Tuesday, December 4, 2012

I forgive you, my Ridiculous Need for Scaffolding


Is it really forgiveness, when I know you will show up again, Ridiculous Scaffolding?

Because I've seen you before. The self-set rules, the little hoops and hurdles, the flirting forays into OCD.  And here you are again, calling yourself Month of Forgiving Things.  Isn't it enough that for too long I've been fighting the manuscript that must be written in tune with an alphabetic poem (Accidental Bodies Circling Death's Ecstatic Fall . . . or should it be Desire's ?  Erratic?)?   Each chapter beginning with its first word in proper ABC order.

Why am I doing thisWhy not just write the story?  

Because the scaffold gives a shape, gives a skeleton, gives a framework, a safety, a support to open wider, to reveal more, a lattice to hide behind, to lean upon, a ladder to climb up further on (Fall Game Here In . . . but nothing starts with J -- Juncture, Joy, Jelly Jar and Jam begin that way) I blame the alphabetic fetish on formative years as a librarian and too many readings of Many Mumbling Mice Making Midnight Music in the Moonlight, Mighty Nice.  But you, the Scaffolding, you are your own problem.  You weasel your way into so many things, suggesting that your small difficulty will distract from the bigger  (Keeping Love's Muddy/Murmurous/Moist Names Open).  Which hasn't yet proved to be true.

So how do I forgive you?  Forget you? (Open Parley: Questions, Riddles Snatch/ Snip/ Seize The Understanding)

Why not just forgive? without the hoops and baggage?

(The Understanding Veiled Working [X=the unknown quantity, the treasure spot] Yielding Zeal/Zest/ Zoo Animals?)

And it's not even a good poem.  But trying to fight you, My Own Ridiculous Scaffolding, did bring me to the feet of a great poem based on even tighter rules, Inger Christensen's alfabet.  Of which one of the nameless entitites that fill this Book of Sand we call the internet has said:
"The formal constraints allow her to try to express the unspeakable. "alphabets exist", and at least these building blocks allow for some sense of order in an overwhelming world."
So there's that in your favor.  And I can forgive what you reveal about me:  my overwhelmed senses, my lack of order, my inability to express even the speakable.  And trying to fulfill your daily requirement today, Ridiculous Scaffolding, has at least brought me to imagining . . .
  1. an experimental dance version of the Book of Sand, described but with, alas, no link to video,  where a renowned musician
    ". . . acting out the role of the older Borges dangling from a tower and facing death while the younger one danced below. I was in such pain as I'd cut my foot while climbing the tower. My blood was dripping onto the stage as I strummed a zither to make those dying breath sounds . . . "
  2. an interactive Java site for reading the Book of Sand which would be amazing if it worked, so amazing it makes my brain tingle just to imagine it.  Even more amazing than the topographical book of Isaiah which opens up whole ideas of what bookmaking could be.
So that even when nothing can be seen (neither experimental dance recorded anywhere on YouTube, nor Java-reading of the Bood of Sand, neither manuscript nor progress therein), I can't pretend my days have not been enriched by the dead ends you've led me into.




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