To begin ...

As the twentieth century fades out
the nineteenth begins
.......................................again
it is as if nothing happened
though those who lived it thought
that everything was happening
enough to name a world for & a time
to hold it in your hand
unlimited.......the last delusion
like the perfect mask of death

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Pierre Joris: from DIS/ASTER [Part 3 of RIGWRECK], with an Author's Note




Disaster: not thought gone awry
when all this first started
            my body broke out into real bad rashes
                        my eyes my face my neck my chest my back my shoulders
big giant holes on the back of my legs,
            holes the size of a #2 pencil
                        looked just like the holes
                                    in the fish
                                               in the lab
                                                on the slab
Gulf: from Greek κόλπος (kólpos) m. [masculine], a bosom, From Proto-European *bheu-ə- :“to swell, bend, curve”

What have you done to know disaster?
            we went to detox —December 11 to January 12
                        the children feel much better now
                                                Alina still has bad days
                                                             she may never be 100%
my little boy is doing fantastic,
                                    my husband’s better &
                                                I’m feeling better too…
            I’ve shelled out $40.000
Gulf: A hollow place in the Earth
 
Disaster is on the side of forgetting
we did blue crab before BP
            but since BP
                        we don’t blue crab anymore
Gulf: An abyss, a bottomless or unfathomed depth

Disaster: care for the minuscule
            all of a sudden we had shrimp
                        with what they call black gill disease
                                    if they were blue would it be blue gill disease?
we’ve had shrimp
            with growth on them
                        we’ve had had fish with growths on them
Gulf: A deep Chasm, a steep-sided rift, gap or fissure, a large difference of opinion

Disaster: sovereignty of the accident
the Vietnamese & Cambodian communities had
            a really tough time getting hired on
                        to help in the cleanup because of
                                    the great language barrier:
                                               90% of the information put out
                                                in the first 60 days was English only
Gulf: A basin, from Latin “bacca” wine jug, Welch “baich,” load, burden, Irish “bac,” hindrance

In relation to disaster, one dies too late
            the herring came in to mature
                        dropped on the seafloor dead
compromised immune system couldn’t
            fight off a parasite, a natural bacteria
Gulf: A rock formation scooped out by water erosion

Disaster disorients the absolute
            grey amberjack, king mackerel, red snapper, mangrove snapper,
caught offshore when gutted
                         had black sludge in their stomachs
            crossed stomach walls
                        made holes in the flesh
                                    you could see it with the naked eye
Gulf: (obsolete) That which swallow, the gullet
[...]

[author’s note: “Dis/aster” is the third poem of a sequence of three with the general title Rigwreck The Gulf (between you and me).  If the opening section was a write-through of Stéphane Mallarmé’s shipwreck poem Un Coup de dés, (forthcoming in issue #17 of Golden Handcuffs Review) the voices that emerge in the second & third section are those of live witnesses of the BP Gulf disaster. Among these, Sheri Revette (the widow of drill operator Dewey Revette, who was among the 11 dead on the night when the Deepwater Horizon blew up) with phrases taken from interviews with her by Antonia Juhasz in the latter’s book Black Tide (Wiley, 2011) and, throughout the final section, excerpts from my February 2012 interview in New Orleans with Kindra Arnesen, the fisherwoman, mother of two, & activist. The hasard / chance compositional strategy persists at another different level via the etymons for disaster & a writing through of that term via Maurice Blanchot’s L’écriture du désastre.
               This work was commissioned by The Crossing, Donald Nally conductor, for their Month of the Moderns 2013, with Funding from the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage through the Philadelphia Music Project. This sequence will premiere with a score by Gabriel Jackson on Sunday, June 30, 2013 @ 4pm.]

Friday, June 14, 2013

Diane Rothenberg: On the Insanity of Cornplanter, Part Two (redux)

[During a month of travels -- to Romania & Paris -- I will be posting some pieces published previously in the early days of Poems and Poetics, to keep the site fully active while I'm away from the home base. For those following this on the Jacket2 site, the postings will of course be seen as if for the first time. (J.R.)]

