I found myself wondering: can poetry perform this verb? Can poetry occupy? Can it remake territory by refashioning logics of power? Can it redefine, simply by occupying space in the world, the role of citizens? Is it enough for the poetry to exist in the world to perform this occupation, or is something else needed? Does it need to be distributed, well known, in the mouths of every citizen, for that citizenry to be converted?
I'm thinking of Bei Dao's "The Answer", which was circulated and read during the Tiananmen Square protests. This poem is well known, probably to millions. The speaker of this poem stands and describes the world as a territory at odds with the description of that territory by those in power:
[...]See how the gilded sky is covered
With the drifting twisted shadows of the dead.
The Ice Age is over now,
Why is there ice everywhere?
The Cape of Good Hope has been discovered,
Why do a thousand sails contest the Dead Sea?
His occupation of this point in space-time redefines the space-time arranged around him, and opens up an aperture between the territory as he configures it and the version of this territory promoted by official Power, an aperture which becomes (perhaps?) a third territory, a void of possibility. Meanwhile, (perhaps?)the speaker is joined in his occupation by the many minds and voices that know this poem, those in the Square and outside it.
Towards the end of Sassen's essay she asserts, "People becoming present, and, crucially, becoming visible to one another, can alter the character of their powerlessness. Under certain conditions, powerlessness can become complex, by which I mean that it can contain the possibility of making the political, making the civic, or making history." I wonder what scale this 'becoming present' and 'becoming visible' needs to happen on for this 'making political' or 'making history' to occur. Can we imagine this happening in hyperlocalities, between as few as two people? Can the exchange of a poetry chapbook begin this process of occupation?
Reading Zurita's Purgatorio in light of Sassen, many connections and questions come to mind. It's pretty clear from the supplementary essays in the book (and from Zurita's own visit to our campus last year) that he conceived of his poetry as a kind of counter-occupation of the militarized, nationalized space of Pinochet's regime. The art performances and interventions of his group CADA, as well as his poems inscribed on the sky and in the desert, pretty clearly fulfill Sassen's maxims about occupying territory and reworking his logics of power. The scale Zurita and CADA work on is pretty large, multinational.
But what about the micro-occupations Zurita undertakes? What about he way in which his art seeks to 'occupy' the body-- through burning his cheek, for example? Or the way he 'occupies' gender (writing as Raquel)? How does he occupy the materials of the book itself, appropriating and altering them or writing squences that make unconventional and aggressive use of the page? How does he saturate, for example, the desert of Atacama, with itself or with his constantly revised and accumulating renditions of it? How is the world outside the book occupied by the existence of the book? Zurita refers to Purgatorio's zones ("everything I've done either well or inadequately since is an extension of Purgatory zones", he contends in the Preface, before blurring the matter by contending, "as if the book were written to represent a memory.") How are the poems 'zones'? How is the book itself a 'zone'? And does this 'zone' occupy actual space? Political space? Historical space? Literary space?
This is getting a little long, but I'll quote one last stanza from Purgatory, from "Sunday Morning," p. 21:
Today I dreamed that I was King
they were dressing me in black-and-white spotted pelts
Today I moo with my head about to fall
as the church bells’ mournful clanging
says that milk goes to market
Here we see a whole concentriciy of bodies inhabiting and mimicking each other, and the bodies themselves are an index of collapsed power-- a King, an "I", a cow brought to market. Cow/king/body makes a medium of itself by adding sound ('moo') to a space defined by sound (church bells' mournful clanging'). In this stanza, dream has escaped the body of the dream to alter the city square.
And one last point someone might want to address: how do Spanish and English occupy each other in this volume? How does the translator 'occupy' Zurita's diction or voice?
Reading your post, Joyelle, I keep thinking of Diane DiPrima's statement, "The only war that matters is the war against the imagination." If Official Power can be imagined as reigning over spaces--physical on one level, psychic on another--and constricting them, rendering any alternative imaginative construction of them pretty much inert in a Urizenic way (been thinking a lot about Blake lately), then the poetic can free those spaces once again and return them to a sort of primordial openness, a "void of possibility" as you said, into which anyone can enter, at least imaginatively. So occupation in a poetic sense happens, for me, largely on the level of consciousness--the consciousness of the poet at first, then the consciousness of the reader.
