is also usually typologized as being male, white, able-bodied, heterosexual, etc., all of which is just massively oppressive."

Maximum Gaga reminds us, in the most beautiful, twisted language, that we are mere animals, that we are going to die, trapped inside deteriorating, grotesque, and failing bodies, and that along the journey to death, there are many transformations, desire, pleasure, and much violence.

*****

Angela Genusa was born in 1961 in East Lansing, Michigan. She is a writer, poet, visual artist, video/film maker, photographer, and musician.

OBSOLETE by KATIE HAEGELE

Eileen Tabios Engages

Obsolete--an alphabet of poems inspired by dead words by Katie Haegele, with design by Noah Beytin
(self-published, Jenkintown, PA, 2008)

Merriam-Webster offers a service where they will email daily a word and its definition(s) and etymological history. I'm a subscriber to this service and, a few years back, wrote a series of prose poems under the constraint that each poem would be titled by the Merriam-Webster word du jour. It was a fun exercise, and a way to get past the limits of authorial intent; the results came to appear in my book I Take Thee, English, For My Beloved.

I'm reminded of this series as I read through Katie Haegele's charming chap, Obsolete. Its elucidating subtitle is "--an alphabet of poems inspired by dead words". Actually, in the Introduction, one word was described as “dying” as opposed to “dead” – an unexplained facet that leaves me tickled: how does one gauge the process of a word’s dying? Anyway, Haegele found these dead/dying words in a variety of sources: a 1936 Webster’s Universal Unabridged Dictionary bought at a yard sale for two dollars, an online collection called The Phrontisery , and the bulk of them by reading through the Oxford English Dictionary at her “small local library with a magnifying glass.” She then used the words to title/generate a poem; Obsolete contains 26 poems titled by a word beginning alphabetically, from “Accinge” to “Zodiographer.”

What's fun about Haegele's poems is the cheerfully murky link between the "dead word" title and the poem's text (at the bottom of each page, the dead word’s original definition is given but I didn’t read the definition ahead of reading the poem). One doesn't know exactly how the inspiration worked, though it is fun to guess. For example, the poem entitled with the dead word "Yemelich" offers as its first line, "Unhappy as a therapist's awkward little couch." Somehow, the transition between title and poem's first word has a logic -- it just feels like a "Yemelich" would be "unhappy"!

What makes these poems fabulous, though, is how they unfold beyond the initial constraint that birthed them. Sometimes, one can glean a link based on narrative, or meaning, as in this poem in its entirety:
Dangerful

“I don’t think it’s wise,”
her mother said. But still she
went to him, eyes bright.

Other times, as the poems unfold, one can sense the author's admirable freedom in just following where the words take her, as in the poem “Xenodochial” that begins:
“Crash the discussion board”—I want to, oh my God,
I love the idea of something exciting and modern
like that. That togetherness. But all that ever happens

is I kill light bulbs through overuse and they leave a
gray smudge at the top where their souls escaped.
Sometimes I feel scared for my life, like Little Red

Riding Hood in the city I go to parties by myself, to
places that take me forever to find, and it’s nighttime.
Then I live a thousand unhappy lives in the time it

takes me to step over the threshold….

It’s so satisfying when poems progress in unexpected and mysterious ways. Here is "Yemelich" in its entirety:
Yemelich

Unhappy is a therapist’s awkward little couch
Sad is the sore in your middle where memories flare
Unhappy is “this relationship is unhealthy”
Sad is having to think to remember the last time you were touched
Unhappy is 8:30 am
Sad is 4 am
Unhappy is issues
Sad is the headstone

It certainly makes sense that from a first line addressing unhappiness, a second line might repeat the notion by beginning with the word "sad." But the alternating uses soon come to dilute the synonymity of the two words.

One even starts to read the poem as two poems in one, with each poem comprised of the lines beginning with "Unhappy' and the second with the word "sad". If you read it that way, it's a storytelling poem with two different stories that aren't necessarily linked but are co-existent parallel strands. Which is to say, many of the poems engage by leading the reader to speculate.

Finally, in "Yemelich," the last line "Sad is the headstone" (which latter word I keep seeing as “tombstone”) is a powerful ending by manifesting ending. There's simply nothing to say or think in response to something like "Sad is the headstone" except to be compelled to nod in agreement. "Sad is the headstone" -- there's nothing more to say after a line like that. And perhaps no need to say anything either (and yet I continue to blather -- continue to speculate…).

All the poems contain mysteries and, in this way, transcend their beginnings. They unfold as unsolved mysteries, and aptly so if words are read out of their (original) contexts. Since words do not exist in a vacuum, it seems to make sense then that it is poetry's fictions that can resurrect these dead words.

Still, being a well-conceived project doesn't necessarily mean the resultant poems would be engaging. That they are attests to Haegele's talents: the poems are witty, charming, and/or beguiling. An attractive intelligence simmers from each page. It’s a delight to leave you with the poem entitled “Essomenic” which once meant “a mirror that shows things as they will be in the future.” Haegele’s “Essomenic” begins:
What if it was like this every day?
You’d blink awake, untested, your
room as still and dim as yesterday.

It’s true, the curtain is a limp and dingy
gray. But if there’s one thing I have
learned it’s that you can’t trust curtains.

There’s no reason they should get the
final word.


*****

Eileen Tabios does not let her books be reviewed by Galatea Resurrects, but she is pleased to point you elsewhere: Joey Madia's review of Reproductions of the Empty Flagpole over at New Mystics, and Aileen Ibardaloza's (and Aileen's mother's) engagement with The Light Sang As It Left Your Eyes over at OurOwnVoice. Oh hey! And she just released her first novel (grin) : NOVEL CHATELAINE!

BOOKS by STEVE MCCAFFERY & CHRISTIAN BOK and Edited by LOUIS ARMAND

JOHN HERBERT CUNNINGHAM Reviews

Contemporary Poetics, edited by Louis Armand
(Northwestern University Press, 2007)

Prior to Meaning: The Protosemantic and Poetics by Steve McCaffery
(Northwestern University Press, 2001)

Pataphysics: The Poetics of an Imaginary Science by Christian Bök
(Northwestern University Press, 2002)

These three books are part of Northwestern University’s ‘Avant-Garde & Modernism Studies’ series edited by Marjorie Perloff and Rainer Rumold. Their intention is to challenge. They succeed.

Armand, in his ‘Editor’s Introduction: Transversions of the Contemporary’, defines, at p xiii, the boundaries of this work:
Neither is the purpose of this volume to enter into a polemic as to the claims and counterclaims of various ‘schools of poetry,’ nor does it intend to suggest that there is any determinate aesthetic, formal, or philosophical dimension of ‘contemporary poetics’ that could be taken as a legitimatization of the views of one party over another. Moreover, it in no way seeks to report on what might be considered the current state of poetry or of poets writing ‘today.’ The sense of the term ‘contemporary poetics’ as it is used in this volume rests neither in the delineation of a specific period or epoch nor in a present conceived in terms of it but rather of a ‘condition’ of writing – of the poetic enterprise – which is both historical and attuned to the radical complication of poetics and the ‘present time of writing.

He then sets out an overview which whets one’s appetite for what will follow. And so we enter the realm of theory.

