Kari Edwards: A Response
Kari,
I was rather moved by one poem, one mentioned by Eileen Tabios in her review of your work, iduna, and I hoped to ask a few questions regarding the poem itself alongside its deeper implications.
While I swallowed Have you ever Retired a Human, I wondered what exactly went through your own mind as the words formed. On the surface, it brought to mind a post-apocalyptic setting, and I tarried there as if at the edge of a precipice, gazing back with regret at all the past mistakes, all the disparaging remarks and atrocities that I myself had done. It amounted to a broken city, a hollow shell, and to join my one brick to the many, set beside humanity's rude history as a whole, was almost overwhelming. Was this the intention? That I am myself a creature, one speck, one fluttering lash contributing to the diseased whole? I live them, those that came before; I breathe and manifest them, their blood and sweat, tears and seed. A single shout of indignation coupled with the rest and magnified a thousandfold.
I feel saturated. It is not necessarily a good feeling, not necessarily a pleasant or flattering conclusion. Eileen characterized it well to say that your work is alive, that it is not ink on blank pages but marks and lines, wrinkles and limning that spell out a story of life and the body's own senses. Is this something you seek to encompass in your work, this liquid sensation brought to a person by their senses? I taste the fumes and ether, the vapors and air, the particles and jagged bits. They consume me, gritty and real as the words that present them. Such perhaps -is- humanity.
Pensively,
David
I was rather moved by one poem, one mentioned by Eileen Tabios in her review of your work, iduna, and I hoped to ask a few questions regarding the poem itself alongside its deeper implications.
While I swallowed Have you ever Retired a Human, I wondered what exactly went through your own mind as the words formed. On the surface, it brought to mind a post-apocalyptic setting, and I tarried there as if at the edge of a precipice, gazing back with regret at all the past mistakes, all the disparaging remarks and atrocities that I myself had done. It amounted to a broken city, a hollow shell, and to join my one brick to the many, set beside humanity's rude history as a whole, was almost overwhelming. Was this the intention? That I am myself a creature, one speck, one fluttering lash contributing to the diseased whole? I live them, those that came before; I breathe and manifest them, their blood and sweat, tears and seed. A single shout of indignation coupled with the rest and magnified a thousandfold.
I feel saturated. It is not necessarily a good feeling, not necessarily a pleasant or flattering conclusion. Eileen characterized it well to say that your work is alive, that it is not ink on blank pages but marks and lines, wrinkles and limning that spell out a story of life and the body's own senses. Is this something you seek to encompass in your work, this liquid sensation brought to a person by their senses? I taste the fumes and ether, the vapors and air, the particles and jagged bits. They consume me, gritty and real as the words that present them. Such perhaps -is- humanity.
Pensively,
David
posted by David Humes at 6:33 AM
1 Comments:
This is definitely written in the best spirit of poetic inquiry. It does take a bit to get to the point, so I wouldn't send the entire response to the poet, kari edwards. I recommend editing somewhat for focus and unintentional effects in the first paragraph, especially. But as it goes on it gets more specific and meaningful, which is what we are aiming for here.
Especially in the last paragraph, there are important issues raised that the poet might like to hear about and respond to. You might think about sending that part especially. The point about saturation is exquisite. And it is exactly right on the mark--it just needs a specific example from a poem to support the claim(s) you make for such condition of saturation. You have finely tuned instincts for this.
Very good work here, David. Do keep on.
Best,
Chris
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