Poetry
The First World
Linked to indescribable power, to its shadow
analyzed by minorities who have, in my lifetime,
refused to remain anonymous—
"Until the missing story of ourselves is told,
nothing besides told can suffice us;
we shall go on quietly craving it."
Until now I read Laura Riding’s statement as referring to
something I did not know how to disclose to myself about
my life. Tonight, "ourselves" rings communal.
What is missing: the rock against which
I might place my shoulder
Allen Ginsberg’s "queer shoulder to the wheel"
Aimé Césaire’s task may be Sisyphean,
but to be able to push for a people, that in and of
itself is significant resistance—
To write the disappearance of what I am?
Pushing my void as the comestible of ghosts to come.
Clayton Eshleman
Song
Cecilia Bartoli seems to taste her voice,
one moment a jowly barber, the next a gleeful coquette
As her neck muscles stretched
screwing her face up into a castle grotesque,
I saw a napalmed Vietnamese girl’s face—
showing through voice as speeded-up waterfall,
voice as jewelfall,
the frozen O hole
Scream strewn smile
In each scream
the screwdriver of early mind attempting to loosen
the bolt God sank into the rippling cuttable cords by which
song
spurts
dying
almost fuse.
RECOMMENDED ARTICLES
"The Ruses of Chance"
By Karen LangOCT 2019 | Critics Page
In 1975, Roland Barthes was asked by the French newspaper Le Monde to respond to three questions about the principle function of the intellectual in society. He concludes his reply by asking three questions of his own: “What would be the worth of a society that ceased to reflect upon itself? What would become of it? And how can we see ourselves except by talking to one another?” In our time, the many hours each day in which the “average user” spends on social media makes it appear as if our society is reflecting upon itself. Rather than ceasing to reflect, perhaps our cascading responses constitute the opposite: unceasing reflection. As for talking to one another and seeing ourselves by talking to one another, the platform would appear to extend possibilities as never before. Moreover, we can be whoever we want on this medium. The chance (all of chance) is ours. Except of course it isn’t.
Documentary as Holistic Activism: Deia Schlosberg's The Story of Plastic
By Nick BennettOCT 2020 | Film
Deia Schlosberg's documentary The Story of Plastic discusses the dismal reality of the plastics' industry and its impact on the world, hoping to create change with a grassroots release.
"Hasards de la rime"
By Sima GodfreyOCT 2019 | Critics Page
I recently found myself thumbing through a well-worn edition of Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal (1857) and thinking about chance and accidental poetics.
Toyin Ojih Odutola: Tell Me A Story, I Don’t Care If It’s True
By Amber Jamilla MusserOCT 2020 | ArtSeen
Tell Me A Story, I Don’t Care If It’s True is comprised of portraits of Black people made from colored pencil, graphite, and ink. These are not images of capture—no one seems to acknowledge the viewers.