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking of how it's possible to read Zurita's sequence "The Atacama Desert" in this sort of light. The poem begins, "Let's allow in the infinity of the Atacama Desert"--as opposed to the Offical imaginative construction of it, let's say. Instead of land that's owned, the desert is "hanging in the air" in section II, and in section III there's a sort of statement / counter-statement that enacts the struggle, perhaps, between the imagination of the poet / people and the Official Voice that demands a sort of imaginative compliance to a certain view of the deserts:
i. The atacama deserts are blue
ii. The atacama deserts are not blue all right you can tell me whatever you want
In section IV, iii., there's a certain subjective oneness implied between the viewer and the landscape: "Look at your own dreams bleating there over those endless pampas..." The poet occupies--and invites others to occupy--a space that is (imaginatively) owned by Official Power.
Sassen says that territory is made, and so is inherently unstable. *Made* is the key word here, for me at least. Any kind of making always has an imaginative impetus behind it, and only afterwards congeals into something *seemingly* concrete. Think of the Mojave Desert or the Grand Canyon, and you might think, "America"; nevertheless, the "infinity" of those spaces remains, and the "void of possibility is fundamentally accessible to anyone. If poetic imagination can be brought to bear on a landscape that is strangled by oppression, perhaps poetry does do something after all, if only on the level of consciousness. But it's on the level of consciousness that I think change begins. Yes--I am a hopeless idealist.
By the way, forgive any errors in the way I talk about the political situation Zurita's poetry concerns--I know little about the situation he's speaking to.
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ReplyDeleteThade, it's interesting that you mention the way Zurita uses the word "infinity." As I was reading Purgatory, I was struck by the way the word "infinite" kept popping up. In "The Fields of Hunger," he mentions "the Infinite Hunger of My Heart." Thinking of the importance Sassen places on physical and mental space, I wondered how the infinite might fit into this. Is the infinite itself a kind of space that can be occupied? Or does the word infinite lend itself to an inability for occupation? Purgatory attempts to communicate in a world where communication feels broken. Is this itself the infinite, the incommunicable? I'm not sure I have answers to this. I just find it interesting that the word infinite has connotations of the undefinable in itself.
ReplyDeleteAs kids, my brother and I used to talk about the infiniteness of space and then become so terrified by this idea that we wouldn't be able to sleep. It got to the point where all you had to do was say the word "forever" and we'd shudder. My brother once told me that he always imagined the infinity of space to be white, like paper. I think this comparison fits into my idea of the way poetry is capable of occupation. If we think of the world around us as an infinite amount of space, then yes, poetry is a form of occupation. It's an attempt to define some of that white space, to take over it. Zurita is doing this with Purgatory, I think. Sassen has it right that occupying physical space is a form of power. Occupying a small part of infinity is still occupation, I think.
Beth, Thade, Joyelle,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your thoughtful comments.
It is very telling to note that Sassen titles her piece "Eminent Domain." Eminent domain as I understand it is the right of a government to expropriate private property for public use, with payment or compensation but without the owner's consent. Let's also consider the fact that Zuccotti Park is in fact a "privately-owned-public space" owned by Brookfiled Properties. With this in mind, and Sassen's definition of territory as "a complex condition with embedded logics of power and of claim making" occupation becomes the very process by which citizen's exercise democracy. To occupy is to turn an upside-down world into a horizontal landscape where notions of power become obsolete. It presents not so much a danger to the state but rather a danger to those who favor from maintain the current status-quo.
In this light I am thinking now of the Internet and this week's cyber-protests demanding an end to SOPA. It is precisely because the internet is one of those zones that has not been "made territory" that the state--the 1%--seeks to subjugate it to its rules of Imminent Domain. The state in essence is seeking to "occupy" a territory that has been up to today for the most part egalitarian in giving equal volume to all voices who inhabit this place. [I am here thinking of Beth's concept of infinity and the concept of occupation as something that breaks down the hierarchies of power--much like Zurita's floating Atacame desert--if any of this makes sense...]
This too is getting a little long but I will end with my comments on Zurita's "Purgatory." How does Zurita use poetry to "occupy?"
Zurita is responding to the horror of state terrorism. His use of textured material for his poetry, his broken and disorienting use of the poetic "I," and his use of larger than life landscapes are all responses to these horrors.. It seems to me (and perhaps I am wrong) that when faced with such horrors the poet or the poetic "I" can do little against these horrors or rather to communicate these human horrors and so Zurita is pushed find a poetic expression that is vast and stronger than the pain being inflicted.