Four Iroquois chiefs painted from life, circa 1710








The existence of the content of Cornplanter’s visions is serendipitous.  A copy of the manuscript (or the original) was in the collection of the Cornplanter family aand was found and recopied by  a young man, Charles Aldrich, in 1849, and sent to Lyman C. Draper who had expressed an interest in collecting memorabilia relevant to a project on the Revolutionary War.  Aldrich offered himself as a reliable local scholar who had access to a series of documents in the possession of William O’Beale, one of Cornplanter’s sons.  Aldrich apologized to Draper for the legibility of the manuscript he sent because, he explained, he was rushed in producing it, but “it is about as legible from the ms from which it is taken.”
Cornplanter called on Henry York to interpret and transcribe his dictation of his visions.  Henry York was a Seneca living at the Cattaraugus Reservation where he was occasionally, but apparently not preferentially, called on to act as an interpreter.  We may assume that York was both bilingual and literate, but the chaotic form of the written document presumably produced by him is likely as much a reflection of his own limitations as it is of Cornplanter’s mental state.  Ethnohistorians are certainly aware of the problem of the intervention of interpreters and the reliability of their productions.      

The manuscript entitled “A Copy of Cornplanter’s Talk February 12, 1820, it being 328 years after the discovery of America” is quite systematic in its presentation.  This is not the forum for presenting the manuscript in its entirety and so the following is a schematic description, including some explanatory remarks of my own.

I. PREHISTORY:  Presents The Iroquois Origin Myth of Turtle Island, the origin of Good and Evil personified by the mythical twins, and the creation by the Great Spirit of natural abundance for the Indians.  The absence of intoxicating liquors in that natural abundance indicates that they should be excluded from Indian use.

II. RECORDED HISTORY:  The section begins with the words that dramatically set the tone for the whole section: “The white man lies when they say that he (the Savior) ordered them to seek out the Island.”  The account that follows describes the coming of the British and French, the deceptions they practiced to involve the Indians in political conflicts that disrupted Indian life, and the distress, including personal family examples, that the Indians suffered from having allowed themselves to get involved in white men’s affairs.  In this section Cornplanter describes a conversation he had with a British general who reassured Cornplanter that he had no cause for remorse in having killed seven people during wars fought for British interests.  Cornplanter’s expressed retrospective conclusion was that killing and warfare were wrong, particularly when it was done to further European interests that ultimately resulted in Indian land losses.

III:  RECOMMENDATIONS FOR BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION:   (These are the contents of the visions themselves, reported by Cornpanter as having been received from the Great Spirit for his own behaviorial modification, but also to be imparted by him to the Seneca community.)  a) Reject alcoholic beverages.  b) Destroy tokens of war and gifts from whites that were rewards for participating in and advancing white interests.  Significantly Cornplanter indicates that he was instructed that, “when you destroy anything by my voice (i.e. by my instructions) you must do it publically and not keep it secret, but let all know it …”  I think we are justified in suggesting that when Cornplanter destroys his sword, his French flag, his feathered hat, the documents giving him a commission of captain, and his wife’s family’s wampum, he was not engaged in a private act of madness, but rather in a prepared, public, political event replete with appropriate political symbols designed to influence public opinion and action.

IV:  PERSONAL STATEMENT OF STRATEGIES FOR FUTURE BEHAVIOR AND RECOMMENDATIONS TO THE COMMUNITY:  a) Future separation of whites and Indians, particularly around missionary activity among the Indians.  He says, “I do not wish to forbid the ministers to preach among their own people for if I did it would strike them with confusion and might make them take their own lives and so it would be with us if we would quit our own way, we should get into confusion and something would happen or befall us so that we should lose our lives.”  b) No tax payments.  (Insofar as he was a holder of private property who was at that time being faced with tax assessments from which he had believed his property to be exempt, this instruction was likely more a personal declaration, which he repeated in his Warren, Pennsylvania. address, than it was at that time generally relevant to the Seneca community. As a general position with reference to Native American sovereignty, he was certainly being prophetic.)  He says, “They will support themselves and the white people must do that same thing.”  c)  To determine future action, Cornplanter says that he will follow the instructions of the Great Spirit as he understands it, “for I believe him to be my master and if he tells me wrong I cannot help it,” which certainly constitutes a convenient all purpose response to further missionary pressures that was directed not just to religious belief and practice but to all areas of social restructuring.  d) Indians should avoid drinking cow’s milk because it makes them sick, and the more they drink, the worse they feel.

