not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, February 8, 2013

the second punctum

i take your place in bed, you leaving the bed to brush your teeth, me scurrying to my rightful side.

"hurry," you say, "before the heat goes."

but it has always been going in this way.

***

and this is no poem.

 in fact, this refutes all poetry. damn all poetry!

damn clocks and sheets and damn your skin.

yes, damn your sweet soft skin.




virginia, december 2012
"I now know that there exists another punctum (another 'stigmatum') than the 'detail.'  This new punctum, which is no longer of form but of intensity, is Time, the lacerating emphasis of the noeme ('that-has-been'), its pure representation...the punctum is: he is going to die...a catastrophe which has already occurred.  Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is a catastrophe."
Barthes, Camera Lucida

manitoulin island, january 2013

9 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. that it is so in one life is amazing, but it is so in each of our lives. how do we begin to fathom the volume of this, white?

      xo
      erin

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  2. i deeply feel a stopping of time here in your words and photos. you magician, you. xoxo

    "But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day." ~Benjamin Disraeli

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    Replies
    1. each.blessed.moment, marion. but how easy it is for us to forget this. and then what a blessing for us to remember once again.

      xo
      erin

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  3. I think they invented hot water bottles for people living on Manitoulin Island,,,

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    Replies
    1. heh)) calls to mind the Alden Nowlan poem, Canadian Love Song

      Your body's a small word with many meanings.
      Love. If. Yes. But. Death.
      Surely I will love you a little while,
      perhaps as long as I have breath.

      December is thirteen months long,
      July's one afternoon; therefore,
      lovers must outwit wool,
      learn how to puncture fur.

      To my love's bed, to keep her warm,
      I'll carry wrapped and heated stones.
      That which is comfort to the flesh
      is sometimes torture to the bones.

      ***

      do you know the island, michael? what an incredible place, isn't it? i'm from there:) don't live there, but go back as often as i can. perhaps one day i'll live there again.

      xo
      erin

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  4. But you are in America now, no? I can't wait for spring...today the warmth hit my skin from a few stray rays of sunlight and I grinned :)

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    Replies
    1. no, aimee. still in the two bedroom apartment waiting on immigration. we were turned down and so have to begin the whole process again. i'm not sure how long it might take, or if it will be successful at all. our home waits in indiana. meanwhile we trudge through the snow. it's not such a bad set-up, but a little personal space (a new home to rent in the meantime) would be welcome.

      a few stray rays of sunlight. the body craves this, doesn't it? for now i get on my two pair of pants, three or four sweaters, gloves AND mittens, and go for a run in the snow.

      soon...

      xo
      erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))