Seems to me Peter referred to Samuel Beckett in the context of freedom's
cousin illusion, not in opposition to a "spirit of hypertext".
Hypertext is a technology: spirit is the artist's. The adventurous may
well be drawn there rather than some other place, but, zealous
proclaimers notwithstanding, there is, as yet, no law. As reader or
mouse-hunter the words come at me the same way: whether I'm reading P.
Riley's "Snow Has Settled...Bury Me Here" & turning back a few pages
manually for the first occurrence of the phrase I've just read
(beautiful book, by the way, themes & variations & switches in mood from
one line to the next the way on/off sunlight can alter a landscape) or
click "Back" on my screen to establish a connection or just zap that
highlighted word for the thrust of it, words are reaching me the same
way. Until poems come in bottles, air molecules or, God forbid, enema
solution, I'll continue to take them in through the senses & the
intellect. I trust the charge of encountering something truly fine will
still arrive by screen, paper or the spoken/sung word.
"No matter how no matter where. Time and grief and self so-called. Oh
all to end." SB - Stirrings Still.
Pete.


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