A problem with being willing
to confess to permitting one-
self a degree of enjoyment in
poetic imagery, not fully ad-
apted to that pleasure, is a
reputation to which this can
give rise, of unfairness to
the work of art. I find I am
habitually unfair to the work
of Anne Carson in this way,
and it's not much exoneration
to confess, she is not alone.
And one does like exoneration.
It's just not why I read her.
I find a music in her phrases
I could not exchange for any
glossary, any rosetta stone.
Some may call one to surren-
der naïve belief, given the
catastrophe pending from it
every day, by cruel design.
What evangelic genius is at
work, to serve such scorn?
It takes practice to shave the skin off the light.
Polarity
means
plus or
minus
total
night.
Penguins topple like astonished dice
But
New York
barbers are good
on
ice.
Morning swings in a moonsplashed hole
Time
zones
jam together
at
the
pole.
His scissors blaze on open black water
She
likes
the
quiet she
may
be
his
daughter.
"Whatsoever of it has flown away is past.
Whatsoever remains is future."
(Augustine, Confessions, XI)
Anne Carson
Men in the Off Hours
The Barber Shop
Random House, 2000©
Louren Groenewald
Johannes Westerwald
Bettina duToit, photography
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