Saturday, July 2, 2016

Saturday commute cxxviii: Horizon variations

  I understand the allure of infinity
  pools from, perhaps, an odd perspec-
  tive. I don't care about their illu-
  sion, I like that they allow us all
  to share the same one.

  Like everyone else, I feel in pools
  the impression of an amniotic frat-
  ernity, also, with others similarly
  immersed, suspended, buoyed, envel-
  oped. I think one just does.

  In other words, while I do not pre-
  tend to take to water naturally, I,
  nevertheless, prize my rapport with
  it enough, to equate its embrace as
  if it were for me. I do not collect
  memorabilia in the islands; I float
  to compile their possession.

  A friend of mine is a very good po-
  et, and sent me a project he'd been
  working on, which was the rarest of
  courtesies I'd ever experienced. He
  was even more gentlemanly, for dis-
  arming any apprehension, it were a-
  bout me.

  To step into another, known mental-
  ity, directing itself as if along a
  meniscus, hovering as a stroke upon
  the horizon of its vision, casts me
  decidedly into a pool I identify as
  an embrace, to which it is not more
  than polite to offer a response. On
  doing so, I presented tentative im-
  pressions which narrated my experi-
  ence of reading my immersion, with-
  out refusing to articulate a summa-
  tion of greatly relishing its view.

  I learned in reply, the poet is not
  finished with this project, that he
  believes it to be unsatisfactory in
  its present state. This, I respect;
  yet here I am, soothed and succour-
  ed in the intimate space of critic-
  al permission, having reveled as no
  one else ever may, in a setting I'd
  felt, anyone would own.

Lawrence Durrell

The Black Book

James Hamilton-Paterson
Playing with Water

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