abjekt tala
Här ordsätter jag fragment av den översatta, avlyssnade, genomlevda och levrade rösten från platsen mellan, från det trinitäras terräng. Området mellan subjektets inhägnad och objektets bårhus.
Och återger terrängens (klyftans) litterära speglingar och vindlande spår.
She hungered for a different story - one to respell the world she knew
Och återger terrängens (klyftans) litterära speglingar och vindlande spår.
She hungered for a different story - one to respell the world she knew
onsdag 31 augusti 2011
Hälsning från Side, granatäpplets stad
I biblioteket hittas ett frankerat vykort:
Bilden framställer hamnen i Side, Turkiet.
De två templen sida vid sida, Athenas och Apollons.
Ett vykort i väntan på text.
Side betyder granatäpple. På hösten 1994 vältrade jag mig i Adonis poesivågor där. Några år innan hade platsen lärt mig: The broken pomergranate is full of stars, himmelska jordeldar
Idag åker jag och lyssnar på Adonis på Louisianas litteraturdagar.
Om en månad går jag igen på granatäpplets strand.
Grönheten
O gröna blixt
O min brud i solen och vansinnet
Klippan har störtat samman över ögonlocken
Så byt ut tingens karta
Jag har kommit till dig från en jord utan himmel
Jag är bräddfull av gud och avgrund
buren av vindar och örnar
Jag invaderar sanden som döljer sådden
och bugar mig inför det annalkande molnet
Så byt ut tingens karta
O min bild i solen och vansinnet
O gröna blixt
söndag 28 augusti 2011
House of breath
Bild Chad Wood
Antecknat från fullkropps kunskapandet runt Sopfia, visdomen...
"Vi är alla bärare av öden och legender - vem känner till freskerna på kraniets insida, som ingen har sett."
William Goyens House of breath
Boken inleds med Rimbauds:
"Je est un autre" - Jag är en annan.
"Det finns så lite tid att födas in i ögonblicket."
St John Perse
Söndag går mot kväll och andningens hus krampar. Imorgon arbete och min vision av biblioteket som ett alstrande möjlighetsrum för textmöten (konkreta, ljudande, bildförda, köttiga...) hänger som dammig, spindelväv i revor från fyrkantiga boxar av bly. Institutionaliserade människoliknande gipsavgjutningar rör sig i boxarna. Inkapslade längtelser, som stelnat i rädslohullingar fastnar i mitt kött.
En gång använde jag "mans" teorikilar till att hudflänga mig, av-vetskapa mig. Det var bra.
Nu har jag inte tid att lossa och lirka ut hullingar - det finns så lite tid att födas in i ögonblicket.
Jag läser ingen sammanhängade bok längre. Utled på de raka raderna som marscherar: sida ner och sida ner - vänd - sida ner och sida ner - vänd...
Vänd.
Vill det överaskande, avbrotten, sidor upp...
Vänd.
Måste vränga mitt kranie ut och in. Låta freskerna få liv, andas...
Vänd.
Gå
lördag 27 augusti 2011
Blå jakt -97
Re-member.
Återlemmandets sång, fons et origo, för Meditation i rörelse: jordkroppsordkropparjord
Dante's prayer -97
Words and music by Loreena McKennitt
When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and fire
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
fredag 26 augusti 2011
Blå jakt
Har gått med i ett globalt interaktivt drömforum modererat av Robert Moss, författaren som praktiserar, utövar och guidar i medvetet och aktivt drömmande.
Slutet av en infångad dröm: Oerhört viktigt att jag kommer ihåg Blå 97.
Under min jakt på vad det kan betyda hamnar jag i anteckningar från - 96:
Vishet - blå
Herman Hesse: alla fenomen är en bild - alla bilder är öppna portar genom vilka själen kan gå in i den inre världen när den är redo. Här är du och jag och allt annat ett. Var människa kommer till en sådan öppen port någon gång i livet, men få går igenom porten eller uppger de sköna illusionerna på den här sidan, för vad vi kan förnimma ligger inom det inres verklighet.
Jag brukar använda Herman Hesse som exempel på en djurtämjare vars frisläppta meningsdjur smyger runt, gömmer sig, ligger på lur och väntar på rätt tillfälle att hoppa på dig i bibliotekets vildvuxna skog.
