Infinite Jest...

it isn't about Hal any more or less than Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is about Oskar Schell. It's of course about becoming yourself...again.

Augmented Vortices: Objectivism & Imagism, Oppen & H.D.

Discrete Series (1934): In the preface, Pound opened by preempting the charge of obscurity, then acknowledging a cry for originality and a call for reform, and closed with a "salute" to a "serious craftsman." Though vague, this preface intuits a likely response to Oppen's collection: an uncertainty of both the coherence of the 'series' and the sensibility of the 'craft.' The crux of the volume, though, reiterates mathematical and logical exercises of incompleteness, begging the reader to anticipate obliqueness in knowledge as necessary and valid. That is, rather than enforcing a stringent dedication to image as the thing, Oppen's brand of Objectivism (which differed from Zukofsky's) relied upon the value of incompleteness and omission as crucially resonant operators in the poetic object. So as Oppen delivers a poetic experience that emphasizes sincerity and linguistic commitment, he also enacts the vertiginous conundrums of Wittgenstein and Godel. In verifying the gaps and voicing the silences, Oppen allows his poems to be both conversational and muted, obscure and evocative. The open structure of the book, in which some poems are titled, some numbered, others unlabeled, creates a poetic experience that feels experimental and productive: it begins with an inclusion of multiple poetic voices, develops among images and actions, and concludes in a veritable force field of uncertainty, with "Happenings" and "(the telephone)"

Though Oppen and H.D. can easily be contrasted, most obviously using their -ISM definitions, distinctions, and associations, the poems of the 1930s share the exploration of a multivocal poetics that invites ephemeral experience and growth in radiation. Poems like "Magician," "Calypso," and "The Poet" deliver vigorous testaments to H.D.'s ability to marry the animal, visceral voices with those enchanted and melodious, compacting a volatile harmony of friction and fantasy. She dissolves distinctions between subject and object, action and story: all contribute to the sorcery of Song. In the mythic and particular, the collection of solos, these later poems, like Oppen's, offer experiences in series, and they do so by enlivening defiance and argumentation as constructive forces. Louder than Oppen's, it seems, these poems by H.D. showcase the roaring rush of the poetic vortex in which soundtrack accompanies the Imagist's eye.

Older School.

from an earlier love "letter"

[Message: Read]
chuck ramsey [himynameischuck@yahoo.com]
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Tuesday, December 23, 2003 1:19 AM
To:
M
Caroline Ruth daniel Ramsey
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Apparently you've already forgotten about me.
My name is Chuck. I live in Athens, GA with my two
dogs, Bella and Soap, and the occasional visit from my
gilfriend, Caroline. It's not the nicest house in the
world, but it's comfortable. I went to school at UGA,
but realized toward the end of my scholarly career
that academics were not for me, thus I chose a life in
the kitchen. Sweat, burns, cuts and hard labor were
in store for me. The pay is not great but the work I
love. I thought I had it all figured out until my
intelligent, beautiful, wonderful girlfriend left for
St. Lucia and fell in love with a wealthy, debonair
European man ten years older than her. Then it all
fell apart. The drinking, the cigarettes, the crying.
Wave upon wave of sorrow. Just to hear her voice one
more time saying, "I love you." All in vain, the
trial and struggles and triumphs and defeats. Such is
life, no sunshine and no roses, only a pale grey sky
muting the fading colors summer. And now I sleep,
only to awaken to a world of sorrow and anguish, from
which puppies and eight-hour car trips cannot save me.
To my lost love, I say, "What did I do? Where did I
go wrong?"
Caroline, I love you, of this you can be sure.
Chuck.

Read This Now. Ed's book, I mean.

from:

Labors Lost Left Unfinished by Ed Pavlic.

...

A deep breath domes
against your face & you hope
you'll never cease to love

...

That is all.

Verse re: Word.

From our new poet laureate, W. S. Merwin:

TERM

At the last minute a word is waiting
not heard that way before and not to be
repeated or ever be remembered
one that always had been a household word
used in speaking of the ordinary
everyday recurrences of living
not newly chosen or long considered
or a matter for comment afterward
who would ever have thought it was the one
saying itself from the beginning through
all its uses and circumstances to
utter at last that meaning of its own
for which it had long been the only word
though it seems now that any word would do

Online Source: http://www.theatlantic.com/unbound/poetry/antholog/merwin/term.htm

Deliveries, DeLillories: Daily Bread.

"In the morning I walked to the bank. I went to the automated teller machine to check my balance. I inserted my card, entered my secret code, tapped out my request. The figure on the screen roughly corresponded to my independent estimate, feebly arrived at after long searches through documents, tormented arithmetic. Waves of relief and gratitude flowed over me. The system had blessed my life. I felt its support and approval. The system hardware, the mainframe sitting in a locked room in some distant city. What a pleasing interaction. I sensed that something of deep personal value, but not money, not that at all, had been authenticated and confirmed. A deranged person was escorted from the bank by two armed guards. the system was invisible, which made it all the more impressive, all the more disquieting to deal with. But we were in accord, at least for now. The networks, the circuits, the streams, the harmonies" (46).

#defenses against racking fears of self, "White Noise."

Out-of/Inside Context 101.

_although of course you end up becoming yourself_, page 115:

READING LADY: I'm sure if you have any questions, David wouldn't mind answering them.
FIRST QUESTION: How do you get your ideas?

...

AFTER READING
HUNGRY MIND BOOKSTORE
THE SIGNING LINE
A LONG, EXCITED LINE

[It's not an easy process. People want to talk. They're thrilled when they get to the table: blushing, excited. David draws a smiley face next to each signature. One woman looks at hers with a frown. She's not sure what it is; she believes he's drawn a computer.]

It's a smiley face. If you want, I could put Wite-Out over it. It's your book.

[Someone pulls out a copy of _Broom of the System_]

Oh no. This old thing.

[After the signature, he does a birthday-candle blow over the ink, to dry it.]

Little, Brown taught me that.

from page xv: "He wrote with eyes and a voice that seemed to be a condensed form of everyone's lives..."