Caught in a dance some people refer to as poesis, I found myself in an undetected, fragile pursuit of something Anne Carson refers to as Letters, [that] made one day different from another, made if into sun.

It carries a private collection of commentaries on form and world-making.

Or in reference to Novalis (17721801) and his many pursuits of Trauerarbeit: In relation to the beloved and lost, I am what world is to body, too.

Loco, TI


Underlined in Carson's Glass Essay:


‚Emily (Brontë) continued to brush into carpet the question,

Why cast the world away.
For someone hooked up to Thou,

the world may have seemed a kind of half-finished sentence.’


‚She didn’t have friends, children, sex, religion, marriage, success, 

or  a fear of death.’

‚Yet her poetry from beginning to end is concerned with prisons, 

vaults, cages, bars, cubs, bits, bolts, fetters,

locked windows, narrow frames, aching walls.’

‚a most satisfactory dreamlife - why all this beating of wings?

What was this cage, invisible to us, 

which she felt herself to be confined in?’

‚Well there are many ways of being held prisoner,‘ 


‚to watch the year repeat its days.'


‚When Law left I felt so bad I thought I would die.
This is not uncommon.’


‚about the other furniture of Emily’s workshop‘


‚Whaching a north wind grind the moor

that surrounded her father’s house on every side,

formed of a kind of rock called millstone grit,

taught Emily all she knew about love and its necessities –‘

‚my knees were cold inside my clothes‘


‚which floated apart. By now I was so cold
it was like burning. I put out my hand

to touch his. He moved back.’

‚Everything I know about love and its necessities

I learned in that one moment 

when I found myself

thrusting my little burning red backside like a baboon 

at a man who no longer cherished me.

There was no area of my mind

not appaled by this action, no part of my body 

that could have done otherwise.’


‚That was a night that centred Heaven and Hell,

as Emily would say.’

‚visible around them like lines on a map.
I saw the lines harden.
He left in the morning.‘


‚every time he drew a breath or moved thought.
She broke all his moments in half,

with the kitchen door standing open.’

‚(‚kichin‘ in Emily’s spelling)‘


‚I peel the stale cage of sheets off my legs

and I am free.’

‚I had no home in goodness anymore.‘


‚My questions were not original.
Nor did I answer them.‘


‚Why keep watching?‘


‚I cannot tell what good it does – what feelings it spares –

what horror it conceals.’’


‚It is a two-way traffic, 

the language of the unsaid.’


‚(she points)‘


‚I am interested in anger.
I clamber along to find the source.‘


‚Anger travels through me, pushes aside everything else in 

my heart,

pouring up the vents.

Every night I wake up to this anger,’


‚Emily Brontë was good at cursing.

Falsity and bad love and the deadly pain of alteration are

constant topics in her verse.’

‚There go, Deciver, go!‘

‚Unconquered in my soul the Tyrant rules me still –

Life bows to my control, but Love I cannot kill!’

p. 38

‚As if anger could be a kind of vocation for some women.'

‚The vocation of anger is not mine.

I know my source.’


‚One way to put off loneliness is to interpose God.

Emily had a relationshop on this level with someone she 

calls Thou.’

‚Thou and Emily influence one another in the darkness, 

playing near and far at once.’

‚She talks about a sweetness that ‚proved us one‘.‘


‚My soul waiteth on Thou more than they that watch for the morning,‘

‚I like to believe that for her the act of watching provided a shelter,

that her collusion with Thou gave ease to her desire:’

‚But for myself I do not believe this, I am not quenched –
with Thou or without Thou I find no shelter.‘


'I am my own Nude.'

Form On


Anne Carson wrote in a publication in 1990 on contact as crisis. 

Any instance of contact is that of violating a fixed boundary. In the first three sentences, she quotes an anthropologist who understood every touch as a “modified blow“. 

You can find that contact is presented as a transgression or violation of something closed; it is seen as a possible intrusion of a place, “where someone does not belong“.

Those who lack boundaries evoke fear. So women (in ancient Greek society), like many other intruders, were in need of control. 

Considering the philosophical frameworks of Aristotle, Plato, or Hippocrates, women were usually wet. 

As for those who leak, you can find this: Aristotle takes female incontinence for granted as a consequence of weakness. 

Greek poets find sexuality in women a fearsome thing. Not only do they 'let go' and are inexhaustible: They swell, they shrink, they leak, they are getting penetrated, they suffer metamorphoses. 

Rarely, Anne Carson points out, do they not lose their form in monstrosity. 

According to Plato, they presented matter, which in itself was in need of form. This thought was not only applied to women but to earth itself. It concerned all things creation.

You can find proof of that in mining – in agriculture, after all.

You can see metals, which grew underground in a way similar to plants (so at least the idea), being described by those fearful of transgression, as fruits of the earth. 

Or: Three weeks of fabric


Imagine having to write a note like this: April has 58 days after which it can't go on.

I’ve seen it; in works of Claudia Rankine, Julietta Singh or Mary Ruefle, what it takes to bare water.

I turned to the idea of a cryalog by the American writer Mary Ruefle. 

A cryalog looks, in fact, like this.

It deciphers the amount of times the author has cried in the month of April in 1998. It states the day of the week, the number of times (up to five times a day), and whether it was 'very bad' or not.

Never sure whether or not to be complicit in these ways women tend to be interested in art, I found myself thinking about other ways of crying. I came to a resolution, drafted a rather unlikely proposition.

This envisioned lecture would display a variety of efforts: carpets, cabbages, and in reference to Anne Carson; brooms and lures.