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ARTS AND CULTURE

I open a door in my head

  • 10 July 2006

I Open a Door in my Head Here is a boy in a listless room, breathing with the world, a terrier or anything the shape of a terrier below the table. There is food -apple teacake, pears sleeping like birds. The dog lying on a layer of gristle fed steadily into its basket and veiled with cloth. All is quarantine. Laughter on ration; hunger preceeding the eating and following it. The chrome toaster leers, prey in teeth. Nothing moves except the boy's hand, reaching under the table, restless, mysterious. Flatlands Stanzas I We might speak into this blackening stretch and expect the sound of nothing to return to us, borderless and narrow, diffuse and echoing, but not even a black-whisper breaks the monotony uncovered in flatlands. Biting dirt in spools and threads lifts off the surface; rare detail among strips of sclerophyll interspersed with mnemonic red, strata upon strata upon strata slowing not for weather or salvation. Luminous floes of air have battened the surface into an ancestral boredom with space. Night rolls out like a thunderhead. II This is what we have for the sublime, and it is no wonder Gnosticism never took off. We are on the horizon, and the horizon interminable, bands and levels erasing sibilants and giving us flat lines, serious and trackless. We cannot shake it, the country, its focused planes and plateaux, the madness rocking under its eaves. Unfurling vagaries of land hide the slender guises of life: wires of scrub, tundra -both meaningless and mathematical -go on oblivion. The tongue floured with sienna and sweeping, as though through description comes understanding.

Click Here to listen to audio recording of this file. Some were cold, some were near, some were clear - On a line of John Ashbery's I was there. The dead were an injunction. All around, waves eating waves, the hush of sky hung. I saw them, hoisted into the water; I made myself watch. The bodies finally what they were, visible and outlined in azure, flotsam incapable of allegory, urging me near. I suspected the trance was in the telling. This was my inheritance: infinite motion. For a time the sea and I stood, quiet, as illustrations.