Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

temporary silence || item of interest

After a few weeks of inactivity-- postings will resume on a steadier basis. First, for the time being, wanted to share a poem I found at decomP magazinE (not a typo). Benjamin Winkler's piece, "Atavism" stood out for me due to his sparse details in the phrasing and fragmented sentence structures. The idea of producing fractured verses always appeals to me as a reader of the avant-garde— the more experimental the poem, the more I enjoy it. Gertrude Stein, can you hear me?

Winkler's impressionistic style allows for numerous levels of interpretation— permits a psychological analysis of the poem's creative process and the persona in a sense.

The opening stanza reads:
naked days       and panic grass
father’s father put to seed
mouths     unto weed
hands     trowels     halfway
down     stuck     to clay

Is the speaker burying the past, or digging it up? Father-as-weed metaphor? Presents an interesting riddle to unravel. Hope to uncover more of his work in the future.

Read the full verse at:

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