Jag vet att några av hans meningsdjur högg mig i hälarna när jag som skolkande tonåring gick rätt i biblioteksdjungeln.
torsdag 25 augusti 2011
Sofia kärlekens visdom, visdomens kärlek
Bild Jake Baddeley
För en tid sedan rituellt dansutforskande av Sofia.
Här en besvärjelse, en åkallan jag länge burit med mig.
Jeanette Winterson ur Konst och lögner:
Älska mig, Sofia, på den tunna remsan av vit sand som skiljer oss från havet
Kyss mig med din munhåla, urholkningen där orden grävs fram, orden som begravts under tiden. Kyss mig med din munhåla och jag ska tala i tungor.
En quests början
I Side, södra Turkiet, på platsen för min första allomfattande konfrontation med verkligheten utanför burvärkligheten, på platsen för den första "initeringstesten", drack jag några år senare ur Adonis poesi.
Blandade vatten.
På torsdag ska jag lyssna på honom på Louisiana.
Drick!
Resa
Jag ska färdas i en våg, i en vinge
Jag ska besöka de tider som övergivit oss
och den töckniga sjunde himlen
Jag ska besöka läpparna
och ögonen som är tunga av is
och den blixtrande klingan i gudens helvete
Jag ska försvinna
Jag ska omgjorda mitt bröst med vindarna
och lämna mina steg i en fjärran vägkorsning
i en öken...
onsdag 17 augusti 2011
Namnsyster Hörnström
ekande avvikar-, avspårar- steg
då i samma utriktning -
nu genomgången tid
att omvandla vatten till vin
Hörnström, Marianne:
drömmen om att sjunga sig själv
...
Tänk att kunna tala med sin upprördhet, med sin oro längtan iver undran, med sin förundran - i själva språket. Och ändå höras. Ett språk som sårar och förgrenar sig. Och som ändå går att tala. Bryta lag.
...
Tala-vara kvinna
...
Visst ska det gå att vara i Världen och ändå vika av, inte dras in inordnas underordnas. Visst ska det gå att tassa ut och in strosande nosande. Kring-gå.
Skrattande skattan som stjäler, skrattar och stjäler. Och sen flyger bort med skinande gods i mun.
Visst ska det gå vara Kroppen stor och bråkig storglada lusten frihetsvansinnig leka sprakande färgen brinner.
...
Hon går. Måste gå. Måste leta vatten. Måste leva. Måste vattna. Göra kött. Måste överleva. Måste hämta andan hämta ljus från vatten. i livet - vara. Måste hämta ljus från stora vatten.
(Ur Genomgångsrummet Sagor från flickarvet)
söndag 14 augusti 2011
Spindel, spindel i taket där... säg mig var bilden är...
Några dagar med fullkroppsligt kunskapande runt Sofia - kärlekens vishet/vishetens kärlek.
Några dagar med en sakta krypande spindel i taket. Sista dagen ramlar den ner på golvet med inböjda ben.
Tanklar berättelsen om Athena och Arachne - att spinna ett nät utifrån beblandad substans:
Athena och Arachne
(http://www.goddess-athena.org/)
There was a contest, in which a mortal dared to come in competition with Athena. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who had attained such skill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that the nymphs themselves would leave their groves and fountains to come and gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was done, but beautiful also in the doing.
To watch her, as she took the wool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated it with her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft as a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove the web, or, after it was woven, adorned it with her needle, one would have said that Athena herself had taught her. But this she denied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a Goddess. "Let Athena try her skill with mine," said she; "if beaten I will pay the penalty." Athena heard this and was displeased. She assumed the form of an old woman and went and gave Arachne some friendly advice. "I have had much experience, said she, and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your fellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a Goddess. On the contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you have said, and as she is merciful perhaps she will pardon you." Arachne stopped her spinning and looked at the old dame with anger in her countenance. "Keep your counsel, said she, "for your daughters or handmaids; for my part I know what I say, and I stand to it. I am not afraid of the Goddess; let her try her skill, if she dare venture." "She comes," said Athena; and dropping her disguise stood confessed. The nymphs bent low in homage, and all the bystanders paid reverence.
