Sunday, May 25, 2008

"Indulge me, a moment."

So starts the book - The Business of Memory: The Art of Remembering in an Age of Forgetting - that I started reading this week.


Magritte's Mnemosyne

I had bought the book thinking it sounded kind of dry, but that it would help me with research for my next book of poems. Well, it's positively captivating. The book is a collection of essays, all written by poets, that were given as talks at a Graywolf Forum. The poets are writing about memory and how they see it functioning in life, in perception, in cognition, in writing, in lots of things. What I love, though, is that each of these essays function like a keyhole through which you can spy these vibrant vignettes.

I love how poets write prose. They go about their essays, applying the structure they would to a long poem, so that connections between observations or episodes are not always apparent or easy. What this does for me, at least, is give my imagination a chance to get really invested in the text—I end up meandering over these instances and theories and musings that the poets have represented. Lovely!

Here's an excerpt from Sylvia Watanabe:
Nostalgia is memory looking off to one side. Any minute that thing you're not looking at might slide into view. Remember, my father says, or I say—but there is a place between now and before where we do not go. This is what we want to forget: Grandmother in the ambulance, Uncle empty of names.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

orange and yellow (1956)

"i am not an abstract painter. i am not interested in the relationship between form and color. the only thing i care about is the expression of man's basic emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, destiny." -mark rothko

i saw my first rothko at moma, nyc in 1987. transfixed ever after i wondered what it was that, seemingly so simple, held my attention, kept it and had me imagining it with eyes closed hours (and days) later... or maybe i was just staring at the sun.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Gabriel García Márquez' One Hundred Years of Solitude

"many years later, as he faced the firing squad, colonel aureliano buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."


along with camus' "maman died today." from the stranger, this is up there with some of modern lit's best first lines.
judge a book by its cover, leaf through it scrutinizingly, check the illustrations, but only if the first sentence intrigues, engrosses, disturbs, disgusts...piques my curiousity...i'll keep reading.
with solitude's invitation i know that i'm in for:
bombast and sensation - firing squad
an epic narrative - back to when he was a kid
bizzare connections - speaks for itself
as i keep reading i'm sure i'll discover what this magical realism is all about.

favourite first lines...???

i'll start off with:
"as gregor samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. " - franz kafka, the metamorphosis