ilke was later remind
hat if the coronal sutures
like the wavering line eng
raved by the needle o
fashion? Is there any contour, he wonders, that could not be experienced, ‘as it makes itself felt
er observes, the skull’s eerie replay would yield ‘a primal sound without a name, music without a notation’ – in other words (his): metaphor.20
The trace is poetry’s ghostly techne. What is the poet, if not a phonograph?
onnet of Part I (‘But you, divine one, you, till the end still sounding …’), Orphic song resonates in things
ly because at last enmity rent and scattered you
are we now the hearers and mouth of Nature. 21
ased not upon concept (the trace) but rather upon an activity (tracing)’. 22 In Two
the record of a gesture.
arthes again: ‘line is action become visible’.23 Like O
ou unending trace’ (‘Du unendliche Spur’) provides the subtitle o
ere rose a tree’).
geometry of line and smud
we who have always thought of happiness climbing, would feel the emotion that almost startles when happiness falls.’28
a random, shaky line, scatteri
s well as culture.
tion: ‘I am Thyrsis of Aetna, blessed with a tuneful voice’ (Thyrsis,
im in the same shepherd’s pose, leaning against a tree, as the reprodu
Much has been made of Two
gy: ‘this fleeting world, which in some strange way / keeps calling to us. Us the most fleeting of all.’36 Faced with life’s dis
companions died one by one’.39 Fo
rants, washed up on the Italian shor
e would have seen objects like the funerary barge intended to ship the soul to its afterlife. H
age of inscriptions, hoaxes, myths, and desires.49 The huge canvas
nd of the sequence: ‘Eros, weaver [of myth]’, ‘Eros, sweet and bitter, Eros bringer of pain’ (fig.14).50 The glaring sun shines remorselessly, high
in the sky (fig.15). Next comes the ceremonial barge, dripping with splendour and yellow and alarazin (crimson) rosettes of paint (fig.16).
orrows are drowned, the boat is a drunken boat, the poem a scribbled memo-to-self, a scarcely legible scraw
burnt-out stick-ship, the ideo
graph becomes minim
o how it got in there, I don’t know’.54 Perhaps Two
onsiders ‘towards what we go forward’: not as he hea
companions calling from the opposite shore’ but ‘in some oth
weight, and art eaten away by gold:
Because we’ve loaded even our song with so much music
that it’s slowly sinking
and we’ve decorated our art so much that its features have
been eaten away by gold
and it’s time to say our few wo
ing behind it only that vague dizzying sway of a tall pal
mbly’s late work, its magnificence and melancholy along with its flowering into new forms of graphic and mnemon
his line sways vague
and dizzly across the canvas, c
s freight of emotion along wit
hat if the coronal sutures
like the wavering line eng
raved by the needle o
fashion? Is there any contour, he wonders, that could not be experienced, ‘as it makes itself felt
er observes, the skull’s eerie replay would yield ‘a primal sound without a name, music without a notation’ – in other words (his): metaphor.20
The trace is poetry’s ghostly techne. What is the poet, if not a phonograph?
onnet of Part I (‘But you, divine one, you, till the end still sounding …’), Orphic song resonates in things
ly because at last enmity rent and scattered you
are we now the hearers and mouth of Nature. 21
ased not upon concept (the trace) but rather upon an activity (tracing)’. 22 In Two
the record of a gesture.
arthes again: ‘line is action become visible’.23 Like O
ou unending trace’ (‘Du unendliche Spur’) provides the subtitle o
ere rose a tree’).
geometry of line and smud
we who have always thought of happiness climbing, would feel the emotion that almost startles when happiness falls.’28
a random, shaky line, scatteri
s well as culture.
tion: ‘I am Thyrsis of Aetna, blessed with a tuneful voice’ (Thyrsis,
im in the same shepherd’s pose, leaning against a tree, as the reprodu
Much has been made of Two
gy: ‘this fleeting world, which in some strange way / keeps calling to us. Us the most fleeting of all.’36 Faced with life’s dis
companions died one by one’.39 Fo
rants, washed up on the Italian shor
e would have seen objects like the funerary barge intended to ship the soul to its afterlife. H
age of inscriptions, hoaxes, myths, and desires.49 The huge canvas
nd of the sequence: ‘Eros, weaver [of myth]’, ‘Eros, sweet and bitter, Eros bringer of pain’ (fig.14).50 The glaring sun shines remorselessly, high
in the sky (fig.15). Next comes the ceremonial barge, dripping with splendour and yellow and alarazin (crimson) rosettes of paint (fig.16).
orrows are drowned, the boat is a drunken boat, the poem a scribbled memo-to-self, a scarcely legible scraw
burnt-out stick-ship, the ideo
graph becomes minim
o how it got in there, I don’t know’.54 Perhaps Two
onsiders ‘towards what we go forward’: not as he hea
companions calling from the opposite shore’ but ‘in some oth
weight, and art eaten away by gold:
Because we’ve loaded even our song with so much music
that it’s slowly sinking
and we’ve decorated our art so much that its features have
been eaten away by gold
and it’s time to say our few wo
ing behind it only that vague dizzying sway of a tall pal
mbly’s late work, its magnificence and melancholy along with its flowering into new forms of graphic and mnemon
his line sways vague
and dizzly across the canvas, c
s freight of emotion along wit
mind
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