By Gustaf Sobin
The poems in Gustaf Sobin's latest assortment, Breaths' Burials, determine a discussion with silence. Breath, its syllables buried within the resonant area among the note and the void, unlocks the gloriole, the hoop of items published. no matter if Sobin is writing approximately irises, Venetian structure, or the wind-blown plateaus of his followed Provence, his poems are not anything extra nor under a look for the redemptive, celebrating the regeneration of language out of itself. Breaths' Burials once more confirms the compliment of Robert Duncan, who defined Sobin's paintings as a poetry of significant contrast, awakening the spirit to a global of errant clarities renewed.
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Extra info for Breaths' Burials
54—dc20⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 94-34242 CIP New instructions Books are released for James Laughlin through New instructions Publishing company, eighty 8th street, ny 10011 for Eliot Weinberger I at the FRAGILITY OF IDOLS as though WRITTEN IN A booklet OF GLASS for Sarah & Charlie . . . as though written in a ebook of glass, learn of so many sunken numbers, eyes fluttering like fish at the base of the international. there, what- ever issued, purely re- entered, in- extricable as wind, yet viscous, ballasted, the center as if strolling on its head. used to be there a means, requested the be aware of the notice? reminiscence flooded, and lust too unexpected, counted corals, rep- licated beads, whereas the breath, hesitant, hung be- tween syllables. ODE at the ELABORATION OF period . . . an identical wave that fed, as soon as, by itself unraveling, all mica now, and schist. flooring middle, the darkish organs of snapshot. had steadily emerged, come crawling from lower than, gathering—in my crossed arms—my very personal shoulders. planks and clapboard, our quickly identifications, each one factor so indissociably it- self, self- imbued. even air, the air e- bullient, the ac- cessibility, now, of all subject, these titanic ap- propriations. (worked in simple terms for the disparate, that part—the darkish slip of muscle, the fanned shadow of lashes—which had no equivalence. which held, held us, simply out of reach). was once, it would appear, like a working curtain, approximately a international. (there have been, we knew, no others). out, onto the windy level of our landscapes, could wheel clouds, trundle en- tire cartloads of reproduction gods, too, in trompe l'oeil, the complete spectacle of the pre- empted. nothing's too a ways, it would appear, if—in flaking—it re- flect. if, spoken, re- sound. wherein 'would,' 'might,' the misplaced panoply of the conditional. definite, that even the following, in the lens of my very own breath, 'you' —of all phrases, the very first—might, finally, factor. be blown over the vibrant pages. introduced to that luster, these shadows, those rocks that glisten within the very lee in their personal asserting. to the place, that is, sub- stance it- self may possibly substantiate. (no, it truly is no longer me, now, who is being illusive, however the overwhelming im- mediacy of every vacated fast. the surfeit of so a lot scuttled letter). be signal and its ef- fluence, the draft of your shawl, as—al- ready—it enters period. there, simply over the ocean's gray echo, assemble buttercup and rue, bindweed and gentian. provide to each—each instance—its personal degree. for breath opposed to breath, it truly is during the phrases we might accede: word you begin, and I—in diastole—pursue. FOURTEEN IRISES FOR J. L. there, blossoming once more, like blown goblets, the irises of their annual ovulations. definite, vacancy, at final, enveloped, inscribed. is there something, certainly, yet vacancy? yet vacancy, eventually, en- veloped? inscribed? . . . one colour follows upon one other like polyphonic voices: final week, violet, and this, a rubbed mahogany, freckled rose, recalling worlds—voices—you've by no means identified.