A Letter of Yearning Light – Friday Fictioneers 1-17-2014

Copyright - Erin Leary

It mingles as I tarry here.  Fence and branches joining what they distinguish.  From here to there I yearn.  Details all so near.  In my reaching they grow hazy.  I long for you.  I follow.  I wander.  Toward you?  From me?  Out beyond?

There was a time.  It’s lost its focus.  Forward, back, I cannot tell.  I am here.  A something-is divides us.  Even as it joins.  I reach across.  I feel you back.  And yet.

Yet not.  The moony sun illuminates.  Draws attention.  Drawing all the lines connecting us, all the angles between.

**********************

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and Erin Leary‘s image

for the continuous and faithful prompts to compose 100 words

responding to instigating images and the Friday Fictioneers participants

“A book begins by defining ‘Who I am’;  it ends by asking ‘Who am I?’  

We are allergic to the world; consciousness is an allergic reaction to the fact of the world; it is our understanding that is a form of irritation, a rewarding irritation, and we think, because we think, we have accomplished something noble, something valorous, that we can say what it is something means; but it is just a symptom of the allergy, the mind trying to rid itself of itself, of what enters it by casting it back out, words for world.”

-Dan Beachy-Quick-

Beachy-Quick - Impenetrable Screen

Now and Forever

another new poem arrives…

NW Filbert's avatarSpoondeep

Now and Forever

Now and Forever: A Marrying Poem (for my wife)

.

i looked at her

she reminded me

forever begins now

 .

in a letter

comes a present

i receive

 .

from her

from my past:

 .

“my forever is beginning”

 .

i had said

when she came

 .

i look at her

she reminds me

forever began now

 .

October 2010

January of ‘14

still forever,

still beginning

 .

forever is never

absolute

but it’s relate-ive

 .

in other words –

“as long as” –

“i” holds together,

also “you,” and then “we”

 .

i look at you

the seeing re-minds

the hearing and touch

the tasting and smell

of forever,

and now

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Longuage

i suppose some people might not know that if i get a poetic impulse i let it out here…

NW Filbert's avatarSpoondeep

Longuage

We stitch.  We wend.  The warp and woof (or weft).

We wept.

And made language.

 .

Because beauty.*

 .

If occasion is beautiful, we long –

Longuage.

Longing will depress

[equal and opposite force]

therefore, express.

 .

We cry.  Sigh and stutter.  Susurrate.

We long:  Compress.  Express.

And make longuage.

 .

“A thought leaves no print; leaves only the print of word in ink on page.”

–Dan Beachy-Quick

.

Without regard for Truth.

Aching willn’t analyze.

 .

Fact fail.

Re-memory.

 .

We perceive the beauty and we hurt

and know not what to name it –

object, emotion, experience,

response.

 .

Falter, wend,

Weave and prove,

Longuage.

 .

N Filbert 2014

*I consider the “beautiful” the ‘total matrix’ of experience, i.e. some sense of a whole

 

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Immunity (Writing from Everywhere)

perhaps you will be able to play this WHILE you read the linked entry below (as it was written)

Immunity (Writings from Everywhere)

Swimming with the Helix in Laughter

A belated discovery of the intricate workings of a friend…dig deep!

Melissa D. Johnston's avatarCreative Thresholds

by J. Celan Smith
Images by Melissa D. Johnston

I. Others: with

They are there, with us, creatively marauding our solitude. We carry them like extra hearts or like a bowl of sour fruit. It depends. Yet focus on the precious and everyday. From outside, where they meet us, we absorb them. Their forms, their words. Interiorized. We enter, joining them to our twisted strands. From then on, we are intertwined.

Maybe just an inner blimp of memories, their existence cruises in and out, never leaving our cardial space. Our lake grows full with their water. Not just any other: the important ones. Thin or plump, jocose or reticent, tough or tender. Often we swirl with them, eddies coyly dancing. Gradually, sometimes, they shadow away, tides leaving tiny caves like crab-peck in our sands. Where? We wear their skins as our own, cloak upon cloak of other lives placed in…

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2014

To all we hope will come…

and all we do not know…

language

“Language is always focaled…

…it must be so since a word is a gigantic system of situation-changes

and other words”

-Eugene Gendlin-

Reading/Writing: Complex Transactions

“Every reading act is an event, or a transaction involving a particular reader and a particular pattern of signs, a text, and occurring at a particular time in a particular context…the reader and the text are two aspects of a total dynamic situation”

Louise Rosenblatt

Rosenblatt - Making Meaning

Writing and Reading: A Transactional Theory

by Louise Rosenblatt

(click to read full article)

“Writing is always an event in time, occurring at a particular moment in the writer’s biography, in particular circumstances, under particular external as well as internal pressures…the writer is always transacting with a personal, social and cultural environment”

-Louise Rosenblatt

louise rosenblatt

and more “…” more “…” more-than

“the more than us in us that is at that moment irreducible to meaning or satisfaction”

Jacques Lacan

“our repeated baffling by the trauma of a Real”

-Peter Schwenger-

“the ordinary is not ordinary; it is extra-ordinary, uncanny”

Martin Heidegger

WORDS AND THE MURDER OF THE THING 

by Peter Schwenger

(read online for free!)

Juame Plensa sculpture

“What hope do I have of attaining the thing that I push away?

My hope lies in the materiality of language, in the fact that words are things too…A name ceases to be the ephemeral passing of nonexistence and becomes a concrete ball, a solid mass of existence; language, abandoning the sense, the meaning which was all it wanted to be, tries to become senseless”

Maurice Blanchot

Leonhardt Conspiguous

Once more I have to thank readers for random-ing around in aged posts of mine – giving me a chance to read again writings that at one time emerged, only to be forgotten in the hurly-burly of life. It is a joy for me to encounter Leonhardt again, hope some of you enjoy him as well…

NW Filbert's avatarAll my Words are Silent

Leonhardt Conspiguous

 

Leonhardt Conspiguous would have known the difference.  Between, say, BWV 161 and BWV 173; or a trunk or tail if he’d been born a blind mouse.  LC always knew the differences.  But he found similarities difficult to trace.

In conversation Leonhardt once encountered a man who’d read the entirety of his library, (the titles so resembling his own as to appear indistinguishable), drawing the same conclusions as LC in the shared vocabulary.  LC was unable to devise a category or designation for this phenomenon.  It was like looking in Leona’s eyes.

A concave lens forms a sphere of reflection, and hers – of grey of green of blue – mimicked Leonhardt’s so completely both in color and tone, that he’d instantly felt something farther back, back behind, any place he’d ever felt before.  In himself or another.  As time went on and her desire gained in details…

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