I'm falling in love with this book; I never want to leave this atmousphere. If you do not see me you'll find me with/in the weather.
"But the history oI'm falling in love with this book; I never want to leave this atmousphere. If you do not see me you'll find me with/in the weather.
"But the history of the atmosphere is recklessly slow."(intro/THE OFFICE FOR SOFT ARCHITECTURE)
The weather is the visible spinning of our world, it is the motion and thus the time we experience. Long before prayer bells there was weather, day and night, light and cloud and dark. These relationships have shaped us, we are not nocturnal in general. Our lives are shaped by the weather of our geographies and our geographies reflect the weather. Our history, indefinitely our weather, is recklessly slow.
"Dear Reader - a lady speaking to humans from the motion of her own mind is always multiple. Enough of the least. We want to be believed."(TOFSA)
Curious this gender orientation. Mother natureishness? Inevitably anyone speaking to humans from the motion of her own mind is always multiple. But this is the atmousphere right? The weather as the language for climate. The word as formal unit of English. Then, as noted in her esay, clouds are the formal moments of climate language. See our current huricanes, tornadoes in California. There is no longer an ability for minimalism when our construction of this experience seeks the circumference of the globe, we must sprawl, "We want to be believed."
"Some of us light a cigarette"(63).
More of this multiplicity into singularity, this shift of one to many. Many to one. By isolating the moments of weather we lose the context of its experience. This language, these poems are our moment: stratus of prose block, cirrus of lineation, clear skies btwn. Cirgarettes make clouds of smoke, this moment condenses the plural group into individual, individual action releases smoke into the air; we are liable for the weather.
"We speak as if / in you alone"(60.)
The collective sense of generalities becomes "Joe the Plumber." Why is this significant? In the continual deflection to "that guy over there" the lack of collective responsibility, the lack of unity through continual fractions eliminates a sense of whole, of weather. We need to understand all the parts in conjunction with each other, the atmousphere fills the gaps between our skyscrapers, not just the parts in and of themselves.
"Body of cloud of work. Where can a lady reside. Next the / earth and almost of out reach. Almost always electrified. / To surfaces of discontinuity. In light clothes and coloured / shoes. By the little flower called the pansy. O little bird / extravagant. Among its decayed houses. Against intoler-/able justice of betterment"(59).
The flowers, birds, the architecture, the poem, the phatic. The surface the decay of interior and exterior the minute extravagance, the cause for movement forward. This seems to unify the ecology of the poem together, align it with the poetic, tie it to our speaker as individual and as representative of the collective. All of these moments converge here, how she says in Sincerity that the weather is "breifly phatic."It the message most concerned with being a message. The text of the sky, we read down it, through it, as into tomorrow. ...more
The most entertaining thing about Lerner is how he's able to use recursive forms to work through the politicized contemporary world we live in. This tThe most entertaining thing about Lerner is how he's able to use recursive forms to work through the politicized contemporary world we live in. This to me seems the most inherent thing to note about the book. "Begetting Stadia" seem to be sonetesque variations; "Angle of Yaw" are the prose poem blocks; "Didactic Elegy" consists almost entirely of quatrains; "Twenty-One Gun Salute for Ronald Regan" composed of 9 line stanzas with closing couplets; All of which (with the arguable exception of the prose poems) have lines that end in terminal punctuation(mostly). This seems to suggest that the poems of Lerner are unable, for the most part, to move past their individual lines, their frames/forms. We experience the autonomy of a line much more specifically if it is terminally punctuated, it can't go on, we have to deal with it as singular despite it's stanzaic metonymy. But his wit and humor are punctuated by the placement of lines next to each other, as others have noted, in fact it depends on the ridiculous and truth of this placement.
It seems to me the list I've used for the title are some, note some, of the "anchors" of this work. Indeed all of these things seem to evoke a sense of violence, unease, tension, action, and questions of worth. My favorite lines from the first read(this summer, not this week) "You are the first and last indigenous Nintendo." "The child makes a substantial advancement in poetics / with a can of hairspray and a Bic."
In the second reading, I was drawn to other lines: "The value of hope is that it has no use value. / Hope is the saddest of formalisms"(65). This seems eerily significant in lieu of recent political developments. Also: "Even in death, the old debate between / depth and surface: some poets attach weights to their ankles, others just / float facedown. What is the value of reading? Depends. What is it keep-/ing you from doing?(101). Obviously we're again dealing with depth and surface, but we're also talking about authorial intent, the deep weight to ankles intent, or the floating surface intent. Most importantly either way you die; reading then necessitates the death of authors, and in reading we are not killing ourselves, perhaps. And even complicated further: "The president's statement is meaningless / unless to be American means to embrace one's death, / which is possible"(63). So the American author must die... according to Learner, our (ex)president.
Lastly Lerner seems to be working Adorno fairly heavily here, no? And this book makes me depressed because I feel like Learner is asking what's next in poetry(art) quite elegantly and as poet I don't know how to attempt to accomplish anything better than "Yaw", let alone as good.
"The meaninglessness of the drawing is therefore meaningful and the failure to seek out value is heroic. Is this all that remains of poetry?
Ignorance that sees itself is elegy."
I feel like I've been reduced to four lines of verse.
From "Twenty-one Gun Salute for Ronald Regan":
"The child makes a substantial advancement in poetics with a canister of spray and a Bic."