You've got to dig to dig it, you dig?
For Lefebvre, ‘moments’ are intense experiences in which everyday life is suspended and possibilities for authenticity, creativity or transcendence are opened up. These moments – whether aesthetic, amorous or revolutionary – reveal the potential richness of existence, both individual and collective. This approach seeks to break with the reproduction of relations of domination.
Gabriel Orozco, Untitled (Computer generated circles and squares). 1995.
One narcissus among the ordinary beautiful
flowers, one unlike all the others! She pulled,
stooped to pull harder—
when, sprung out of the earth
on his glittering terrible
carriage, he claimed his due.
It is finished. No one heard her.
No one! She had strayed from the herd.
(Remember: go straight to school.
This is important, stop fooling around!
Don't answer to strangers. Stick
with your playmates. Keep your eyes down.)
This is how easily the pit
opens. This is how one foot sinks into the ground.
Persephone, Falling, Rita Dove
Small Oscillations Among Ordinary Forms.
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
The Patience of Ordinary Things, Pat Schneider
Poetry and the Turning World: Money, Sarah Howe and Sandeep Parmar.
I have yet to read An Uncomplicated Man, Emily Wilson. I’m sure it’s a good read.
“Let us,” he said
“make man,”
as if ?he had to ask
someone’s permission
even if always
only
his own.
To practice is to repeat
what has not yet
occurred.
We get signals
from the future.
We’re invited to grow
by entwining,
twinning.
Being duplicitous?
A rose by any other
rose
is its own
paradise
of luminous
folds.
The Fold, Rae Armantrout
Heart free, hand free,
Blue above, brown under,
All the world to me
Is a place of wonder.
Sun shine, moon shine,
Stars, and winds a-blowing.
All into this heart of mine
Flowing, flowing, flowing!
Mind free, step free,
Days to follow after,
Joys of life sold to me
For the price of laughter.
Girl’s love, man’s love,
Love of work and duty,
Just a will of God’s to prove
Beauty, beauty, beauty!
Sic Vita, William Stanley Braithwaite
https://id.rijksmuseum.nl/200612824
You can fall in love
in a museum, but only
with the art
or its silence—or the stranger
you don’t mean to follow
…
Diptych, Kevin Young
to build worlds … without reproducing property relations, while continuing to reproduce other abjecting hierarchies related to class, race, and beauty. (LB)
The blackbird sings at
the frontier of his music.
The branch where he sat
marks the brink of doubt,
is the outpost of his realm,
edge from which to rout
encroachers with trills
and melismatic runs sur-
passing earthbound skills.
It sounds like ardor,
it sounds like joy. We are glad
here at the border
where he signs the air
with his invisible staves,
“Trespassers beware”—
Song as survival—
a kind of pure music which
we cannot rival.
Blackbird Etude, A.E. Stallings
