Wednesday, July 30, 2008

"words are so erotic"

"Every new poem is like finding a new bride. Words are so erotic, they never tire of their coupling. How do they renew themselves? In their inexhaustible desire for combinations and recombinations."
--- Stanley Kunitz **

Seven a.m. Tuesday: Self-Dedication. He knew it was going to be a pretty wonderful day. A fabulous day. A fantastic day. The trees hummed gently to themselves, and the birds flew in patterns which were more graceful, more elegant than he remembered ever observing before. The streets were clean and the clouds were fluffy and he could feel the joy of newly awakened love percolating through his veins.

Today he would meet her. All previous loves, all previous adorations, were but a shadow of the light which was to emerge into his life today. Love, he knew, would arrive, would sweep him off his feet, throw him for a loop: his life would have new meaning, depth, purpose. His ideal awaited, and then she appeared.

** Here are some notes from grad school:

Mallarmé referred to the folded and uncut signatures of a fine binding as “virginal”, awaiting penetration of the “paper knife.”
Caws, Mary Ann, ed. (1982) Stéphane Mallarmé: Selected Poetry and Prose. New York. p. 83. in Spector, Buzz (1993). “The Book Alone: Object and Fetishism” in Eaton, Timothy A., Books as Art. Boca Raton, LA: Museum of Art. p. 38.

The explicitly erotic topography of the book described:
"Sumptuous twin curves that meet in a recessed seam. Page turning is a series of gentle, sweeping gestures, like the brush of fingers on a naked back … the behavior of readers has more in common with the play of intimacy than with the public decorum of art viewing or music listening. …[We] read lying down or seated and most of us read at least partially unclothed. We dress up to go out and look at art; undressed, in bed, we read. We seek greater comfort while reading than the furnishings of museums or concert halls will ever grant us. When we read -- the conventional distance between eye and page is around 14 inches -- we often become the lectern that receives the book: chest, arm, lap, or thighs. This proximity is the territory of embrace, of possession; not to be entered without permission."
Spector, Buzz (1993). “The Book Alone: Object and Fetishism” in Eaton, Timothy A., Books as Art. Boca Raton, LA: Museum of Art. p. 38.

Image: Duchamp Le Surrealisme en 1947 | Prieure de Toucher
courtesy National Gallery of Scotland, Dean Gallery Library and Archive

Tart Noir [the self-described work Lauren Henderson]
how can temperatures still be in the nineties, but the grocery have autumn mums on display?