I still don't know if I agree with that or not. His use of the poetic I is jarring to me and hard to make sense of... but perhaps that is what state terrorism is like: awe-gripping terror and disorientation
While I can see the value of Zurita's work and his use of textured materials I don't know if his work has--for me at least
a necessary beauty in diametrical opposition to all the pain and sadness of repression. This perhaps is another conversation...
Finally I leave you with a quote by the late Uruguayan poet Mario Benedetti and by quoting him I am thinking of CADA and poetry, by reason for quoting here only to push along the conversation:
"An intellectual's weapon is writing, but sometimes people react as if it were a firearm. A writer can do a lot to change the situation, but as far as I know, no dictatorship has fallen because of a sonnet..." Benedetti
As I read Zurita’ Purgatory, I kept coming back to the concept of his visual space and the availability with which he played. In the simple term, I broke it down as thus: it started as the self, and grew outward in a sort of concentric visual extension to create a continual purgatory: of self, of space, of time, of place, and, eventually, of the abstract.
ReplyDeleteI questioned his definitions of borders, and the clarity of each periphery. Of course (at least for me) this continued to go back to the beginning of Purgatory—what is the self, and how does the self perceive the world in which we are defined by definitions and of place?
His autobiographical self-abuse was important, but not so much as interesting as when he added the fantastical feature onto the page:
I smashed my sickening face
in the mirror
I love you—I said—I love you
Self-abuse, usually, does not stem from love. For Zurita, it’s curious and intrinsically beautiful that it does. Perhaps if the reader were to identify the “you” as someone else, however?—that while he is in the midst of physical self-infliction, he is also inflicting his emotions upon another. The transference, and the idea of such, is fascinating.
One is never sure the exact space in which Zurita occupies at any given time during this book. Of course there are bathrooms. Of course there are pastures. And priests. And confined spaces. And cows. And—finally—the appearance of images in which it appears the existence of any other space (words, voices, texts) is mutually exclusive to suffering and space of the undefined. The concept of visibility was something that resounded with me, and how the space (and the so properly-titled purgatory) seemed to echo outward, a very individualized psychosis that reached across the boundaries of physicality and awareness. In the end, there were fish and monitored heart lines.
i'm watching tennis right now, the australian open. i'm watching an unranked australian player beat the 23rd ranked player (hewitt v. raonic). in the stands, there is a group of australian men (and one woman i think) wearing their country's colors. they cheer and chant and are generally very loud between points. i think this is very unusual for a tennis match. from what i know/have seen/understand, tennis crowds tend to be more subdued, or at least they aren't as loud/intense as these australians are. in my mind, they occupy this space and transform it into a space which lends power to the australian players. in a sense, this radical change in the way crowds act and cheer and scream add power/ability to the australians. in my mind, this is a tangible effect of occupation. because these players are not used to people being as intensely loud and supportive as these australians are being, it has a much more powerful psychological effect on the players. a similar thing happened yesterday when another unranked australian beat a ranked player (i believe he was ranked 14 or 15). i don't know much about tennis, but this says a lot to me. also, their body language even says a lot to me. the australian is excited, pumping his fists and yelling, whereas his opponent is visibly frustrated and much, much quieter. the camera keeps showing this occupying australian group, which what further suggests its an unusual sight in a tennis stadium: if it weren't, they probably wouldn't give them so much air time. so, yes, i think the rowdy occupation of the australian fans visibly lend the australian athletes some sort of power/intensity through their unusual display of excitement (chanting, cheering, yelling) which allows the athletes to defeat more skilled opponents. occupation establishing clear/direct lines of lent intensity.
ReplyDeleteanyway, this makes me think about whether poetry can perform the same sort of function that more direct occupations do. i think the answer is no. poetry is too passive. poetry exists inward, whereas occupation is an inherently physical action. i guess it could be argued that poetry can occupy our mental conceptions/ideas/ideologies but i don't think that is as effective, and i would argue that direct/physical occupation does this same thing but better.
