A Stein Is Not A Tankard

Fall                                                                          Harvest Moon

Working with the poetry of Gertrude Stein.  Tough stuff.  She does break.  Through the usual patterns.  And forces a new way viewing seeing connecting word thing thing to word or not.  Word to word.  Forcing nouns to squiggle out of their links, forcing them to talk to each other like, well, like California girls talking to each other, like.

[Karel van Mander III man drinking beer from a tankard   1630-1670 (work pd.)]

Close to impenetrable, at least for the lone reader.  In collective reading with a guide like Al Fireis her work can jump, come alive though whether it makes sense.  Not supposed to make sense, I guess.  To make word. Yes. Words to words.  A world of words, a languaged world still or as always unreachable by sense so that world is nonsense.  Only words adhere to words within which we find ourselves worded and sentenced to life without sense.  Amen.

 

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