Friday, January 30, 2015
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
I'm inside an arena. I'm here with a friend to see a pro wrestling event. We are wandering down strange and angular hallways but we just get more and more lost. We end up in a room where people are buying guns, combat knives, and weird military apparel. We look intently at the merchandise. We marvel at strange alien camouflage where the patterns of colors are moving, as if they are sentient. At some point we learn that we are on the second floor of this structure. We have access to the second and third floors of this arena but the first floor is oddly inaccessible. It is impossible to exit. We want to leave but we are unable to. At some point I become separated from my friend and I am wandering down weird and angular hallways by myself. The ceilings are incredibly high. This is visually similar to The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari but more expansive and alien. I enter and exit strange looking doors. I walk down a very long hallway that is like a cold and sterile version of the Versailles Hall of Mirrors. At some point I enter an ancient cathedral. It is very dark and everything is covered in dust. I feel alone and this is when I start to get really lucid. As I step into this weird cathedral I am blasted by an enormous gust of wind. This is really extreme hurricane-style wind. I feel my hair getting blown by the wind and large gusts of air are entering my mouth. This is unimaginably vivid and my perception of this event is so intense, so strong that it felt as real as any gust of air I have ever felt. Huge concentrated currents of air enter my mouth and then I open my eyes.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
excerpt from an interview in The Price of Experience, Black Widow Press 2012
Clayton Eshleman: In The Time of Voice, one poem is titled "Every Language is a Second Language." Does one write poetry to break out of second language into first language? Is the language shamans tell us they hear, and converse with animals in, a first language?
Robert Kelly: No, shaman talk and beast talk are second languages too. First language is what happens to our skin and eyes and mind in the world, the hurt of happen. The touch of hand. The wind. We can name all those things later, but when they happen, they are first language talking to us, and we speak that language by moving, touching, tasting. I mean the movement from perception into language is far greater in its abstraction, its terror, than the movement from English to Japanese or Tibetan. My title, its idea, is to keep people firmly aware of how remote all language is from the healing joyous horror of primary sensation.