Anselm Berrigan on "...official sustainable wobble provider..."
On "...official sustainable wobble provider..." from Come in Alone
This one's about fourteen poems from the back. I had to get the press to send me a copy. I only have books, and the notebook the poems were written in. This version is really just a version – the screen can't hack the form. The book can't really hack it either. It's a great form to write into, the-line-at-the-edge-of-the-page-that-goes-all-the-way-around – it leaves you with no end and no beginning, a loop with corners, an illusion of empty space inside, an immediate apparent velocity that doesn't have to be obeyed, and nothing for explanation to leech. It gets rid of prose and gets rid of breaks, puts prosody right up at the front of the plane, which is sonic with visual costume, and leaves austerity to the concept-peddlers and Sunday writers. I'm calling it "...official sustainable wobble provider..." for this occasion because I've started there at least once reading aloud – it works to get around the poem and repeat those words so as to go past coming full circle & decide to stop or keep going again. This one came late in the writing – I wrote 103 of these across a period of several months, and this one would have to have been written in early April of 2011, right at the intersection of three jobs, a second child a few weeks old, baseball in Minneapolis daylight on at the open corner of 4th and Bowery in NYC, reading Frank Stella's book Working Space while doing an image-search on Tintoretto, whatever music on making the phrase "open disembodied mic" seem to be happening? But these are just sensation-sources, glimpses of condition I remember, and they don't tell much. These things had to happen fast – the form forces writing to stop – but I mean the kind of fast that is of your life and in it at once, no room, no exercise, no time for psychic ramp-up to play at significance.