us share eternity
variations are part of a longer piece based on my reading of Maurice
Blanchot’s The Writing of the Disaster. The
passages in italics are Blanchot’s own words.
Say nothing, speak in order to say nothing; fail without fail, count
on disarray, play; out play.
Excluding himself from creation he creates, but not as God.
Always poised at the point of abandonment or, rather, at the trembling
A foreign night: live a time without present.
silent rupture of the fragmentary
Is there passivity beyond disquietude?
Juggle the even with the uneven.
speak the unknown
At table, illuminated by screens, all in another world not on this
rain filled night.
Passivity interrupts reason and speech. Ask; what remains of experience?
Here not there, wherever there is or isn’t. The place where everything
is recorded for-ever, the eternity of the not-now, the ersatz now.
Giving up, abandoned, destroyed by ‘preferring not to’.
A formless obsession with form; what comes into the mouth not what
comes out. Lips massaged, satisfied by the final ashen taste.
form of power
The impending catastrophe, surely not, prefer not to.
Beauty: can it be said or only paid for?
Is the show convincing and on what level?
Are all stories available but forgotten?
Live a sabbatical existence, said Levinas. Pause, break from
use or being used, or using. This is creation's rest.
Among the igneous out thrown, cooled by endless flows, the Celtic
Crystal suspension prays before the darkened horizon.
Those who have gone are still here, standing in the wings,
for a cue.
Sadness can only be observed slowly.
For otherness is but the feeling of otherness rendered intuitive,
or alterity visually represented, as Coleridge said all those romantic
All the bodies, all the expectations allowing those to serve the
itch, the bite, always the right size, always purchase but no grip.
Looking at time, a diversion via the camp, unease spread.
so, some giggled.
Future, past, both without present: destroyed, without destruction,
invisible when seen, speaking the other voice, out of reach.
Why wound, exhaust, hound, spaniel at heel?
Exiled from experience, rescued from benign waves.
Campbell Robinson is
an Australian writer currently resident in the Celtic extremity
of Kernow. He has been published in numerous journals around
the world, most recently in BlazeVox 15, Stylus and Ink
Sweat and Tears. His
book, Blue Solitude a self portrait in six scenarios is
a forthcoming publication from Knives Forks and Spoons Press.