The recommendation for Indians to avoid drinking cows milk seemed, on its face, so bizarre that it frequently functioned as the clincher argument to prove Cornplanter’s derangement.  The historian, James Axtell, has suggested that cow’s milk may have been the only white introduced item without parallel in prior Seneca experience.  The substitution of hen’s eggs for wild eggs, raised meat for wild, metal tools for wooden or stone, cloth for skins would be acceptable because of the parallelism of the categories, but cow’s milk would be without an appropriate item to fill in its binary slot.  This is not an unattractive suggestion that provides satisfying cultural reasons for cultural behavior and that would probably be totally satisfactory if it were not that the consequences of drinking cow’s milk as described by Cornplanter seem to suggest that he has observed something physical happening to those who drink it.

Needless to say, the drinking of cow’s milk is non-native in origin, although Cornplanter’s community had 14 cows and other livestock before the Quakers came in 1798.  The Quakers assisted them in accumulating more, but were very critical of their neglect of their cattle, particularly during the winter.  Under these circumstances, milk production must not have been abundant, but milk was probably at least sporadically available  During the nineteenth century cattle stock increased and, after 1860, when the coming of the railroad made possible the commercialization of cheese manufacture, Senecas participated with whites in supplying the milk for this industry. The importance of cheese manufacture for white markets is, however, forty years after Cornplanter singled out cow’s milk for special condemnation specifying that it was detrimental to children and cursed by Christ to revenge himself on the wicked who are blighted by drinking it.  And to repeat: the more of it you drink, the worse it is.

In our contemporary age of milk substitutes  it is almost hard to believe that lactose intolerance was only first identified in the 1970’s, including the pinpointing of those rare communities that could tolerate dairy products.  The symptoms are familiar and distressing: diarrhea, stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting, and excessive bloating.  They vary in severity from individual to individual and, for many years, were taken to be the irrational psychosomatic response of populations who rejected animal milk drinking for cultural reasons.  Certain Native American communities approach estimates of 100% malabsorbers.  Cornplanter described those symptoms and he might have concluded that what was good for white men was not appropriate for Indians no matter what the whites advised.

The scholars who accepted Cornplanter’s temporary derangement and who were writing before the physical evidence was in looked at this strange injunction against milk-drinking as the confirming evidence to accept the missionary’s statements that his behavior at this time was irrational.  We can, of course, never really know, but I find it more productive to consider what he might have had in mind rather than to accept that he was out of his mind. He was a remarkable man and deserves at least this much respect.

[Part One was posted here on June 2, 2013.]

Monday, June 10, 2013

Bruce Stater: from ‘The Journey of Metaphor & Remembrance’ in Labyrinth of Vision (redux)

[During a month of travels -- to Romania & Paris -- I will be posting some pieces published previously in the early days of Poems and Poetics, to keep the site fully active while I'm away from the home base. For those following this on the Jacket2 site, the postings will of course be seen as if for the first time. (J.R.)]





Say the poem is a journey
taken with silent walking sticks
on a path strewn with memories
deaf, dumb,
blind & beyond measure.
Its mouth filled with words
its pockets filled with stale bread.

Say it is an elixir derived from chlorophyll
or the royal jelly of expressionistic bees.

Say its stops & turns are towers, shrines
or little discomforts in sleep.
That each of its shafts pierces
a separate element of dream.
That its bewildering sunlight
is a glittering city where ecstasy dances
hand in hand with death.
                                       
It was something I went
looking for.
I was afraid of getting
lost.  & so I hid
in the island of branching voices
illuminated by the ubiquitous pathos
of forgetting.  Something had
torn a hole in my heart
like a leaf, extended finger,
or bone.  & so I stuck
to the honey of something
heavy & eternal--
a breath where celestial light
fell in spurts
dampening the pain
of the infinite unmooring.

Say that it is
or say that it isn’t.
Say that its exhibitions of false skies
are symbols of a catastrophe
at the dead ends of streets.
Say that its arrangement of white
sticky sugar skulls
is the hypnotic process of forgetting former lives.
That its burnt & empty homes
are the paralyzed angels
in the next century’s enactment
of Paradise Lost.
That its black tarantulas are seedlings
or the trials of an affective disorder &
that its iridescent scarabs
are the ozone above a chronic facultative storm.
That its conscience is a giant
in the form of a dragon guarding the treasure
of deceased gods.
         
