. elsewhere . . letters from the inaccessible .


31 July 2000

i'm not here; this isn't happening to me

Did the last two weeks actually happen? I remember everything, but for some reason, it feels as though it wasn't actually me that lived it, that did those things. My connection with the things which happen to and around me is more like that of an observer, perhaps a puppetteer, pulling strings on this Tim person and watching him respond, when I was angry, I cried, and I wanted to shout, but the other me, the observer, just passively watched it happen, whispering to the visceral me "go ahead and stop lying, admit that it hurts you. Stop just saying it's OK all the time..."

more about invention IV.

Last week I got through just over the first half of my walk-through of invention IV. You can see the past walk-through in the archive.

a dream: the ice-fissure and the locket: Only once separated from this poem, a few weeks after having written it, I see an interesting similarity, if only in the image within my head, to a section from Arthur C. Clarke's 2061: Odyssey Three. There is a brief section of astronauts on the icy surface of Jupiter's moon Europa, beneath which there lies a vast ocean.

waking with miranda: Naturally, invention IV is not going to be immune from edits. I think that this poem seems the least-strong among them. There are some good images, but the entire last stanza, to me, seems kinda cliché. When and if I ever get around to editing it, you'll probably see this poem get the most treatment...

the rented room: Again, I think this will get some more editing. However, I like the idea of being in a room where graffiti is present, the scrawlings of a previous tenant warning, probably as a device for foreshadowing or irony, that out valuables and memories are constantly going down the drain. Also, we see a little of me fighting back against Miranda's challenges, but then taking my leave abruptly.

travel: This second 'travel' poem seems to have a lot of images which I and others like. Such as "...evaporating / like a spirit in an agnostic material world." I've used the image of something bleeding over into the environment often, most predominantly in Post Meridian and Intimations, where it is my vision which shows these borders being crossed, where these things which are tangible and solid boil across into a region of insubstantiality (is that even a word?), the spirit world. These phrases are a dual image, of my vision being faulty, of my physical self failing, but also of an acuity, a special apprehension of the deeper nature of the things around me, an intuitive perception of hidden natures. Finally, I bring up a bit of the past again in the last few stanzas, covering topics upon which I've trodden before in Of Cities and Deserts, but leave it to me to think of a slightly disgusting way to characterize buildings...

a return: mostly purloined from another poem by the same name. Added a bit to it, made some points which identify this adaptation more directly to the larger poem as a whole, but mainly left it the way it was. People have told me that the original "A Return" seemed to just drop off at the seventh floor, not resolving, and feeling like it wasn't finished. Actually, they're correct. I'd written two more stanzas for the original, but they just didn't work out. I am happy with what happens here in invention, especially the last two lines "...where our breathless oaths of true love / were absorbed into the walls, / but could not be wrung from them."

an invisible city: very much tied to the first poem in invention. This one was inspired, as well, by Invisible Cities, my current 'favorite book,' if I could be said to reliably have one. In a world where my creativity matches my ambition, I could have written Invisible Cities, it is very much like me. As a matter of fact, my poetry is written very much in the same way, and my stronger poems seem to take the bite-size self-contained section, part of a whole-theme and run with it. Like Elysium, the winnowing, etc., etc., etc. And I'd written these before I'd ever heard of Calvino. Even this poem in 13 poems is a good example of my style. There are many books I wish I'd written, but Invisible Cities, with some stylistic modifications, is the book I would have written, had I the talent.

musings of a prod.

Will it be a long, hot summer at the Revolution? Only time will tell. Tim™ Brand Web Producer at your service.


©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-