Following on the heels of ‘How Empty is my Bread Pudding’ where Charles Bernstein writes a poetry of language disguised as aphorism, Marjorie Perloff asks, in ‘After Language Poetry: Innovation and its Theoretical Discontents’, “And how much longer can poets keep innovating without finding themselves inadvertently Making It Old?”(16) Perloff reminds us that:
The lasting contribution of language poetries...is that at a moment when workshop poetry all across the United States was wedded to a kind of neoconfessionalist, neoromaticist discourse, a discourse committed to drawing pretentious metaphors about failed relationships from hollandaise recipes, language theory reminded us that poetry is a making [poien], a construction using language, rhythm, sound, and visual image, that the subject, far from being simply the poet speaking in his or her natural ‘voice,’ was itself a complex construction, and that – most important – there was actually something at stake in producing a body of poems, and that poetic discourse belonged to the same universe as philosophical and political discourse.(21)

Perloff then appears to wander off before reaching near to a conclusion where she indicates that in poetry today:
two important things are happening. The first is a visualization of poetic text – a visualization which is again a time-honoured mode, as in George Herbert’s The Temple or Mallarmé’s Un Coup de dés (A Throw of the Dice), but reconfigured in important semantic ways in Johanna Drucker’s The Word Made Flesh or Susan Howe’s Eikon Basilike. The second is a form which I call, for want of a better name, ‘differential poetry,’ that is, poetry that does not exist in a single form but can vary according to the medium of presentation: printed book, cyberspace, installation, or oral tradition.(33)

In Part Two: Precursors, the things, ideas, images that led to the present epoch of post-modernity, post-romantic, post-post are examined. In ‘Getting Past Odradek’, Kevin Nolan takes us through Kafka and his Odradek, a “’star shaped cotton reel’ trailing ‘old, broken-off bits of thread, knotted and tangled together’”(41) used here, whether or not used by Kafka as same, as a symbol of the things that get stuck in attempting to enter a new epoch, Donald F. Theall, in ‘The Avant-Garde and the Wake of Radical Modernism’, takes us back to 1939, the year James Joyce published Finnegan’s Wake, which he postulates as the advent of ‘digiculture’, arriving at the conclusive statement that “if new modes of electronic communication and other technologies (e.g. the railroad, the automobile, film, and the airplane) complemented by Riemann’s discovery of descriptive geometry partly transformed the nature of space and time, artists explored these new altered perceptions in poetry, mobiles, montage, and the exercise of the imaginary.”(65) leading him to say that “living within this context, Joyce organized this network of intuitions and linked them to the longer-term prehistory of the newly emerging media world which many of his fellow artists had also intuited, thus providing an even greater irony to his statement, ‘Wait till Finnigan wakes,’ for that waking would be both the transformation of dream into virtual reality and the transformation of the participants (the audience) through their understanding of the media effects.”(ibid)¨

In ‘Doctor Williams Position, Update’, Bob Perelman analyzes W.C. Williams’ ‘Asphodel’ initially through the lens of Plato’s Ion then leading us through poetic hoaxes and an examination of candor as represented by Ginsberg and Williams whereupon he briefly returns to Asphodel before launching into Paterson and saying “here speech, mimetic depiction of banality, internal didactic rant, and stumbling approaches to more illuminated states of mind are all granted equal access to the page...As the stanzas follow one another, each makes something different and a little more active out of what has come before”(91), all in imitation of an accordion without ever arriving at a place which one could call a conclusion which, by the standards of a good Language writer, avoids closure. Describing Wallace Stevens as a romantic (which is true of most poets to which the appendage ‘modern’ has been applied for Modernism is but the end of Romanticism), Simon Critchley states, at p. 106, that “Stevens is philosophically significant because his verse recasts the basic problem of epistemology in a way that perhaps allows the problem to be cast away. What we might call his ‘poetic epistemology’ can be said to place in question the assumptions behind the traditional epistemological construal of the world. This is what I think is at stake in approaching poetry as philosophy.” From there, he arrives at the conclusion regarding Stevens that “the consequence of Steven’s argumentation is that the truth we experience when the poet’s fictive imaginings are in agreement with reality is a truth of fact. But it is an enlarged world of fact: things as they are, but beyond us.”(108) And his conclusion regarding poetry and poets that “poetry is like the light which illuminates objects in the world, it is the unseen condition for seeing, unseen until seen with the poet’s eyes and then seen anew. Like light, it adds nothing but itself. Close to the heat of that light, we live more intensely. Or so we say.”(109) D.J. Huppatz, in ‘Corporeal Poetics: Kathy Acker’s Writing’, comes to the conclusion that
Acker’s corporeal poetics suggests a writing that can produce erotogenic zones. Indeed, there is a clear sense of corporeal production in reading Acker’s texts (or listening to her perform); the predominance of dialogue and multiplicity of voices take on another dimension when read aloud. While the sense of sight when reading functions by doubling and dividing, hearing functions through resonance. While visual possession of characters is difficult and the complicity of sight and speech in conventional narrative is undermined, when heard aloud, Acker’s excessive writing attains a rhythm; the repetitive scenes and speed of changes becomes cinematic ebbs and flows of desire.(123)

Finally, in ‘Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and the Secret History of Maximalism’, Michel Delville and Andrew Norris substitute for a discussion of James Joyce’s Ulysses and Finnegan’s Wake and Samuel Beckett’s oeuvre a discussion of two of sixties’ rock’s most innovative performers/composers – Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart – reaching the conclusion that
the inside-outside on the edge laugh in Zappa, which encapsulates the maximalist body, represents the rhythm of response...with its vertiginous plunge from miraculous gain to catastrophic loss and back again, while at the same time mocking it with an audaciously recessive form of metafiction. In the light of this phenomenal laugh one might even be tempted to risk a universalizing statement and suggest that the origin of maximalist art is the antisocial impulse to go on joking regardless of the potential for real and feigned amusement.(146)

But, in the end, we are left wondering what exactly is ‘maximalism’ as it relates to poetics – unless, of course, Delville and Norris are telling us that the poetics of late 60s rock are the same poetics that informs Joyce and Beckett and other ‘maximalist’ writers. By the way, this section is a maximalist attempt at throwing everything into the soup, including the pot, of precursors to postmodernity.


