When Capitalism faces revolution, it forgets all about “creative destruction” and begins stammering about “stability” and the dangers of democracy in the hands of The Other.
Second, this poem from 1984 (uncharacteristically undated in my notebook, but found among others written in the autumn of that year):
after “Relativity, 1953” *
My desire is like a leafy birch
outside an arched window.
The frame shows only a tangle
of green, a nest, the broken
paper body of a child’s
lost kite. But the crown’s
hidden; the trunk, hidden.
I must leave the house
to see my desire whole.
I’m scribbling this to prove
to myself I’m on the way,
racing through the stone house,
hunting for a door to the world
(where it is I’ve forgotten,
though I built this place myself).
Am I closer than the last time
I dropped some crumbs of language
in the hall? Or is my trust in a door
nothing more than some distraction
for my longing as I wander
an endless labyrinth of stairs?
|M.C. Escher: “Relativity, 1953”|