somewhere inside the machine

Nov 08, 2014 09:45

whenever i read anne carson i have the sense of being in the presence of someone who not only is far more clever than i am but also understands at a greater height or depth or perhaps simply otherness. it's not showy, as some people are. she is not displaying as some do, to be admired. it simply is. this is where i am. if you are not here i cannot help you but i will show you what it's like.

it is as if, in a large, dark room, there is a single shaft of light. that light illuminates only a tiny portion of the room, and yet i don't begrudge the light for being so weak. i'm grateful to it for showing me what it can. i'm grateful for even that small glimpse.

.

Gnosticism VI

Walking the wild mountain in a storm I saw the great trees throw their arms.
Ruin! they cried and seemed aware

the sublime is called a "science of anxiety."
What do men and women know of it?-at first

not even realizing they were naked!
The language knew.

Watch "naked" (arumin) flesh slide into "cunning" (arum) snake in the next verse.
And suddenly a vacancy, a silence,

is somewhere inside the machine.
Veins pounding.

Anne Carson

--

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. If you feel inclined, comment there.

repetition: poem

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