We now move into ‘Conjunction’. The first article in this section, ‘Metaphor: The Color of Being’ by Ricardo L. Nurinberg, explores the concept of metaphor and its inadequacies. He initially discusses Max Black’s ‘More About Metaphors’ (1977) which sets out that the “two traditional (and inadequate) definitions are ‘substitution’ and ‘comparison.’ The former states that a metaphor substitutes for a set of literal propositions; the latter requires that those propositions present a likeness or analogy between two concepts.”(116) This definition is then extended to include the ‘interaction’ concept which applies a mathematical analysis of the ‘isomorph’ whereby “a one-to-one function between two sets A and B”(ibid) is created but which, again, proves wholly inadequate. John R. Searle’s definition is then brought into play that all words have connotations and denotations before leading to George Lakoff’s Metaphor and Thought in which his “definition of metaphor...is the same as Black’s but maimed”(158) as the concept of isomorphs is abandoned with the domain of comparison being limited to that of the conceptual, i.e. “metaphor is not a linguistic phenomenon; the mapping occurs between two sets of concepts or mental objects, in other words, between signifieds, not signifiers.”(159) An interesting discussion of the meaning of metaphor ensues during which Nurinberg looks to the Renaissance discussion of whether color or design is primary and how this relates to the idea of metaphor. Proceeding through an examination of Bertrand Russell’s concept of vagueness set against Ezra Pound’s equating of ‘good art’ to ‘the art that is the more precise’ and punctuating this prose with references to the ‘precise’ time that it is being written, Keston Sutherland, in ‘Vagueness, Poetry,’ discusses the ambit of the vague before arriving at a semi-precise statement that “In poetry this impossible defiance shines, like love as the ideal limit of hatred.”(183) Conjunction proper emerges in the collaboration of D.J. Huppatz, Nicole Tomlinson and Julian Savage who are all part of the Melbourne-based experimental writing collective Textbase. In addition to extending the parameters of Fluxus where word and image are montaged into mobiles, soup cans ala Andy Warhol, et al, they have combined their opinions in this op-ed piece on contemporary poetics, ‘AND &,’ arriving at the realization that “it was never every artist but only those of a particular order that were to be expelled from the republic...those poets leading astray the citizenry by presuming to know a thing beyond the entitlement of art – imitating second-order occurrence – traversing an indecorous, a dangerous and corrupting region of shadow – stepping beyond a constrained invocation of the presence of the gods – threatening instead to displace them – to multiply them – to obscure, cover over, or rupture the One/Idea.”(195) This section concludes with two essays – ‘Reading Notes’ and ‘Lost and Found’ – by Bruce Andrews. Andrews begins ‘Reading Notes’ with the following:
There are givens of writing open to contest, but there are also givens of reading open to contest...
...Especially when it comes to connecting the possibilities for such drastic new writing with the opportunities we take up as readers. Here, we could focus on the ways that meaning & pleasure & challenges in ideology get fashioned out of the up close experience of reading, not just from our taking in the triumph of experimental writing. We’re pulled outside of any model of straightforward communication & exchange, or of cultural capital to be appropriated as someone leans back to be impressed & entertained. Certainly it goes beyond a reading dedicated to some revelation of prepackaged content or response to an author’s prior intention: ‘include stakeouts beyond sense declension.’(197)

which leads to the following in ‘Lost & Found’: “Even the facts are pastiches – to keep you from getting demiremanded to the doxauthorities.”(209)

‘Concrete Poetry: A Manifesto’ by Augusto de Campos, originally published in Portuguese in 1956 in a Brazilian architectural magazine, opens the section on ‘Cursors’. It is immediately followed by a ‘Questionnaire of the Yale Symposium’ completed, again in Portuguese by de Campos, for submission to the Yale Symposium on Experimental, Visual, and Concrete Poetry which took place in 1995. In response to the question “Is there a poetics of concretism, or is concrete poetry a formal device rather than a conceptual device?”, de Campos responded, at p. 218:
As I see it, concrete poetry did not come about as a formal specialization in the field of modern poetry...but rather as a proposed radicalization of poetic language in which the visual aspects constitute just one of the relevant parameters. What concrete poetry sought was to recuperate the specificity of poetic language itself, the materiality of the poem and its autonomy, beginning with a revision and radicalization of the methods of modern poetry and of the elaboration of a new creative project in the context of new media.”

This analysis of concrete poetry is then followed by Darren Tofts’ ‘Epigrams, Particle Theory, and Hypertext’ in which he examines the epigram from the perspective of Deleuze and Guattari’s interpretation, “in an intriguing, multimedia way, using images instead of text”(221), which then takes the discussion through Jorge Luis Borges’ Book of Sand in which “we encounter a text that is never the same each time it is revisited, a text that never repeats itself”(223) and on to Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller which “stands for an attitude to experimental writing devoted to the problematic of the beginning, of the commencement”(225) then into particle physics and Stephen Hawking’s ‘virtual particles’ “and it is for this reason that this particle theory of hypertext is a potential literature, an Oulipean exercise in speculative possibility”(229) which takes us back to Borges as “we can temporarily think outside the pervasive cultural logic of binarism that still structures new media forms such as hypertext”(ibid) for which Tofts says “it is a theory of the text occupying a fabular space and time of the possible, parallel to our own.”(ibid) Gregory L. Ulmer’s ‘Image Heuretics’ is a fascinating excursion back into Baroque times in order to excavate the Italian concetta “the most useful feature of [which] is that it provides a form with which to compose the image-text (seeing-reading)”(249), the concept of which fascinated both Walter Benjamin and Deleuze, via Leibniz, where “what makes a concept a concetto, Deleuze stresses, is the folding of the concept into the individual”(250) leading to the individualistic form of the emblem, the impresa, a subcategory of the concetto, and arriving finally at where this essay began: the creation of the Memorial which “performing the EmerAgency...treats the disaster as a source for understanding contemporary values, specifically as a mode of self-knowledge, rather than attempting to impose on the disaster a predetermined meaning”(253) and its application to 9-11. If what you were expecting from J. Hillis Miller’s ‘The Poetics of Cyberspace: Two Ways to Get a Life’ was a discussion of hyperlinks in the use of poetry and other writings, they you’re in for a disappointment. Instead, Miller creates two hypothetical characters – Horace and Jimjim – one a ‘book person’, the other a ‘cyberperson’, discusses their hypothetical lives and arrives at “my conclusion of conclusions, the ultimate result of my thought experiment, is that it is better to be a cyberperson than to be a paper person, though I have some reservations about that.”(276) This section is completed with two articles on codework. McKenzie Wark begins ‘From Hypertext to Codework’ with the statement that “digging writing out of the prison house of ‘text’ might just be what is needed to unblock thinking about where the Internet is taking writing. There has always been more to writing that text, and there is more to electronic writing than hypertext.”(279) Wark then lists three limitations of hypertext before arriving at the conclusion that “for all the talk of the death of the author, the hypertext author assumes much the same persona as his or her avant-garde literary predecessors.”(280) Wark then wanders into codework stating that “many codework texts hover on the brink of legibility, asking the reader to question whether the author if made of flesh or silicon, or perhaps whether authoring lies at the level of writing text or coding software to write text.”(282) Although it is somewhat long, Wark, on p. 284-5, provides an excellent summation for what codework is and how it fits into the postmodernist agenda:
At the heart of the codeworking enterprise is a call for a revised approach to language itself. Many of the creative strategies for making or thinking about writing in the latter part of the twentieth century drew on Ferdinand de Saussure’s Course in General Linguistics. In the hands of poststructuralists, language poets, or hypertext authors and theorists, this was a powerful and useful place to start thinking about how language works. But Saussure begins by separating language as a smooth and abstract plane from speech as a pragmatic act. Language is then divided into signifier and signified, with the referent appearing as a shadowy third term. The concept of language that emerges, for all its purity, is far removed from language as a process.

What codework draws attention to is the pragmatic side of language. Language is not an abstract and homogeneous plane, it is one element in a heterogeneous series of elements linked together in the act of communication. Writing is not a matter of the text but of the assemblage of the writer, the reader, the text, the text’s material support, the laws of property and exchange within which all of them circulate, and so on.

Codework draws attention to writing as media, where the art of writing is a matter of constructing an aesthetic, an ethics, even a politics, that approaches all of the elements of the process together. Codework makes of writing a media art that breaks with the fetishisms of the text and the abstraction of language. It brings writing into contact with the other branches of media art, such as music and cinema, all of which are converging in the emerging space of multimedia and which often have a richer conception of the politics of media art as a collaborative practice that has been the case with writing conceived within the prison house of ‘text.’

The section ends with ‘Codeworld’ by Alan Sondheim, one of the leading practitioners of codework. We are presented with examples before being taken to Wittgenstein’s Tractus Logico-Philosophicus and the exception the codeworkers take to it leading to sentence residue.