I felt my existence
pressed against me
like a heel
piercing the grain
of the bark
of a fruitless mulberry tree.
I remember it from childhood
when its flesh stopped
falling & its leaves
turned a color of brilliant
unfed reason
that blistered in laughter
at the raindrops
which fell from the blue-
silver patina of branches above.

Say so much of its
weight that it sinks
ten times
into the river
traversed by smoldering bridges
& that the ash
of these bridges turns to bone.
& that inside these bones
floodlights surge
horizonward
into the eclipse
of solar meaning.

I looked forward
to it
where dwelling
circled
in the sky
in the form of a hand.
My hair hung heavy
at my side
like the muscle & bone
of a being drawn
on a page outside of time.
My tongue wagged
this way & that
inside the continent
of my mind.

Say it is circle, screen, or vessel.
Or that its round is flat
& drifts in-between
this broadstone
& that clenched idea
of a terrible god.

My arms weren’t what
they used to be.  When
I pointed to a star or rooftop
angry dogs barked in the distance
while the shrill whistling
of trains drove me further away
from home.  Into the hands
of enemies who advanced
on all sides
in signs,
light, doors, baskets, empty casements,
hallways, grass, & mirrored reflections.

Or say it is earth, sun, star, or moon
the purple veil between
this realm & the next,
or paralyzed boat adrift upon
the black sea of wintered orphans.

Say it is the alchemical soup
one swims through in a dream.

I saw a light at the end of a tunnel
which grew in distance
the faster I ran to it.

I was in the back seat
& found that my vehicle
drove on faster & faster
completely out of control.
Each of the immense clocks
in my room had turned
an insane color of red.
My heart palpitated
like the motion
of a fish pulled
from lake, stream, or sea.

Say it is the daylight of fissure
& sunwheel
or the darkness of
the muteness of moonlight.

I learned to
hunt & play
in the shimmering starfoam
of darkness--
I’ve heard the hyena &
the tokay make noise
by moonlight.  In the
circular music of their mouths
my own screams ceased
& I plunged into the depths
of their secrets.

 . . . . . . .

[note. Concerning Stater’s Labyrinth of Vision, the opening of the first section of which is presented here, I’ve written previously: “To say it quickly: Bruce Stater’s Labyrinth of Vision is little short of extraordinary – a work that ties language to a journey truly taken & a mind in extremis that acts to record it.  Stater, as I read him, writes with a sense of imaginings that reminds me of a poet like Gerard de Nerval in his visionary prose work, Aurelia, where ‘dream is a second life’ & ‘an overflow’ into the everyday.  As with Nerval & a small company of others, then & now, the vision & the language are inseparable: ‘a Journey of remembrance & metaphor,’ as the title of Stater’s first chapter tells us.  If you want to take that as merely literature, feel free to do so; it is that & something more: a place where metaphor rings true & is – for the duration of the vision – the only truth there is.  ‘It is light, it is dark,’ the old Aztecs said in defining their own labyrinths, & it is also the mark in Stater’s labyrinthine journey of a strong new voice in poetry.”
               Or Stater himself in still more specific terms: “Interesting to me that I began A Labyrinth ... in my last & -- I do not hesitate to profess it -- final period of hospitalization. That in a significant way the writing has been a means of transforming this experience -- not simply of avoiding, confining, or eluding it -- but of providing it with a meaning beyond itself -- rewriting it toward some purpose -- allowing it to emerge beyond the familiar cultural meanings & necessary outcomes without falling back into the private meanings of its own delusional system, its fears, its horrors, its ego driven & solipsistic ideas of reference. Refusing to choose between these. I suppose one could say that I was simply unsatisfied with the semantic field of ‘madness’ -- of schizophrenia -- of the terms through which my experience must necessarily be defined & constrained by our cultural paradigms. Of the limitations of such a term's possible or inevitable outcomes. Even within it, ‘the madness,’ I always had a sense of a genuinely ritualistic mode of performing the possibility of becoming -- summoning a sort of transformation. The terms ‘psychological,’ ‘emotional,’ ‘spiritual,’ & ‘cognitive’ do not quite capture it. I could work with these terms, alongside them, at their edges & fringes -- but had a sense in which their fit was imprecise, shallow, & devoid of meaning. ‘Madness’ was not to be purposeful-- & yet mine seemed to be so.”
               The complete version of Labyrinth of Vision is available as an online book from Ahadada Books at http://www.ahadadabooks.com/content/view/119/41/.]