Microwriting. Opacity. Beauty.
Go see it! Here are translations of two pieces.
A Danger
A danger vortex for what?
It's about fucking pay back
I dare you to return to muse
A world on fire for kings
bottom dealing in queens
Muffled
Muffled and jetset. The cold hands for blood drawn out. These are not appearance of mind. They are vicarious chill and darkness. Oblique tang as a spaceage translation, it lingers on the tongue. Rusticated bliss. Donkey kong. Theatre of bloody noses.
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3 comments:
Nice solution to the problem of text in visual art: collaborate with a poet.
I always feel kind of strange reading a framed work in a gallery. But I'm less self conscious about explanatory wall text.
The poems by themselves evoke moods. Decifering them from the prints makes reading slower. But I'm not sure if this helps me savor the words.
Collaboration with a poet solves the text in visual art problem.
These poems evoke moods and I want to savor them. Decoding the prints does slow me down- but do I still get the same effect?
Much like your poetry in general, Robert, I find going through these pieces much like entering a labyrinth and not being able to completely understand the nature of my walled surroundings. It's a pleasure, however, to anticipate the mystery of every piece. I have no concern for content in a world of distant echoes.
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