Louis Armand’s essay ‘Strange Attractions: Technopoetics in the Vortext’ opens the final section ‘Transpositions’ with an analysis of James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake before taking us through John Cage’s chance techniques, chaos analysis, the Fraser Spiral, etc. before arriving at the following:
The seeming paradox here is that the more ‘chaos’ in a data stream, the more information that is conveyed by each new bit. Thus again, as in Cage’s mesostics and Joyce’s Wake, the elaborate models generated by means of acrostic coordinates suggest models evolved in recent chaos theories involving turbulence and nonlaminar flows in thermodynamic systems. Like these, the technopoetics of Cage and Joyce appear to function as a kind of `system` which moves from predictable behavior to unpredictable behavior, by virtue of the introduction into the system of an element of indeterminacy, or conversely the withdrawal of the possibility of straightforward or statistical `redundancy.`(315)

Steve McCaffery’s, ‘Parapoetics and the Architectural Leap’, is an extremely thought-provoking essay dealing with the concept of frames as permeable boundaries, dissipative structures that, on a quantum level, dissipate energy and matter in violation of thermodynamics through an increase ‘in small random fluctuations’, and contrasting ‘parapoetics with comparative poetics as “parapoetics does not work to constitute and defend the discrete frame of the poem but rather explore[s] how the frame can be challenged to open up a poetics without borders.”(325) After short essays by Allen Fisher, ‘Traps or Tools and Damage’, and Steve McCaffrey, ‘Discontinued Meditations’, Marjorie Perloff concludes this section, and the book, with ‘Screening the Page / Paging the Screen: Digital Poetics and the Differential Text’ where, early in this essay she cautions:
“But no medium or technique of production can in itself give the poet (or other kind of artist) the inspiration or imagination to produce works of art. And poetry is an especially vexed case because, however we choose to define it, poetry is the language art; it is, by all accounts, language that is somehow extraordinary, that can be processed only on rereading. Consequently, the ‘new’ techniques whereby letters and word can move around the screen, break up, and reassemble, or whereby the reader/viewer can decide by a mere click to reformat the electronic text or which part of it to access, become merely tedious unless the poetry in question is, in Ezra Pound’s word, ‘charged with meaning.’(377)

McCaffery has been at the forefront of contemporary poetics which is why two of his essays were used to close Armand’s book. McCaffery continues his explorations in Prior to Meaning. In his introduction, he states:
Prior to Meaning studies the ways in which language behaves rather than how it’s designed to function. It traces a limited autonomy of the written mark at a level both beneath and around the semantic. Collectively the twelve essays index a general shift in my thinking away from a Saussurean model of language (langue/parole, signifier/signified) to a different set of provocations found in Prigogine and Stengers, Deuleuze and Guattari, Alfred Jarry, Sade, Leibniz, Lucretius, and in the ‘other’ Saussure, the Saussure of the programmatic notebooks – provocations that led me to consider writing as a material scene of forces.(xv)

This voyage into language is a voyage even Homer would have trepidations about taking.

In his first essay, ‘Insufficiency of Theory to Poetical Economy’, McCaffery, after first briefly discussing Aristotle and Plato’s The Apology (and even more briefly The Republic) which leads him to say that “in the Apology, it is the axiomatic separation of creator from semantic determination and from all rational procedures that is called for. Poetry (in a manner Foucault later demonstrates of madness) is defined, enclosed, and then silenced. After the Apology, the poet is committed to the domain of semantic heterology.”(6) McCaffery calls up Kristeva to salvage theory:
Issuing from a ‘split’ subject divided between conscious and unconscious drives, such texts involve an oscillating tension between two discrete signifying processes that Kristeva famously terms the ‘symbolic’ and the ‘semiotic.’ The latter carries the burden of instinctual drives and forces that affect, but do not support, a social transmission. Despite the strictures of a siociolect, the semiotic is disposed in specific detectable aspects of language, especially its rhythmic and sonic intricacies. The symbolic process, by contrast, involves a disposition toward the normative modes of signification: grammar, syntax, sentence integration, and the covering rules that guarantee unproblematic, intersubjective communication. (Needless to say, textual practice valorizes the former, semiotic disposition.)(6-7)

After engaging in discussion of Bataille, Benjamin and others, McCaffery says that “the stability of substance in any poetical economy would announce itself as a provisional equilibrium in a dissipative structure, between lineal, grammatical accumulations of words that integrate into higher units and the simultaneous expenditure of the letter components into potentially infinite indexical configurations.”(14)

‘Zarathustran ‘Pataphysics’ begins its examination by determining what Alfred Jarry meant by ‘pataphysics’ leading us to an analysis of Lucretius’ concept of the ‘clinamen’ being one of the two “presidential concepts in pataphysical method”(17), the other being the syzygy, derived from astronomy and applied by Jarry in the sense that “a word must transfix a momentary conjunction or opposition of meaning” whereas the clinamen bears resemblance to a typographical error being “like a slip of the tongue...less a performance than a happening” which discussion eventually leads us through Nietzsche to Brisset and homophonic construction where “homophony registers a certain autonomy of language outside of referential constraints and systematic relations but also unleases a dynamis of vertiginous, uncontrollable transformations.”(29)

This philosophical - in particular the philosophies of Leibniz and Deleuze and Guattari - application to poetics is continued in the examination of Robin Blazer’s The Holy Forest in which McCaffery attempts to reconcile the Deleuzian fold with Leibniz concept of the monad or, as McCaffery says at p. 44 “The compound, monadic cavities of a male womb folded as a ripple in a holy sea or ocean and refolded into that sacra bosco Robin Blazer names his Holy Forest.

McCaffery, in ‘Charles Olson’s Art of Language’, provides a fascinating look into Charles Olson’s poetics dividing this examination into two quasi-discrete aspects: that of the breath and that of Mayan hieroglyphics. In each case, he slides Blanchot alongside Olson. In concluding the examination of breath, for example, he states, at p. 52:
Against Olson’s conception of the poem as a ‘high-energy construct and at all points an energy discharge,’ Blanchot offers the notion of writing as low-energy inscription whose pneumatological-physiological coordinate is asphyxiation – further suggesting that to release expression, yet keep it void (as in pain, fatigue, or misfortune) may be to stage expression within ‘the dimension of the infinity of language.’ Blanchot senses a deeper cessation than that of aesthetic silence occasioned by the space of the line-break. For him, space, silence, and lack constitute a site for the entry of a profoundly nonunifying language – the start of a struggle, in fact, toward a writing that cannot figure in language. It is that otherness – a radical alterity registered by a modality of waiting – that negotiates itself as the suppressed aspect of the Object, and permits a return to Olson in a relation other than registered by a modality of waiting – that negotiates itself as the suppressed aspect of the Object as the Other emerges nonproprioceptively in a context other than Olson’s poetics: his study of – and fascination with – the art of the Mayan language.

This then takes us into that other aspect where McCaffery says, at p. 57:
If the presidential binaries of ‘Projective Verse’ and proprioception are inner-outer and surface-depth, then Olson’s Mayan project effectively abandons them. Indeed, a somewhat modified relation to alterity might be argued: a depthless gaze on and cruising of an essentially laminar flow. The fact is, Olson is seduced by Mayan glyphs...In neither providing discursive encounters nor communicative exchange the glyphs offer themselves as the optical induction of self-encrypted meanings. One might call this the protosemantic stratum of the seductive sign – insinuating fittingly into Olson’s Mayan project with its emphasis on the ‘live stone’ and with attention fixed not on the glyph as denotation but on its connotational seduction through ‘its force as carved thing.’