ReplyDeletein terms of zurita's book, i think the atacama desert section is the most interesting in terms of occupation. it takes the desert and makes it conceptual space allowing for multiple existences to come into contact. landscapes are converging and diverging, there is loneliness (emptiness, pure space), dreams (again, pure space, space in which all things are possible) and pastures. it's space, pure and simple space, which is exactly what occupation plays with. zurita allows this space to remain undefined and therefore unoccupied. the whole thing is so concerned/interested with/in space. but unlike the australian tennis fans, i don't know how zurita intends to change the landscape. i don't know if reading poetry could transfer the necessary power/intensity/whatever to enact powerful change on a space. it's not just zurita.
i'm also reminded of the attempted occupation during zurita's reading at the poetry foundation headquarters. from what i remember reading about that, some students hung banners in protest of *something i'm not sure what*. they were tossed out and their banners were removed. i actually can be totally wrong about all this as i'm doing this from memory (and my memory is poor). from what i recall of the videos they posted, they weren't very obnoxious about it. in fact, they seemed respectful. they didn't disrupt the space enough, they didn't make a scene. the australian fans disrupted their space, they made a scene, they created an intensity which the athlete could feed off of. the student protesters didn't really seem to do that. hanging banners is all well and good, but it's nothing like the disruption of space which occurred at zuccotti park. i'm not sure poetry can disrupt the space enough to enact a change. i don't think poetry can disrupt space at all.
The thing about this post in my head, it keeps getting bigger than disappears. It is both seen and unseen. It occupies a space but it doesn’t. It is hard to write and in some way is written. All this illusiveness could be procrastination; could be writers block; could be I’m sick, but whatever it is, it is a difficult place to be stuck in; feeling like the bastard step-child of power and apathy. Guess the appropriate response to reading Purgatorio is feeling purgatory. Today we trapped this imaginary animal/roving through the whiteness. (85)
ReplyDeleteSpace is defined by power or more precisely, its perceived value. The desert is this mass of unseen-ness. On my first read of Purgatorio, I was left with the idea of the desert as the majority, the so-called powerless, or in the language of the day the 99%. I feel Zurita reclaims or re-defines the space of the desert. It takes over or becomes part of all space. The desert become the air… hanging over the Chilean sky. (51) It in some way merges into my mother (who) will become drops of water and be the first rain/in the desert. (49) So the desert does become infinite, greenness; it is also emotion and an endless chain of shadow and so on until all of Chile is just/one shadow with open arms: one long shadow crowned with thorns. (61) Zurita takes the desert and gives it power that resembles the divine. So, I definitely see the correlation between what Zurita does to space with his words and what the occupy Wall Street movement is attempting to do with space as discussed by Sassen and Haacke. The global street feels like the shadows uniting.
I think power and powerlessness is the most mis-defined concepts in existence. I think this notion of power reduces those who perceive they have none into immobility. This is why I believe that poetry has the power to reclaim, redefine and change space, just as the occupiers do. Poetry exists in the corner of peoples eyes, kind of like the desert. Poetry (all art really) has the ability to paint the world differently and in the changing of thought and the boundaries of vocabulary, you change intellectual space, which in turn defines the physical or material space.
vii. Then nailed shadow to shadow like a Cross
stretched out over Chile we will have seen for
ever the Solidarity Expiring of the Atacama Desert (61)
These spaces are constantly changing and redefining themselves like the desert. There will be collectivity that will expire, there will be movement apart, dialogue, a new collectivity. This process represents the cyclical nature of sand, of wind. LIKE A DREAM THE WHISTLING OF THE WIND/STILL ECHOES THROUGH THE ARID REALM OF/ THOSE PRARIES. (62)
(Disclaimer: I usually try writing my reply to the post without looking at other people’s replies at first since I am very easily distracted & might forget what I was originally going for. After I get this thoughts out of me I will post another post that is in conversations with you all )
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking about the word “Occupy” a lot lately as well. To think about the word Occupy I started thinking in the false but useful binaries of Substance vs. Virtual and Motion vs. Possession. Here are some examples of my thoughts.
