With the course towards continuously shifting coordinates having been set, the precautions disappear, which the numbers (calculations) have wanted to establish as an invariable succession ad infinitum, which is presented as the order predestined to be resolved in the sequential linearity secured by an uninterrupted fulfillment of itself, has suffered an unexpected turn: suddenly the sky has become overcast, the sea has lost its unapproachable center in accordance with the rigor of its silent tides: poetry has rendered the navigational instruments useless.
* * *
Doubly luminous, the number doubles itself by withdrawing from the unambiguousness that the arithmetic pretentiously aspires to grant it. Fatal / Lethal stability has receded, and this unexpected movement has left behind that falsehood called fatality for all to discover. Maybe you didn’t know that the marked pathways only follow the signs of those who very generously believe in choosing for us what they call happiness? I am the mirror, and the reflection of the mirror is myself, and at the same time is someone else. This possibility of splitting initiates the first step toward self-consciousness, that separation of oneself in order to notice from a distance the chains that keep us bound to the One (invariable, unchanging, perfect) and dedicated to cultivating its happy fatality with ignorant patience. Taking a detour / Deviate is a better way. The drums of the harp sound; nothing is more audible than the sound of blindness.
* * *
Waiting is forbidden. Waiting is not productive. For these very reasons, waiting is justified. Waiting requires an availability of emptiness: the need for the encounter, the tension that endures the waiting, which doesn’t have any remedy other than endurance (prolonged are those encounters that deepen it), and which doesn’t allow for more than an empty space, or a viewing-screen where the whiteness seems about to explode. An emptiness that by any means needs to be filled with this devious and discreet movement, which is uncertainty. Uncertainty is foreign to all foresight, and doesn’t hold any commercial use; it is the negation of the exploitative economy. Waiting doesn’t offer any benefits; it is a pure waste of time, dead time and at the same time living time; it is the certainty of a possibility that is lost and is exhausted when immediately consumed. Waiting is the affirmation of slowness, the negation of time under the social order of misery and exploitation: time that is foreign to the militaristic pace of the clock-hands.
* * *
Poetry is not a purely intellectual question, with regard to language, at least not in any exclusive way. Poetry and words configure a wall of translucent opacity, even if insufficient. Everything that words cannot capture, all of those open cracks in language, allow a part of the unasible but rigorously concrete foundation to escape, from which poetry nourishes itself. A new physics, the physics of poetry (already suggested by Paul Eluard in the 1930’s), should deal with this field besides speech. Just as atomic or quantum physics has to do with revealing the laws and movements of matter invisible to our eyes, this new physics would propose to discover the movements of poetry that lies on this side of poetry: situating us between the word and what is signified – that privileged area where meaning circulates.
Numbers, just like words, are the material of a visible sign that remains invisible until it emerges from them; certain relationships foreign to a purely technical, mathematic use keep us forewarned of their ability to capture the meaning of the poetry contained within everyday life: its tendency to lose whatever foundation, its unsuspected ease in loosing its foothold. These numbers, used for example to mark the successive series of doorways in a street, suddenly lose their indifferent and irrelevant character, their illusion of exact and finite support, their appropriate/fitting function; a ghost that can be touched. Through an act of never-failing mimicry, they obtain the consistency of stone, of brick, of whatever material that helps them remain subjects of the concrete, only to facilitate their collapse before our eyes (in the same way words adorn the filigree in a piece of paper, cardboard, etc.) and to proclaim their autonomy and their ability to question the order that is being presented to us as fixed and irrevocable. Here we have these numbers that divide /double themselves in order to create a shadow of themselves. (Who is the mirror of whom?) There appear others rising above each other to break the continuous line of the counter. And the number pi, which is not a number, or is a number in motion, which never stops being a number and which needs the wall, the roof, the limit that prevents us from falling into vertigo; that sign, physical, and unchangeable like the horizon, but always in motion.
(Published in Salamandra #17-18, 2008)