In ‘Richard Bentley: The First Poststructuralist’, McCaffery examines the relationship, rivalry even, between poet and editor as it existed between Milton and Bentley. At p. 61-2, he makes a fascinating and provocative statement:
Such rivalry reduces to the simple issue, in localized aspects of the poem, of who exercises the better poetic judgment. It is at these moments where the fissure in respective taste becomes apparent. Milton’s Baroque complexity of thought, Italianate and fueled by metaphoric license, is pitted against Bentley’s uncompromising insistence on logical correctness and rational consistency. Detectable at these times is an unbreachable gap in poetic tastes, a Lyotardian differend at the root of Bentley’s assurance that, if Paradise Lost were to be established as a classic, it must be purified of what he calls its ‘romantic rubbish.’

In ‘Johnson and Wittgenstein: Some Correlations and Bifurcations in the Dictionary and the Philosophical Investigations’, McCaffery continues his eccentric but, nonetheless fascinating, excursions into the realm of language. He sums up his assessment of Johnson’s Dictionary as follows:
I hope I have shown that the Dictionary is a book that rewards scrutiny and encounter through current conceptual apparatuses, but that I have also indicated its sober aspects as a document of eighteenth-century Tory ideology. While grasping the essential turbulence and metamorphosis of living utterance, Johnson refuses to see the inherent shiftiness and intractability of quotations. Like footnotes and marginalia, quotations are by their very nature capricious objects of transfer – clinamens effecting dialogue and alterity. Yet Johnson’s dream is to assemble these instable fragments as a reservoir of absolute exemplarity. As a result, the Dictionary registers as the convulsive confrontation of a lexical list by an analogy of cultural fragments.(101)

[Note, by the way, that ‘instable’ is not incorrect but, in fact, an acceptable variant of ‘unstable’ at the time Johnson was writing.] In comparison, he says of Wittgenstein that:
Such presumption to power is absent in Wittgenstein, and the classlessness of his ordinary language paradigms retains its force as the Investigations’ instant, if evanescent, attraction. In reality, Wittgenstein remains captive to naive instances, failing to carry through a fully social articulation of those ideas and theories instantiated in his banal, interpersonal examples. As a consequence, no insights are offered into language’s noninstrumental workings and effects. For Wittgenstein, it is unproblematic to assert that ‘people use language’ and inconceivable that language might be thought of as using people. He is to be thanked for returning philosophical discourse from metaphysics and ontology back to ordinary human phrases, but the question needs to be asked – what follows from this success? The task now is to overcome the humanism that Wittgenstein sanctifies and which Johnson decants and guards.(102-3)

‘Between Verbi Voco and Visual, Some Precursors of Grammatology’ is, by itself, worth the price of admission. This chapter takes us through a variety of ‘writing’ techniques beginning with Pound’s dependence on Fenollosa and his treatise on the Chinese character as the inspiration and force behind the Cantos through scriptio continua to various medieval and renaissance techniques for visualizing the writing process including scoring as in a musical passage where the silence between words and at the end of the passage itself is notated. McCaffery’s comments on scriptio continua are fascinating, particularly for those poets who have engaged in writing without punctuation:
Scriptio continua puts language into both graphic and semantic indeterminacy, resolved only by a reader’s active intervention as the producer of periodicity and differentiation. A censura caesura, or prohibition upon pause, takes effect in which particles in void transform into a plenum. Language tropes itself as a sheet folded into nonarticulation.

By confusing secondary articulation, and thus rendering the discretion of the very articuli indeterminate, scriptio continua creates a syrrhesitic movement of the text – a flowing together of verbal discretions precipitating a more intense, libidinal encounter with the written. In passing, one might note that Lecercle demonstrates how logophiliac délire – that confluence of language, nonsense, and desire – is experienced as a kind of scriptio continua; as a process not of separation but of segmentive erasure. Because segmentive clarity is dissolved, words in continua are initially encountered as letters-becoming-words, presignificatory instabilities and uncertainties in a protosemantic continuum. Punctuation and spacing – as well as its complicated conceptual incarnation as Derridean différance – can be thought of as severing activities that slice a continuum into culturally recognizable sequences but may also be seen as clinamens.(110)

In ‘Sade’, is the following to be taken as merely applicable to the writing of Sade or is the same expandable into McCaffery’s ars poetica:
Just as the libertine functions successfully within the ideological state apparatus..;., so the imaginative transgressions of fiction must be represented through orthodox grammar and syntax...Sade’s is not a semiotic of drive à la Kristeva, effected upon the sensuous materiality of the sign, but a controlled, classical unfolding of the monstrous as a content. This eschewal of formal innovation is a masterly fraud and one worthy of his libertine heroes, for by acquiescing to the established linguistic order, a normative contract with the reader is preserved then invested into a criminal incrimination. Sade, of course, is profoundly aware of the institutional nature of the reader function and of the ideological basis to style. The criminal implication is that of the vehicular neutrality of the language, that demonstrates the same amoral, indifferent, and ultimately evil constitution as Nature itself. Through the innocuous transparency of classical language, the reader functions to reproduce – by consumption – Sade’s primary, imaginary narrative and arguments.(143)

‘Voice in Extremis’ is about just that: the voice – or, to be exact, the second of two meanings of voice as set out by McCaffery on p. 161-2:
The twentieth century presents two distinct scenarios for the voice in poetry. One is a primal identity, culturally empowered to define the property of person. This is a phenomenological voice that serves in its self-evidence as the unquestionable guarantee of presence. When heard and understood through its communication of intelligible sounds, this voice is named conscience. The other scenario – renegade and heterological – requires the voice’s primary drive to be persistently away from presence. This second is a thanatic voice triply destined to lines of flight and escape, to the expenditure of pulsional intensities, and to its own dispersal in sounds between body and language.


Following this, McCaffery sets out the history of sound poetry.

McCaffery begins the essay ‘Jackson Mac Low: Samsara in Lagado’ with a quotation from Ezra Pound: “like the lotus shells, moved by no inner being.” He uses this phrase as the jumping off point for the next, and final, two chapters, which, as he says at p. 187: “I will examine this in the next two chapters, here focusing on the ‘selfless’ productions of Jackson Mac Low and in the final chapter moving on to the ethical implications in this practice – implications that unfold in the light of Levinas’s philosophy.” And with this we shall leave McCaffery to the reader.


Completing this literary triumvirate from Northwestern is Christian Bök. ‘Pataphysics: The Study of an Imaginary Science’ represents, as stated on p. 3: “a supplement to metaphysics accenting it, then replacing it, in order to create a philosophic alternative to rationalism...the disappearance of scientificity itself when reason is pushed to its own logical extreme. Such a ‘pataphysical qualification of rational validity is symptomatic of a postmodern transition in science from absolutism to relativism.” Begun by Alfred Jarry, it is “structured as a descriptive explication, which emphasizes a theoretical perspective...Jarry has provided an often neglected but still important influence upon the poetic legacy of this century (particularly the Italian Futurists, the French Oulipians, and the Canadian Jarryites.)”(4)

In the opening chapter of this survey ‘Science and Poetry’, we are informed, without stating outright, that ‘pataphysics’ is an extension of the Platonic ‘Ideal’:
Philosophy has everywhere begun to threaten the constraints of both the real and the true in order to practice an antiphilosophy – what Jarry might call by the name of ‘pataphysics, the science of imaginary solutions and arbitrary exceptions...Jarry suggests through ‘pataphysics that reality does not exist, except as the interpretive projection of a phenomenal perspective – which is to say that reality is never as it is but always as if it is. Reality is quasi, pseudo: it is more virtual than actual; it is real only to the degree to which it can seem to be real and only for so long as it can be made to stay real. Science for such a reality has increasingly become what Vaihinger might call a ‘philosophy of as if’..., wilfully mistaking possibilities for veritabilities.(8)

Declaring ‘pataphysics as the Ur of science, Bök, at p.9, compares Jarry with Nietzsche:
Jarry performs humorously on behalf of literature what Nietzsche performs seriously on behalf of philosophy. Both thinkers in effect attempt to dream up a ‘gay science’, whose joie de vivre thrives wherever the tyranny of truth has increased our esteem for the lie and wherever the tyranny of reason has increased our esteem for the mad. Both thinkers lay the ground work for an antiphilosophy, whose spirit of reform has come to characterize such alternatives to metaphysics as the grammatology of Derrida, the schizanalysis of Deleuze, or the homeorrhetics of Serres. All such antimetaphysical metaphilosophies argue that anomalies extrinsic to a system remain secretly intrinsic to such a system. The most credible of truths always evolves from the most incredible of errors. The praxis of science always involves the parapraxis of poetry.

