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we are wrong to want to 'get beyond' or even 'smooth over' the imperfect, because that separation between one thing and another, even between ideal and actual, is what gives the constellation of difference in which we all come to be, in which all human relations situate both the core and the outer limits of their reason for being... [Full Text]
I dreamt she was here
for me alone
I dreamt she had red pollen in her soul
and descended upon me
with careful
lascivious beauty... [Full Text]
A human love is not a fetish, not a ritual item nor a stone tablet to be referenced and stored in secret jeweled casings. It may at times seem so, even seem appropriate to paint it as such. It may be treated that way openly or in secret, but not without its true form being put at great risk of disintegration and disappearance. [Full Text]
everything of value can be lost
but that —or seeing that come to pass—
is not what gives us value
it's in the human feeling
the depth of vision and entreaty
the search for value
setting sail and mapping the white-crested
roiling of times and turnings... [Full Text]
This face approaching specifies no world. This face I see belongs to a young woman with a very old story to tell. She has lived within the story all her life; it quiets her, and it speaks for her; she contains it, though she believes it to be much larger and more significant than she. [Full Text]
There is a space of reason beyond loss, of comfort in the steel grip of doubt, that has come to exist because we know the kind of brazen pact of so many little unspoken guarantees, the haunted mornings we could not share, the quiet that was full of absence, and even the graces given me by people willing to hear of it, to want for it as well, to see the sublime torment of your distance... [Full Text]
FOR THE FEEBLE PROPERTIES OF LANGUAGE
One day there is full engagement, there is plenitude and clarity, there is movement and the need for movement, friction and the love of friction's complicated figuring : then, suddenly, there is near total distance, a separation from what had been known and felt, a kind of severance, which the spirit and the mind can hardly make sense of... [Full Text]
wanton sense of coming to be
beyond the reach of any particular condition
tradition or absence of appetite
fulfilling a long-term mission
to break down barriers & to be
found in the knowing
to be something more than the known self... [Full Text]
one continent lifts up the antidote to another, the complement, the other shades of a life lived close to the source, a passion as much unwinding itself in the wind of circumstance as curling up into its own inevitable form, ever more real as it seeks out the perfect tone for the recognition of its whole musical scope... [Full Text]
There doesn't need to be a doctrine on the basis of which you act in order to do what you're moved to, and to do it well and with all your faculties...
what is needed is energy, attention, self-awareness, the dedication to be authentic in your pursuits... [Full Text]
It was a memory of memories persisting
a representation of devoted labor
the idiomatic spiritual partner of a tribe
history's eye placed equally forward & aft…
it was guilt-laden full of meaning
time out of time & the whisper of so many
nevers tears recombinations & quietudes
the velvet-hewn patina of knowing... [Full Text]
© 2007 Joseph Robertson
Some texts for Ptarmigan formerly:
Still Lifes & Embers at Finisterre
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WRITING & NAMING: the medicine of acquiring knowledge
Joseph Robertson
Language is that point of contact in the abstract, that plane where the intellectual life within us is enabled to assert itself as part of the overall experience of living. Language is that plane where the individual self is allowed repeated attempts at manifestation. What takes place in the process of writing, in the spilling of ink or the posting of digital characters, the slip toward defining a landscape, however brief, is the sanctification of an individual, and by extension of the human condition as such...
Not every person is a writer, by trade, nor should they be, but there is something about the act of writing that serves the writing individual as if it were a medicine for selfhood, a healing venture into clean waters. Especially so when its intent is to be expressive of secret regions of the mind or to lay out new experimental vessels for such expression. [Keep reading...]
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