AG2025_032ag082012a or It Ruffles Wrists of Posts


It sifts from Leaden Sieves -
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road -

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain -

Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again -

It reaches to the Fence -
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces -
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack - and Stem -
A Summer’s empty Room -
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them -

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen -
Then stills its Artisans - like Ghosts -
Denying they have been -

It sifts from Leaden Sieves – (311), Emily Dickinson

What is it?

AG2025_034ag082012a or Brief is the hour of gods and men


Small flowers bloom in the waving grass
And birds are singing in the pine
Where once between tall columns rose
The Zeus whom Phidias made divine.
The thunderbolt was in his hand,
Men dared not look upon his face,
The fluted earth was but his throne,
The bright sky was his dwelling-place.

Now his proud temple strews the ground,
His altars are but broken stones,
His gold-and-ivory flesh is dust
Mixed with his violators’ bones.
Brief is the hour of gods and men–
Their carved fame falls that was so fair,
While wilful beauty blooms in flowers
And floats in song upon the air.

Olympia, Harriet Monroe, (Poetry, Number 1)


The Attic on Monroe and Poetry.

AG2025_1211041a or feel it


Upon a second viewing, Tenet is interesting mostly in its narrative sequences and choreography of bodies, moving and running, for the camera.

“Above all, there is Barbara’s instruction, as she ushers the Protagonist into the wonders of temporal inversion. “Don’t try to understand it. Feel it,” she says to him. The echo is clear: “Do not try to understand. Just believe.” That is what the hero of Cocteau’s “Orpheus” (1950) is told as he prepares to pass through a mirror into the underworld. Like Nolan, Cocteau sprinkles his film with reverse-motion images, but each one of them gives off a lyrical shimmer, and when a dead woman, lying on a bed, is ordered to rise, her body springs to the perpendicular as if reborn, and the hearts of viewers lurch and lift in response.” Antony Lane, New Yorker, 2020.

AG2025_1211065a admits that it fiddles while Rome burns

AG2025_1211065a

“For minoritarian subjects, the discourse of attention has little relevance because it is structurally difficult to occupy the position of attentiveness, historically, we have always been the objects of others’ attention”

“Distraction is not opposed to attention but is a type of attention -it’s not individual and intrinsic but social and relational”

“medication seeks to treat biologically a set of behavioural and environmental conditions”

“greater collective happiness in all its wild plurality”

“This book … admits that it fiddles while Rome burns”

Disordered Attention, How We Look at Art and Performance Today, Claire Bishop (Verso)

By darkening paths I wandered through

Marsha Silverman, Grey vase with etchings, won in a CLM auction

A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green—green wood, by waters fair, 
Just as the words came up to me 
I sang it under the wild wood tree.

Widdershins turned I, singing it low, 
Watching the wild birds come and go; 
No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen 
Under the thick-thatched branches green.

Twilight came: silence came: 
The planet of Evening’s silver flame; 
By darkening paths I wandered through 
Thickets trembling with drops of dew.

But the music is lost and the words are gone 
Of the song I sang as I sat alone, 
Ages and ages have fallen on me— 
On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.

A Song of Enchantment, Walter de la Mare