Bök, at p. 11, refers to three “declensions of exceptions” defining them as follows:
Exception, after all, can resort to an assortment of modalities: variance (anomalos), alliance (syzygia), or deviance (clinamen). The anomalos finds a way to differ from every other thing that values the norm of equivalence; the syzygia finds a way to equate things to each other in a system that values the norm of difference; and the clinamen finds a way to detour around things in a system that values the fate of contrivance.

Regarding science and poetry, “like poetry, science is a bricolage of figures, an assemblage of devices, none of which fit together perfectly – but unlike poetry, science must nevertheless subject its tropes to a system, whose imperatives of both verity and reality normally forbid any willing suspension of disbelief.”(15) He goes on to discuss “four phases of distinct change” that the histories of poetry and science have shared: “the animatismic, the mechanismic, the organismic, and the cyborganismic” which he goes on to define as follows:
Ultimately, the conflict between science and poetry concerns this power to speak the truth, and this power has undergone four phases of epistemic transition: the animatismic phase whose truth involves interpreting signs through an act of exegesis; the mechanismic phase, whose truth involves disquisiting signs through an act of mathesis; the organismic; whose truth involves implementing signs through an act of anamnesis; and the cyborganismic, whose truth involves deregulating signs through an act of catamnesis. ...

During the animatismic phase, when papal academies divide discourse scholastically into modes of textualization and numeralization (trivium and quadrivium), knowledge is rarefied largely because of its insufficient supply. During the mechanismic phase, when royal academies divide discourse aristocratically into modes of investigation and dissemination, knowledge is rarefied largely because of its unspecialized market. During the organismic phase, when state academies divide discourse democratically into modes of ratiocination and acculturation (scientia and humanitas), knowledge is rarefied because of its specialized labor. And during the cyborganismic phase, when state academies divide discourse plutocratically into modes of totalization and optimization, knowledge is rarefied largely because of its overabundant supply.(16-17)

In the next chapter, ‘Millennial ‘Pataphysics’, we find this provocative statement: “For every solar truth of a royal science, there is the lunar truth of a nomad science – a forbidden knowledge that history must outshine.”(33) Bök goes on: “’Pataphysics confronts such a millenary conundrum with imaginary solutions, whose metaphors of exception have perhaps lent as much to Derrida as they have owed to Nietzsche, providing an unwritten intertext for postmodern philosophy.” Bök analyses Jarry’s own writings, such as Ubu, to demonstrate the approach Jarry took in exemplifying the scientific core of this anti-science, the philosophical core of this anti-philosophy. From this point, Bök brings in the concepts of anomalos, syzygia, and the clinamen. Of the anomalos, he says: “such a principle of variance does provide a pretext for postmodern philosophy about the theme of paralepsis (e.g. the supplement in Derrida or the parasite is Serres) – excesses that replace what they augment, operating against but within the limits of the system that must exclude them. The anomalos is the repressed part of a rule which ensures that the rule does not work. It is a difference which makes a difference and is thus synonymous with the cybernetic definition of interferential information – the very measure of surprise.”(38) As to syzygia, it “does provide a pretext for postmodern philosophy about the theme of syncretism (e.g. the chiasmus in Derrida or the syzygy in Serres) – conceits which conjoin as much as they disjoin, inverting, while equating, the values of the binary that must support them. The syzygia is the neglected part of a pair which ensures that such a pair is neither united or parted for more than an instant. It coincides with the laughter that erupts when we eliminate differences in order to imagine the incompossible.“(41) Finally, as to the clinamen, it “provides a pretext for postmodern philosophy about the theme of misprision (e.g. the détournement in Derrida or the déclination in Serres) – vagaries that diverge from what directs them, escaping the events of the system that controls them. The clinamen is simply the unimpeded part of a flow which ensures that such a flow has no fate. Not unlike the spiral of Ubu or the vortex of Pound, such a swerve is the atomic glitch of a microcosmic incertitude – the symbol for a vital poetics, gone awry.”(45)

In the three remaining chapters, Bök takes us through three artistic movements or occasions which attempted to further the pseudo-science of ‘pataphysics: ‘Italian Futurism’, ‘French Oulipianism’, and ‘Canadian “Pataphysics’ (note the double quotation marks). ‘Italian Futurism’ is a misnomer as Bök also addresses the Russian Futurists and the Russian Formalists as well as Duchamp’s ‘machines’. Bök looks at Futurism as an accident, as the play of the clinamen. In his excellent conclusion to this chapter, he states:
Futurism subscribes to an atomist dynamic of becoming to which the machine does not represent the universe as a mechanismic assembly of causes and effects (each event a reprise in the plan of its engineer); instead, such a machine represents the universe as a cyborganismic fracture place of forces and energy (each event a reprise to the bias of its conjurer). The universe is simply a celibate creation for finding out what happens next: it is a surprise machine.

Marinetti hopes to evoke a molecular revolution that might take the ’pataphysical epistemology of Jarry by surprise, augmenting its declensions of exception through the machinic paralogy of shock, noise, and speed...

Futurism ultimately postulates an applied science of poetic theories, in which poetry itself is an accidental instrument for a scientific experiment...Such an avant-garde pseudo-science reveals that the Future is nothing more than a poetic notion that provides an absurd domain for the epistemic fantasies of ‘pataphysics: the as if of its own science.(62-3)

Bök views the Oulipians as akin to the Futurists in that they “regard literature as a cyborganic phenomenon that results from deliberate collisions between poetic devices: the machinic paralogy of accidents. For the Oulipians, writing is automatic, insofar as it results not from an aleatory impulse (as in Surrealism) but from a mandatory purpose (as in Mannerism): writing is itself a machine to be studied methodically and guided systematically, as if by science.”(64) He goes on to say that, “working under the auspices of a speculative institution (le collège de ‘pataphysique), members of Oulipo (who include, among others, such literati as Queneau, Lionnais, Calvino, and Perec) study three unique species of exceptional eventuality: the excess of order emerging out of chaos, the chasm existing between order and chaos, and the swerve of chaos breaking away from order.” Of the Canadian “pataphysicians, firstly, Bök explains the doubling of the quotation as follows: “Canadian “Pataphysics adds another vestigial apostrophe to its name in order to make not only the excess silence imposed upon Canadians by European [note that this time we are not blaming you Americans] avant-garde but also the ironic speech proposed by Canadians against European avant-garde.”(83) This being accomplished, he goes on at the end to state:
Canadian “Pataphysics attempts to perceive the world only through the ironic window of what [bp] Nichol might call a ‘critical frame of reference’ – a clear sheet of acetate that permits the user to reach ‘new levels of philosophical and philological awareness’, since the user can simply place the FRAME (Fixed Reference and Meaning Explainer) over an area of text in order to respond to sceptical inquiries about the context for an academic argument. The FRAME differs from less expensive models sold by less reputable stores [mostly European controlled] because the FRAME lacks ‘the now obsolete black border whose funereal aspect properly announced the intellectual death of its users’; instead the FRAME has clear edges that become invisible at a distance so that, in the end, ‘the whole world fits inside the frame’, the real coinciding with its “pataphysical perspectivism.(96)

So it is clear that the Canadian FRAMEwork for “pataphysical research is the superior one.

