[cegeste sound library #1]
-----
quail island / the sirens have been remaindered
at the edges of whatever
can be attended to : ordinary
sky over
orderly macrocarpa : the lack
of perceptive
limit, over
this unwalled line of sea
stones, as
the ear : stacked
against the unending lack
of a word, or line
of words, is
the edge of whatever
can be languaged :
they are not (quite)
bricks, & the sky’s lending
library, full of wrecked
systems (persistent
repetition of cirrus
phrases : seeming to fan
out from something
prior, indecipherable),
admits its gaps
without arrogance,
shelves this eye’s
openness at mid-
air’s deaf
point : to browse,
half-Whitmanic,
half-shattered
along these introduced
avenues, in the green
exuberance
this gift is : its space
of not-knowing
is a mouth :
is, the misc.
silences (lengthened, as
breath) between
the noon shadows, the memes of
stated trees. but whose freedom
is it? it is a sky
i do not always know
what to do with (how to deal
with : as the ship’s
graveyard knows
implicitly : the quiet
rust into oblivion
within the day’s
greater attention,
as metal flakes
restate themselves
to the ocean’s
equal blood-taste)
at the edges of whatever
can be attended to : ordinary
sky over
orderly macrocarpa : the lack
of perceptive
limit, over
this unwalled line of sea
stones, as
the ear : stacked
against the unending lack
of a word, or line
of words, is
the edge of whatever
can be languaged :
they are not (quite)
bricks, & the sky’s lending
library, full of wrecked
systems (persistent
repetition of cirrus
phrases : seeming to fan
out from something
prior, indecipherable),
admits its gaps
without arrogance,
shelves this eye’s
openness at mid-
air’s deaf
point : to browse,
half-Whitmanic,
half-shattered
along these introduced
avenues, in the green
exuberance
this gift is : its space
of not-knowing
is a mouth :
is, the misc.
silences (lengthened, as
breath) between
the noon shadows, the memes of
stated trees. but whose freedom
is it? it is a sky
i do not always know
what to do with (how to deal
with : as the ship’s
graveyard knows
implicitly : the quiet
rust into oblivion
within the day’s
greater attention,
as metal flakes
restate themselves
to the ocean’s
equal blood-taste)
-----
[track created 2nd August 2010. location recordings made June 2009, in the grounds of seacliff asylum, dunedin. violin scratch-drone recorded in dunedin in June 2009, edited in wellington August 2010. the poem 'quail island / the sirens have been remaindered', also written in the first week of August, 2010.]
[for janet frame. with thanks to edie stevens and markus gradwohl]
