(Soma)tic Poetry Ritual for the Pulitzer Foundation’s
2014 Exhibit “Art of Its Own Making”
for Nicole Eisenman
The Mona Lisa was wrapped in fine red satin
and sealed in a specially designed wooden box before being transported to the
countryside in 1939. Art in the middle
of war needs dedicated stewards to keep it hidden from invaders. Even with the most trusted well-trained
people a museum’s curators and other staff can fall prey to enemy gunfire, poison
gas or drone attacks. You are in the
museum alone at night and the staff’s dead bodies are stacked in the
basement. You have a chance to save one
piece of art before the looting begins, what do you save? What are your criteria for choosing which to
save, because it’s the most valuable, the most popular, because it’s your
favorite, or what? Take notes.
(Soma)tic poetry rituals provide a window
into the creative viability of everything around us, initiating an extreme
present. Documentary notes are not
important; in fact the movements we make inside the ritual inform the way the
notes come out of us, no need for exacting detail. Take notes as fast as you can, faster than
you can think about what you are writing.
Later type the notes into a single document, print it out then carry it
around to extract lines and words to shape your poem. Approach your chosen work of art, thinking
about the safest way to remove it from its mount on the wall or floor. What tools do you imagine needing? Stop to take more notes. You will live with it hidden in your attic or
as a lover under the covers next to you.
How will it feel seeing this coveted object each day? Take notes.
Create a password for your hidden art by
first choosing an ancient god or goddess.
What is your favorite home appliance?
Think of the nights you turn them all on to sit and listen in the dark
for the most pleasing of the chorus. Combine
the god to the appliance, like Jupiter Egg Beater. Take notes.
Go into a stall in one of the museum restrooms and write the password
onto your naked flesh. Take notes. Write it again harder, then harder. Take more notes. Walk up to a stranger and say the
password. Just say it. How do they react? Take more notes.
(Aphrodite Microwave was my password. Nicole Eisenman’s painting Breakup at the ICA in Philadelphia was my focus. How far are the doors from where it hangs? There is a subway entrance just outside the exit, but what if, and what if, okay, then here we go THIS WAY instead? The notes became a poem titled “NOW THAT THE PRESENT IS SO ENDANGERED WE CAN STOP WORRYING ABOUT THE FUTURE.”)
(Aphrodite Microwave was my password. Nicole Eisenman’s painting Breakup at the ICA in Philadelphia was my focus. How far are the doors from where it hangs? There is a subway entrance just outside the exit, but what if, and what if, okay, then here we go THIS WAY instead? The notes became a poem titled “NOW THAT THE PRESENT IS SO ENDANGERED WE CAN STOP WORRYING ABOUT THE FUTURE.”)