In concluding, Bök asserts that “Science at its logical extreme appears to conduct a capricious experiment that facilitates the extinction of the species, doing so as if to facilitate the extinction of science itself. The fear of such a suicidal tendency in science has in turn spawned an array of vitally urgent but largely futile countermeasures (such as neo-Ludditism, ecoterrorism, etc.). But now ‘pataphysics has arrived like the cavalry coming over the hill to save science from its self-immolation.


This poetics excursion has led us through many exotic lands – Codeworld, Protosemantica, ‘Pataphysiconia. These lands, largely uncharted, are left for the intrepid poet/writer to explore. It is only through the efforts of these fearless pathfinders that we can bring light to these dark continents. The efforts examined here provide a rudimentary outline of the coastlines. It is those that follow that must map the interior.

===

John Cunningham resides in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada where he writes poetry, poetry and poetics as well as cultural and arts reviews, and where he has recently begun a stint as host of a half hour radio show, Speaking of Poets, of CKUW-FM 95.9 (which can be googled and downloaded or streamed for your listening pleasure). His reviews have appeared in Canada in Malahat Review, Prairie Fire, Arc, Antigonish Review, Fiddlehead, the Danforth Review and the Northern Poetry Review, in the U.S. in Quarterly Conversations, Rain Taxi, Rattle, Big Bridge and Galatea Resurrects, and in Australia in Jacket.

FRAGILE REPLACEMENTS by WILLIAM ALLEGREZZA

TOM HIBBARD Reviews

Fragile Replacements by William Allegrezza
(Meritage Press, San Francisco & St. Helena, 2007)

WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING IN: WILLIAM ALLEGREZZA’S FRAGILE REPLACEMENTS
There is no outside
I have abolished it
-Loren Eiseley

Materials of construction rarely resemble what is being constructed. A workbench with saw, hammer, nails, wooden boards loosely assembled within reach gives no indication of a table or book case. Construction sites often are surrounded by fences that forestall anticipation. I've seen crews make work sites look more chaotic than they really are simply to prevent inquiries about what is taking place and when is everything going to be "back to normal."

In taking office in 2009 as U.S. and the world's financial structure were falling to pieces, President Barack Obama sought to act quickly. In doing so, his concern might have been largely psychological, hoping to reassure a society in disarray. Perhaps he was mindful of F.D.R.'s famous statement that "We have nothing to fear but fear itself." Obama's target was consumer confidence, the intangible though strongly evident apprehensive mood of a nation.

This anxious and indeterminate moment, this time in question, this interval, between the fragmenting of a stable structure and the reemergence of stability and prosperity, between beginning of crisis and its end is actually common in the way life proceeds and presents itself. In fact, life is a time between, a time “immemorial,” its starting and stopping points arbitrarily imposed for the sake of convenience and self-stirring approbation.

It is this indeterminacy, this unexpected ambiguity that William Allegrezza's 2007 poetry collection from Meritage Press, Fragile Replacements, is about.


* *

in the middle to restart the system
with flags full in breeze and handles turned
full forward                   to hear everything crack
tumbling off its nicely stacked shelf
                  incipit                   and so it begins in desire
tracing out a new path for memory out of
long unused space
                                    copied from a dream
in which one awaits a portal of erasure
or moves and changes and hopes and
                  finds a voice that repeats in clear
rhyme and reason.

This is the first poem of the collection, the first of forty-two roman numbered poems in the first section, titled "Go-between." It is also one of the best poems in the collection, giving an inventory of themes contained, like a table of contents, beginning of course with the phrase "in the middle." This, then, is followed by the idea of reassurance needed to "restart the system." The symbolic tokens in which reassurance is found are such as "flags" and "handles" and robust Obama-like movement going "full forward" and hearing everything crack like a whip. The poem also brings in fleeting Proustian touchstones associated with desire and memory and dream, the "momentary stay" as Robert Frost called it, sparkling with the heft of a greater reality. One might think of "a portal of erasure" as neo-Proustian, the philosophical absence and negation that give birth and shape to the substance of hope and movement. This is the absence out of which cries the human "voice" and "reason" and existence itself.

There is also a counter theme in the poem. It brings in the idea of "change" that was an emphasis in the 2008 Presidential campaign, with the phrase "Change We Can Believe In," itself a phrase tending toward reassurance. Certainly the election of the first African-American U.S. President has to be considered a change in some sense. It reflects a change in values, attitudes, laws, perhaps in demographics. A change in focus, in depth. But it is not as much a departure or tearing down as one might fear. The U.S. system of government that produced it was not changed; rather it was more strongly established. Its promise, its foundation reached a fulfillment.

Change, particularly change that can be believed in, is not piece-meal or all-at-once. Political and social change is brought about by ideas working through time. This we call progress. It is progress that at times requires reassurance, that tests confidence. So that though life is indeterminate, theoretically, forever, the indeterminacy of ideas is only until they reach fulfillment. In calling ideas "inalienable" and "self-evident," we are saying that once they are put in motion nothing can stop them. "Times of change" are time-of-construction when the materials and the tools are discernable but fulfillment is still remote.

Regarding life, we are always "in the middle." There are no times of change but only constant motion. But regarding progress with its subtle direction, there are historical moments when, in Allegrezza's words, the "silvery skin" of the present comes "tumbling off its nicely stacked shelf." The advancement of progress destroys and causes us to rebuild our societies. This process amounts to a removal of pretext, a clarification and reestablishment of the indeterminacy from which is derived the fundamental values and foundations of life. These are important ideas Allegrezza has done well to put in place for consideration.

Matter is a priori. Though we attempt to hold matter down for the sake of an instinctive predilection, for a given or psychic symmetry, it groans and protests, “do not restrain me”. We are “hampered” by diversity, contradiction, imprecision, transition. In feeling this way we forget that others feel the same, “the pain of so many happy surrounding [our] sorrow”. We are “happy/ that life seems secure/ that days seem long” once we have “unplugged the cords and/ switched off everything switchable”. Yet, in spite of happiness, “each verse is a journey” “so that/ now an argument for oneness/ seems hopelessly misguided” and so that “devotion leads to self-destruction”.

It’s these fragments from Allegrezza's stylistically fragmented poems that are the “fragile replacements“ that stand in reassuringly when worlds to which we have become attached crumble and collapse. Revealingly, Allegrezza's poems have a temporality similar to the those of Larry Eigner. Two of the poems in this first section are visual or “concrete” poems, with words, letters scattered “beyond the widest circle” on the page. Though life is indeterminate and “hard to comprehend,” the clouds, birds, sunsets, stars, new words, buildings do contain some sort of meaning, an overall meaning. Even from Allegrezza’s anti-cogency vantage, “a marvelous vision on a rainy afternoon/ signals an end”.


