Thursday, March 3, 2011


I am going to attempt to give this talk (below) in Philadelphia in a couple of weeks time.  Maybe three weeks time.  I'm not good with the days of the week, or minutes.  I just wrote the talk description, feeling -- I have to be stronger in the area of race/poetics.  It's time.  (Akilah.)  I also have to start work on what it means to be writing experimental/immigrant works.  How Deborah Richards was a kind of company in that area.  Sudden memory of her summer class at Naropa: the materials for a shrine.  All day, fierce bits of feeling.  And magic.  Napping, I'm woken by a bird singing so loudly and at such a strange time of day, I physically get out of my bed and leave the house.  But it's just birdsong and not an emergency of some kind.  I stand in the garden in my nightgown listening to one bird singing desperately to another bird, who doesn't sing back, but merely bounces from branch to branch in the ragged tree between my house and Annie and Cordell's, and understand: it's Spring.

HOW FRAGMENTS ATTRACT: Ecstatic pilgrimage, dismemberment, and the recombinant text

In writing about bodies on the point of, or just after, dispersal: what happens to the parts of the body just before they touch the ground?  These are notes towards a diasporic or immigrant poetics, with a closer look at non-Western models of recombinance and futurity.  How can experimental writing bring an attentive, ritual approach -- an adequate form -- to the question of bodies and violence?  And at the moment that the body "reappears" -- in time -- in a different form -- how might a "recombinant text" avoid the fantasy of re-integration?  In my talk, I want to think about fragments.  I want to think about a fragment as vibration: as both sound and light.