Poem
Lisa Robertson
The pinky moon was swishing all
De rozige maan was aan het zwalken haar
De rozige maan was aan het zwalken haarflanken vol huiver, ze kokhalst, braakt, besnuffelt haar
braaksel, kijkt naar de horizon, besnuffelt de
lucht, staat stil, kijkt, oren gespitst – Ze
duizelde, donderde, door en door
somatisch, waaierend als hartjes; een verre
naam in een exotisch en geprivilegieerde
context – Miuccia Prada
bijvoorbeeld – omhoog stuwend post-
metafysisch en als ik aan
mijn bureau zit in mijn dikke jas dan is dat omdat woorden
koud zijn.
Nu, de glorieuze naad of
de filosofie van de boom. De boom
‘heeft’ geen ‘lichaam’. Dat houdt in dat als het zover is
dat verandering zich aandient, de boom gewoon wacht. Het
vergt al mijn kunst om naast een boom te wonen
met spontane toewijding en het
opgeven van determinisme en
ik ben triest.
The pinky moon was swishing all
quivering-flanked, heaves, vomits, sniffs her
vomit, looks to the horizon, sniffs the
air, standing still, looking, ears erect – She
was fluttering, falling, fundamentally
somatic, fanning like hearts; a distant
name in an exotic and privileged
setting – Miuccia Prada for
example – pulsing upwardly post-
metaphysical and if I sit at
my desk in my big coat it’s because words
are cold.
Now, the glorious suture or the
philosophy of the tree. The tree doesn’t
“have” “a body”. This means when it comes to
the need for changing, the tree just waits. It
takes all my art to live beside a tree
with uncaused devotion and the
abandonment of determinism and
I am sad.
quivering-flanked, heaves, vomits, sniffs her
vomit, looks to the horizon, sniffs the
air, standing still, looking, ears erect – She
was fluttering, falling, fundamentally
somatic, fanning like hearts; a distant
name in an exotic and privileged
setting – Miuccia Prada for
example – pulsing upwardly post-
metaphysical and if I sit at
my desk in my big coat it’s because words
are cold.
Now, the glorious suture or the
philosophy of the tree. The tree doesn’t
“have” “a body”. This means when it comes to
the need for changing, the tree just waits. It
takes all my art to live beside a tree
with uncaused devotion and the
abandonment of determinism and
I am sad.
© 2016, Lisa Robertson
From: 3 Summers
Publisher: Coach House Books, Toronto
From: 3 Summers
Publisher: Coach House Books, Toronto
Poems
Poems of Lisa Robertson
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The pinky moon was swishing all
The pinky moon was swishing allquivering-flanked, heaves, vomits, sniffs her
vomit, looks to the horizon, sniffs the
air, standing still, looking, ears erect – She
was fluttering, falling, fundamentally
somatic, fanning like hearts; a distant
name in an exotic and privileged
setting – Miuccia Prada for
example – pulsing upwardly post-
metaphysical and if I sit at
my desk in my big coat it’s because words
are cold.
Now, the glorious suture or the
philosophy of the tree. The tree doesn’t
“have” “a body”. This means when it comes to
the need for changing, the tree just waits. It
takes all my art to live beside a tree
with uncaused devotion and the
abandonment of determinism and
I am sad.
From: 3 Summers
The pinky moon was swishing all
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