Arachne alone was unterrified. She blushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek, and then she grew pale. But she stood to her resolve, and with a foolish conceit of her own skill rushed on her fate. Athena forbore no longer nor interposed any further advice. They proceed to the contest. Each takes her station and attaches the web to the beam. Then the slender shuttle is passed in and out among the threads. The reed with its fine teeth strikes the woof into its place and compacts the web. Both work with speed; their skilful hands move rapidly, and the excitement of the contest makes the labor light. Wool of Tyrian dye is contrasted with that of other colors, shaded off into one another so adroitly that the joining deceives the eye. Like the bow, whose long arch tinges the heavens, formed by sunbeams reflected from the shower, in which, where the colors meet they seem as one, but a little distance from the point of contact are wholly different.
Athena wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Poseidon. Twelve of the heavenly powers are represented, Zeus, with august gravity, sitting in the midst. Poseidon, the ruler of the sea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the earth, from which a horse has leaped forth. Athena depicted herself with helmed head, her Aegis covering her breast. Such was the central circle; and in the four corners were represented incidents illustrating the displeasure of the Gods at such presumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them. These were meant as warnings to her rival to give up the contest before it was too late.
Arachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit the failings and errors of the Gods. One scene represented Leda caressing the swan, under which form Zeus had disguised himself; and another, Danae, in the brazen tower in which her father had imprisoned her, but where the God effected his entrance in the form of a golden shower. Still another depicted Europa deceived by Zeus under the disguise of a bull. Encouraged by the tameness of the animal Europa ventured to mount his back, whereupon Zeus advanced into the sea and swam with her to Crete, You would have thought it was a real bull, so naturally was it wrought, and so natural the water in which it swam. She seemed to look with longing eyes back upon the shore she was leaving, and to call to her companions for help. She appeared to shudder with terror at the sight of the heaving waves, and to draw back her feel, from the water.
Arachne filled her canvas with similar subjects, wonderfully well done, but strongly marking her presumption and impiety. Athena could not forbear to admire, yet felt indignant at the insult. She struck the web with her shuttle and rent it in pieces; she then touched the forehead of Arachne and made her feel her guilt and shame. She could not endure it and went and hanged herself. Athena pitied her as she saw her suspended by a rope. "Live," she said, "guilty woman! and that you may preserve the memory of this lesson, continue to hang, both you and your descendants, to all future times." She sprinkled her with the juices of aconite, and immediately her hair came off, and her nose and ears likewise. Her form shrank up, and her head grew smaller yet; her fingers cleaved to her side and served for legs. All the rest of her is body, out of which she spins her thread, often hanging suspended by it, in the same attitude as when Athena touched her and transformed her into a spider.
torsdag 4 augusti 2011
Ionian questers
Rereading Freja Stark:
Ionia a quest
From her visit to the theater in Priene... We do belong to the same "theater Company".
In ancient time Priene was connected with Melia/Panionium (todays Guzelcamli - my nympholeptic place) by a sacred road. I still haven't walked that path, but I have visited the theater in Priene a few times. In the future we will dance there.
"...and I felt that I was interrupting - that actors and audience, like a flight of shy birds, had fled in the very instant of my stepping across their threshold with my feet still shod in Time. I felt this with a power and a strangeness not to be described; with tears on my cheeks in a sudden pang of surprise and excitement and wonder; and I lingered in the little theater as if I were a person in the legend, who is given one glimpse of a world which appears to last for seconds only, though all the expanses of time are packed there.
There was perfect quiet in the theatre. The carvings on the stone were so sharp and delicate that the hand that worked them still seemed alive.
...
What was the secret? Respect perhaps, so closely tied to love? Respect for what gives itself, and is therefore vulnerable, whether it be a human being or a piece of stone? A gratitude that inspires fastidiousness, a longing to keep intact in its own dignity the object or the being that has helped one to create and to become?
...
It is a sharing partnership, both giving and taking - a marriage in terms of human life-a tender thankfulness for a benefit received and a forgetfulness of self in the intrest of another; and it reaches through the depths of being to that which Heraclitus thought of as Fire and we think of as Love..."
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