These are random, disconnected. Considering, the art of communications, our poetics, and the language upon which our visions rely.

Considering poetics and the landscape of its body – a living structure, the body that moves, bends, that disobeys, that remembers, that acts. Considering how a point in space assumes space, pressing against itself to create another point, becoming a line, becoming a body, a body within a structure, a structural expression of the landscape of its experience and the transformation of that landscape within the white space of the page.

Our poetics – a language of rhythm and breath. I mean it both literally and figuratively.

I spoke with an architect about his poetics. I asked about structure, lineage, the streams of history and mythology we create through. He showed me an incomplete wall and instructed me to see what lies beneath, what resonates through a body. He enabled me to see through concrete walls, to see within the building he had first imagined and then composed, the structures that enable the expression of the building itself – the skeleton of the building; nails, boards, screws, wires, hidden and closed/ open spaces. Being an architect, like being a writer, is a choice, he said, a question of what to hide and what to reveal.

As poets then, what do we choose to hide, what do we reveal within the context of our poetics? These structures we build within the space of the page? Points becoming lines becoming words, becoming, something more…an action perhaps as in the case of Frederick Douglas, a movement, a living structure that defines and explores – one that is touched and touches back, evolving and even chasing us across the fields of our imaginations.

Approaching the page, an empty and open space, the dissolution of self, the “I”stripped down to its very essence, being the very possibility of its creation. Words built upon white fields; infinite expressions of this possibility rewritten again and again and again. Is this what we mean by disobedience? Not only the not-believing in or even the fighting against the structures we build, but also, in the revealing, the deconstruction, the seeing through and beyond our words into the page beneath.

            Can our words reveal the page beneath, the structure or the infinite possibilities of movement and meaning that  make language and poetics possible?

Considering Cixous and her words, her questions become questions of transformation and movement within and across the structures that define and  compose the landscapes of our poetics, of how things (meaning words) fit together, build upon one another to create a sentence, a paragraph, a story, a narrative line traced through an empty, soundless void we refer to as the page, as an idea, as a thought before it becomes a knowable thing. And this is important then, looking through the page back at the “I” that first imagines its possibilities – the “I” that like the page is built upon, traced, hidden, and that must also be “stripped down,” and even “revealed.” The self that must act, that must move and extend beyond the limits of its own flesh, its own vocabulary, to realize that reality is the act of moving within a void of possibility and that meaning or the structures that sustain and define meaning are only an extension of a process, a process that demands their very deconstruction to reveal what is possible within our poetics – the possibility of hybridity, the relationship between word and action traced through memory, history, and mythology.