Vincent Sounds like you mother is a sort of haptic ongoing image in reverse?
Cheers Patrick
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Stephen Vincent
Sent: 25 February 2009 05:20
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Snap - Vincent
It's Sunday. I am in my mother's home - in the 'back room' -
listening to her voice over an audio-surveillance device. I Make a 'haptic'
drawing during an intense rain while she talks non-stop - a kind of
unconscious monologue - while falling into an afternoon nap:
They took my book.
They took my name.
I did not like that at all.
Help me.
I want to be gone in the morning.
I want to get home by night.
Early night.
Not dark night.
When she wakes up, I show her the drawing
We are sitting in the family room.
It continues to rain hard. I point out the dots,
the rhythm of the rain.
"It's beautiful," she smiles, almost radiant. "Did you make that?"
You would never know the anguished sound of her previous dream walk.
"I made it while you were sleeping."
"Do you have more?"
It's amazing, as well as refreshing, to see the way art makes her
become alert, alive
and open to the world. Story and visuals, the old fashion salve for
whatever ails and afflicts the soul. I finish my stay by reading her
from Lucretius' On The Nature of the Universe:
I am blazing a trail through pathless
tracts of the Muses' Pierian realm, where no foot has ever trod before.
What joy it is to light upon virgin springs and drink their waters.
A somewhat different path than the walk she was on while she slept!
She listens totally rapt!
"I like that," she says.
"What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. Just read."
I do.
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