Creating and Labeling

Creation is a process of repetition. At least usually. Almost nothing is created in an instant, and if it is that creation was probably preceded by repetitions that made that instant creation possible.

I have spent the last few days drawing by hand on ancient gummed labels (lick the back of one with a tongue and you can stick it anywhere). I was drawing a little fidgetglyph, a definite wrawing (half writing, half drawing), and there are many imperfections in the 103 versions I created. There is no perfection here, only a yearning for it.

Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, I will mail these to Johnny Brewton, and he will collect them together with many other sets of small things to make an issue of Bagazine, which is always filled with strange wonders and weird poetry.

As I wrote these down, as I drew each of them onto the page, I was forced to wonder what kind of poet I was, one who made drawings but said they were writing, and in this case writing about seeing, and drawings about seeing too. I was forced to think of myself as a creator of tactile poetry.

All of which made sense to me, because tactility fits into a full-body poetics.

And now it's time to rest this body.

ecr. l'inf.