i) To describe Occupy Wall Street as Substance: the people are utilizing their bodies as substance-being, taking up the space of the Wall Street, the Substance-location. The “Wall Street” they are fighting is, however, the Virtual location of Wall Street (not its paved road or building, the Substance of it) where corrupted transaction is taking place (I’m using the word “virtual” as the opposition of Substance, so virtual as non-substance thing, kinda like Body Without Organ in Deleuze sense, as the “Bankers” are engaging with the world in Virtual level, playing with numbers in the online records, lobbying and influencing policies, influencing the economy in structural level rather than actually stealing currency/gold out of the people’s pocket. It is also important to point out that their Virtual engagement does affect people in their Substance: the body of people who do not receive insurance coverage due to the corruption of the system deteriorates and expires, the people whose house is foreclosed have to expose themselves into the hostile weather without protection and etc ). With the Substance-being of their body, Occupy Wall Street-er are disrupting the Motion of the Wall Street, thus damaging the Virtual body of Wall Street that is operating on the system of greed. That is why the image of the police spraying on the occupier is so outrageous & rings so poignantly: all OWSers did was to occupy the Substance-Space with their Substance-body, which should be a right entitled to anybody; yet, the Virtual Body of Wall Street, corrupted economy has to release its anti-body to resolve such blockage in their motion to continue its perpetual motion of production and consumption, manipulation and exploitation, the consolidated perfect ecosystem/ closed system that eventually turns in to a Possession, the artifice system that cannot be infiltrated, available only for the selected. To fight against this Perpetual Motion Machine, the Occupy Wall Street has to continue as a Motion as well, constant movement that hinders and ‘grind its gear’ so to speak. The singular Motion/narrative of Wall Street has to be stopped in order to have Rhizome economy.
ii) In this mode of thinking (Motion vs. Possession; Substance vs. Virtual) I found Sassen’s article interesting as I connected it to the article I read during the break (http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/12/21/what-if-we-occupied-language/?scp=1&sq=occupy%20language&st=cse). It seemed to me that the nytimes article is supposing the language system as the Possession, the closed ecology/system, in which the meaning of the word is hard to alter or inalterable as he claims the usage of the word “occupy” to be inappropriate as the word is inseparable from Colonialism where the colonizers “occupied” others’ place. The language system becomes a tightly knitted system where the historical connotation deposited over time, becoming unrenewable. Meanwhile
Sassen is engaging with language and the word “occupy”, in my opinion, in the mode of Virtual where the word can be changed as the motion, use of language affects it, like wind, the Motion of it. Her definition of “occupy”, “to remake, even if temporarily territory's embedded and often deeply undemocratic logics of power, and to redefine the role of citizens mostly weakened and fatigued after decades of inequality and injustice” seems to be the new definition evolving out of the motion rather than, say, OED.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I feel like there is a flaw in Sassen’s approach; her definition of “territory as a complex condition with embedded logics of power and of claim making” seems to be neglecting the Substance of the territory by making it as “Condition”, which can be too easily read as Virtual space, which inevitably distance the reader from the damage done to the Substance of the territory(the landscape damaged with oil spill due to the corporations trying to minimize expenditures that is not related to profit) and the suffering of “citizen” and the body of citizen that is very much present.
iii) This is why I find Zurita’s approach to suffering, wound, and poetry fascinating.
iv) When I had brain surgery, I fell into deep depression and had some antisocial behaviors, and my recurring thought at the time was that “there is no meaning; there is only body” which now I would translate to “there is no virtual-me that has the meaning in the system of language that connects me to others, there is only Substance-me, the body, the alone, enclosed ecosystem.” I could not think or function as the usual “Jiyoon”, the virtual, the meaning, the identity, but just as a body in pain. I don’t recall much of the recovery phase because I was just in pain, lost in time or space.
v) I see that Zurita is brave to step outside of this cynicism(that I just assume he would have experienced?) after the torture and imprisonment; and on top of that even to experiment with this dilemma of Substance and Virtual (perhaps he was aware of the dilemma of substance and virtual as he was an engineering student, where formula and the virtual estimation of an object often falls short when it is brought into as Substance?). Him inflicting pain on himself, on his face, the result is the wound, just like the torture he received; on the level of the Substance, there seems to be no difference, but on the Virtual level, the meaning of the self-inflicted wound becomes the wound that reclaims its pain, I think. I sense powerful optimism in him to be doing such thing as writing in the sky and desert which could be seen just as the space of overwhelming Substance where the Virtual “meaning” seem so miniscule; and to approach the land where dictators dropped the bodies on so that the bodies of the people will just degrade into Substance body that deteriorates and disappears with poetry, engraving the Substance of the poem in the land is a very powerful gesture (I was thinking of Adorno’s—I forget the exact quote, “it is barbaric to write poetry after holocaust” to be fixated on the phase of realization of our Substance-being, its implied shortcoming, and I find Zurita’s words far more powerful for the reason stated above). This is why I find Zurita’s approach more convincing than the ones of the nytimes article or the Sessen, he embraces the cynicism that arises out of the void, wound of the body but also “love” and “song” that can be easily seen as constructed, virtual being that does not have the same power as the oppression and torture which has a very strong
presence; he believes in poetry which he understands to be as life, landscape, the Motion that contains both Substance and the Virtual.
