John Geraets
from Riverspell30
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The present is clear enough. The future has an inkling in the present, which has an inkling in the past. I am Robert Audi from Notre Dame and I will lift my hand, like a wind at the door. The force that affects the behaviour of a particle is not necessarily a coincidence.
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We are out of step with ourselves, it is true. John wears gumboots on both of his feet, left as well as right, as if there are two ways for him to go. In Whangārei, rain falls in line with the manufacture and distribution of rubber gumboots about the town. Do you grasp? What is known in retrospect is not obvious beforehand. Rain is not a puddle, notwithstanding the qualities they share, and gumboots can be linked to things like gender. Although, by God—one’d not wish to be seen dead in them—!
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Nothing exists alone. This feeling I have is part of another one, though neither forms a pair. Donald Hoffman: the thing about spacetime is it’s only a user interface, there’s nothing intrinsically causative about it. A screen. A headset. Phantomic.
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A poem cannot mean itself & not have a context. So what is it that poetry teaches or reaches after? Underpinning's superfluity? For us, it means us. Moving like an object under water, it wavers. To the extent that it is bound to a particular spacetime, it dissipates. Aspiring to be a multi-winged machine, like a bird or a fish, it is an impossibility.
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John Geraets lives in Whangārei and curates remake (www.poetryremake.wordpress.com). His Everything's Something in Place was published by Titus Books (NZ) in 2019.
The present is clear enough. The future has an inkling in the present, which has an inkling in the past. I am Robert Audi from Notre Dame and I will lift my hand, like a wind at the door. The force that affects the behaviour of a particle is not necessarily a coincidence.
We are out of step with ourselves, it is true. John wears gumboots on both of his feet, left as well as right, as if there are two ways for him to go. In Whangārei, rain falls in line with the manufacture and distribution of rubber gumboots about the town. Do you grasp? What is known in retrospect is not obvious beforehand. Rain is not a puddle, notwithstanding the qualities they share, and gumboots can be linked to things like gender. Although, by God—one’d not wish to be seen dead in them—!
Nothing exists alone. This feeling I have is part of another one, though neither forms a pair. Donald Hoffman: the thing about spacetime is it’s only a user interface, there’s nothing intrinsically causative about it. A screen. A headset. Phantomic.
A poem cannot mean itself & not have a context. So what is it that poetry teaches or reaches after? Underpinning's superfluity? For us, it means us. Moving like an object under water, it wavers. To the extent that it is bound to a particular spacetime, it dissipates. Aspiring to be a multi-winged machine, like a bird or a fish, it is an impossibility.
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