I talk about meaning all day long. I don’t feel that language comes out of my body, but rather that I observe and recycle it. Maybe my voice originates in my body, but language is a visitor that changes form all the time. I use my body all day long. I don’t feel that I am my body, but that embodiment is an idea that I observe and recycle. Maybe I originate in my body, but I am a visitor that changes form all the time. Is the idea that emerges from this line of thinking a concept? I think about what I want to do with poetry all day long.
In “Book Reviews: A Tortured History,” published in The Atlantic in April 2012, Sarah Fay outlines a modern history of book review culture in which the primary question, as it tends to be today, is whether overly glowing book reviews or completely damning ones are ever productive ways to become aware of or understand literature.
It occurs to me that god made the earth in six days with a kinetic force so unimaginable it knit streams of life together in somatic sentences that make too much sense to see in words. In an alternate version of the story of creation from the Kabbalah, sparks of light become language when they reach the earth after falling through space. What’s the connection between language and energy? Our regular, everyday language holds great potential for multiple meanings but is utilized mostly for description.