ReplyDeletevi) the space of Virtual and Substance can be restored occupied with Art/Vision, even the land with blood and flesh smeared upon
vii) During Japanese Occupation era, Japanese soldiers hammered metal spikes into the land of Korea that Koreans considered Sacred. The Power, the Substance, the Spike becoming the symbol, but also Virtual being that stops the motion of Korean spiritual activity.
viii) I’ve been thinking about the relationship with Substance and Motion: once my father talked to me about how he believes the way quantum physics operate to be a form of philosophy manifesting, and I think it helps me to understand the relation between Motion and Substance better. He said, because the particle you are observing in quantum physics laboratory is so tiny that the moment it is hit by a proton—the only moment the eye can see the particle—the particle has already moved away from the spot. The particle that you just saw is no longer there, and the way to know that there was a particle there to begin with is to calculate the speed of motion of the particle and the impact of the collision it caused with other particles.
ix) In a similar manner, continuing the motion, keeping the vision of the motion is what matters when you are trying to refashioning logics of power. I don’t think the poem’s potentiality is not just about if it is well known, mouth to mouth that it causes actual stirring (99% and 1% rhetoric is successful example of this). As long as you are continuing the deterritorializing movement, both in Substance and Virtual, like Zurita, I think you can be part of the movement of the particles, the collisions, the change, the Motion, continuing the rhizomatic growth.
x) To go back to Zurita, I think the way he saturates the desert is to encounter the enormity of the supposedly-the-Great-Outdoor, the desert that seems to be infinite Substance that drowns the voices, the meaning we script on the life that inevitable revolves around Substance, our body, our perception, consumption and etc, yet also to advance so that one will not stop at the enormity-- “The Great Outdoor is The [Lacanian] Real ” – because to face the Power of the oppression, the Torture, the unspeakable, you have to encounter it, instead of turning the head away or to reduce it into “the Great Outdoor” that we will never know.
xi) I think Desert is a perfect medium to study the relations between Substance and Virtual, as it produces mirage, created with Substance(the heatwave) and psychological image working together.
xii) I want to talk a little about Bei Dao’s poem too, mainly because I feel like I see the connection there too. I find it fascinating how the name (the virtual) imposed on the substance (landscape) can transform our perception to the place, such as The Cape of Good Hope, and The Dead sea. I think as we write more, name more, the names/words form a virtual landscape in which the injustice becomes “visible” something that we can encounter. In this way, writing also can be a powerful vehicle, catalyst, operating in various modes to become the Motion.
xiii) Lastly, I want to talk about Zurita and translation.
xiv) The trauma has its own ecology, its private logic that circles within itself. And Zurita’s poem evolves out of such Trauma, but also reaches out to the reader through Substance, being a book, written on the Sky and the Desert. It’s rhizomatic in the way that it has its own ecosystem, bodily circulation that is contained but also connects to what is supposedly “outside”.
ReplyDeletexv) I think the translator did a good job in trying to identify the mode Zurita engages with the World, the mode of Substance and Virtual. (The note for the poem Joyelle quoted in the poem writes that he was translating the word that reads “spot” on the cow’s skin for the particular poem into “stain”(the word that has stronger sense of Substance-ness than spot) in other poems, because he wanted the physicality to be important to zurita’s poem. But nonetheless he is recreating the poems in the way it makes sense to him, a separate organism from the original that can sustain itself.
xvi) Translating Korean poems, I was wanting to keep certain rhythm (the sound, the Substance of the poem, language) of it while also keeping the virtual(meaning, denotation &connotation), but eventually I had to recreate the poem in the way that formed its own world. In some sense, the act of it can be seen Occupying. But I also see it as rhizomatic spreading.
xvii) I can’t wait to talk about this book in class!
(Sorry for the super long nonsense post I don’t always write this way. I’ve been working on quasi-theory about Substance and Motion and kinda made up my own diction & am super self-absorbed about it.)