* *


The second section, “Under Clear Fields,” is a variation on the first. Whereas the first section takes up the idea of a go-between and reassurance during “times of change” and disruption, the second section seems more intent on making a case for accepting randomness. It yearns anarchistically. The first section is an introduction to the indeterminate, the concept of it, the workings of it. The second section is a field guide to indeterminateness, the way it appears in life, its disguises, its mistreatment, even in relation to something as pervasive and innocent as the image of "clear fields."

The first poems of the second section, titled “Rider,” is six lines long, though it covers the same amount of space on the page as a later eighteen-line poem. The difference is white space, emptiness. The poem begins with the word “lost.” The second line further down is lower case “i.” The last line at the bottom is “he moves.” Matter may be a priori. But no less so is emptiness, thought, mystery, form and formlessness. Correctly, Allegrezza gives these an equal place. Moreover, matter is only what Robert Lowell called “detritus,” parts broken off, rocks, debris. Matter is not of uniform value, or else it is uniformly valueless. Words are similar. They have their place and their power, but their power is the ability to produce a space that they themselves do not occupy.

Other titles in this section are “bits from austin,” “nominal phrases,” “glass views” “dust,” “drift,” “without vision.” They speak in sonar blips of confinement, out-of-body experience, real numbers, flowers, actuality. They have the aimless inchings of Andy Warhole movies of real-life objects, such as the Empire State Building, presented in long time spans utterly without pretension. They wash through evolutionary super-eons, where even the human form is arbitrary, where, as in some of Charles Bukowski’s poems, we are unaware of what we are witnessing. They enjoy sub-atomic word play. The strophes glide past like creatures at the bottom of oceans or objects in deep space. Perhaps they aren’t new life forms, but they are the exciting and curious forms of new life. Clumping in a primordial linguistic ooze, they evoke an exciting metaphysical renunciation of falseness. Even light, filtering through the depths, does not go unquestioned.
benbow's avenue

in a blue room
hydrants are left slowly running for birds
as though simple ashes gathered along a
single street in reverential communing
a congregation its place
like anything that moves within or moves without
all of which is taken prisoner of enlightenment

Truth to tell, Allegrezza’s indefiniteness and his poems about it reach toward a mystery that is beyond the metaphor or “theory” of evolution. This is not surprising, since as obvious as evolution’s having some merit is the fact that it leaves questions unanswered. Even if humankind were able to repeat the process of creation, it wouldn’t preclude the existence of a god. Perhaps it would vindicate those that say evolution is continuing, into an era in which Mankind becomes some sort of deity and creator. The talk of billions and billions of years seems to enhance the mystery. But for Allegrezza the Big Bang is living just down the street.
bullets surround a signal phrase like
a guiding light in the sixth circle
i stopped near a fence
reached into my coat
and pulled out oblivion

and the poem “utterance” (with its unassuming periods)
place begins
as I stop waiting
for fireflies to sweep
the city clean
as though life
could end with
no warning
the entire mechanism
finished though
so many streets
continue to run
where dreams
follow no
clear patterns.

blossoms on trees
and distance.


* *


Tielhard de Chardin says that the process of creating unites. But it could also be said that the process of creating divides. And, here, Mcluhanist ideas barge in impolitely, with the notion of divisive unity (nationalism) and tyrannical order (linearity). Visual writing, visual poetry has the ability to show us the finished logos. One might take a moment to describe some of its attributes: unassuming, humble, non-visual (non-pictorial), the “trace.” With the trace, multiplicity and diversity come through in the finished logos. Visual writing speaks with the voice of many. It represents a hidden mystery, a subdued mystery. The finished logos is a Jungian archetype. It describes not a tyrannical order but a liberating perhaps pre-existing order of system and infrastructure, an order that Allegrezza surprisingly doesn’t seem entirely to contest.

What textual writing shows us, by contrast, is the unfinished logos, which we in turn view as the unfinishable, the never-ending logos. This is the logos of “differentiation,” of “infinite content.” Though textual writing appears to tend toward hegemony, in fact it has the effect of liberation. Textual writing establishes subjectivity, endlessness.

The third section of Fragile Replacements, “Gathering Forces,” is a tempestuous envoi of various sorts of visual and textual writing, a rousing estuarial Wynton Marsalis Dixieland chorus with instruments blaring at the top of their lungs all at the same time, superimposed on one another, in a grand saturnalian march...but a march of what?

At first one wants to say “triumph.” The title “gathering forces,” the festive effect of the large and small fonts, vertically and horizontally on the pages, in black and in white lead the reader toward a sense of arrival. On the third page of the section is an unmistakable oversized bold-face "V," first letter of the ordinary sized phrase "voice returning." The section itself is introduced rather simply with a lone untitled poem, which begins,
i came into the valley to protect myself
against coming storms
                                    after i searched desolation near
                  
racks and old schools
                                    where towers stood in
                                    dark skies and fires burned.

for clear air
i came searching
and for a voice
with which to claim
existence

Several pages later are the lines "i search/among rocks" and "poetry 'is a way of saying,/of noting how to become and unbecome'" and "i toss bits of paper in the wind" and "we cannot remain huddled/next to rock with our/words clear warnings/so we/slither into cities/and are/thrown up among signs/on buses and cars." These phrases give the sense of self-possession, summation and indeed of a "voice returning."

But some of the oversized, overarching superimposed words and phrases would not be associated with triumph: "control" "anguish & the lash" "must stand in line" "space surrounded." Nor do they especially favor unity. These are decidedly dissatisfied phrases. Phrases of repression, obstruction and of subsumed, "sullen," misunderstood selves.

What we must see in Tielhard de Chardin's idea that in creating we unite is that the unity he is talking about is not a simple or, perhaps, platitudinal unity. It is not based on the sacrifice of self. It is a unity kept vital by division. A unity based on diversity and multiplicity and subjectivity. Regarding Mcluhan: Is all unity divisive? Is all order tyrannical? Allegrezza, in this third section, says that "to write/ is to engage with an agenda". Are all agendas subversive? Cannot a writer conceive the complex and favorable agenda of a unity that is predicated on, held together by diversity? Cannot we think of an order that is not restrictive but is the fulfillment of a system of freedom? A self-balancing order, an actual order, a living order.*

In my opinion, in this third section, Allegrezza has done precisely that. He has given us the triumphal arrival that we expected, but he has complicated it with various uncharacteristic and broadening elements. For example, the title of the section, "Gathering Forces," is, I think, intended to be seen in a light without preference, as neither a good or bad thing, but only as a description. This gathering might be a society rising up or a society falling down. It is more specifically the dark cloud of a society that understands depth, complexity, responsibility, honesty. Though the visual and the textual writing clash, they do so with a tension that, like a gravitational orbit, symbolizes stable motion, a purposeful "steady-state." (Perhaps it would be helpful to interject a word from a different sort of discussion--"homeostasis.") Their clash is nothing more than a representation of society itself. This is a finished logos, a finished unfinishable logos. It could be a World War, a Depression, a Russian Revolution or a prosperous Golden Age. Any and all of these things. What Allegrezza is saying is that at bottom they are the same.

(*President Obama, in the euphoria of his inauguration, spoke daringly of unity. He even dusted off that word we have not been able to think highly of for so long, “patriotism.”)

*****

Tom Hibbard has new poems in Cricket and the special green issue of Jack just out this spring of '09. Besides poetry, Hibbard has many reviews in various journals, on and off line, especially of Philip Whalen's Collected Poems at issue 13 of Word/For Word and anthologies of Turkish poetry and Chicago poetry at the current Big Bridge. A poem and a review are scheduled for the upcoming issue 37 of Jacket.