Corpse, take a picture of your spliff and post it here
each line, in the very recesses of its negation, harbors that potentiality, that immanence (or imminence) -- and poetry, in its eventlessness, becomes (to return to his Yeats elegy) "a way of happening, a mouth."
-- Tom McCarthy, Nothing Will Have Taken Place Except the Place
I'm still trying to get my head around it. I think it might be "art bollocks". It sounds as though he's saying because poetry means "nothing" it has the potential to mean anything and be repurposed in such a way that it has real-world consequences, e.g. blowing up a bridge in occupied France.Can you translate, please?
Reading my own analysis of Yeats poems on page 3 I'm smitten by my former self of April 2020.
Don't you always feel like me, that you're a different person now to what you were even four months ago?
Or perhaps some other part of you, no the quotidian self sat at his desk churning through drone work, is responsible for the literary analysis?