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ARTS AND CULTURE

Neither God nor good

  • 26 May 2009

consummations bloodspcand green hallow the verdigris touch of air and agespcthe sulphate

bluespcand old ringsspccopper bands for arthritis the clasps of a book

andspcdark alleys wet cobbles stone the shade of charcoalspcsomething

to burnspclike a page torn from a life censorialspcthe thurible swungspc over the editorial

ispca sound bite ripped for a pod at nightspca thin plume of smoke

and yet a feeling of having made it your child's latest legospcor a pile

of ashes at the turn of a lanespcwhere the breathing animal you are nestles close to

goodspca fragile kindness to the ground with some small thing given backspcat last

gd: being neither god, nor ground, nor good The i of complexity is more than the real that saturates the line. This could be mathematics, where an e and a pi exceed our capacity to write them, like a life, like this universe that for all its betweens — coordinates stretched across cartesian undulations — seems calculable. Yet this line, ancestral with infinity i could dive into, stretches to fold on fold of surd and sine like an insoluble problem, or the elegance of a moment, when our congress turns to this continuity with things that bends us round, moulded to the string of time. And all our curves and angles intersect with gd.

désistance

... a subject in désistance is one that is in withdrawal, in the sense either of withdrawing itself or of being withdrawn — or, better still, in the sense of remaining nicely balanced between these alternatives. –John Martis, Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe: Representation and the Loss of the Subject The pluck of ions exhales a chord of blue that softens, as the street bends toward home.

There, at the far corner — where the notice says they'll film next week — the houses and street gums step aside for sky

almost pixelate, as these white spots play before my eyes, like the scatter of rising too quickly.

Here, where world is more and less than tree and tar, words hold back like night the sun, neither

a mother to us all (nor not).

Anne Elvey is a researcher and poet, and author of An Ecological Feminist Reading of the Gospel of Luke: A Gestational Paradigm. Her poems have appeared in Antipodes, Cordite, Eremos, Meanjin and PAN.