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Poyet Pascal - Cinema of the present

Here you can read online Poyet Pascal - Cinema of the present full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. year: 2014, publisher: Coach House Books, genre: Religion. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

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Poyet Pascal Cinema of the present

Cinema of the present: summary, description and annotation

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Robertson proves hard to explain but easy to enjoy. . . . Dauntlessly and resourcefully intellectual, Robertson can also be playful or blunt. . . . She wields language expertly, even beautifully.The New York Times

What if the cinema of the present were a Mbius strip of language, a montage of statements and questions sutured together and gradually accumulating color? Would the seams afford a new sensibility around the pronoun you? Would the precise words of philosophy, fashion, books, architecture, and history animate a new vision, gestural and oblique? Is the kinetic pronoun cinema?

These and other questions are answered in the new collection from acclaimed poet and essayist Lisa Robertson. The book is available with four different back covers, designed by artists Hadley+Maxwell.

A quorum of crows will be your witness.

And if you discover you were bought?

You note the smell of rain, bread, and exhaust mixed with tiredness.

And if you yourself are incompatible with your view of the world?

And what is the subject but a stitching?

Once again you are the one who promotes artifice.

At 2 am on Friday, you burn with a maudlin premonition.

And rankings and rankings and badges and repetitions.

Lisa Robertsons book Lisa Robertsons Magenta Soul Whip was named one of the New York Times 100 Notable Books of 2010 and was longlisted for the 2011 Warwick Prize. Her other books include Debbie: An Epic, The Men, The Weather, and Occasional Work and Seven Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture. She is the 2014 Bain Swiggett Professor at Princeton University.

Poyet Pascal: author's other books


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Acknowledgments
My friends have generously helped me realize this book: Hadley+ Maxwells cover art is only part of a gorgeous series of eight silkscreen posters they made to accompany the text. Poet Stacy Doris, sadly missed, read the manuscript before its submission to Coach House, and Pascal Poyets deeply engaged editing work developed from a conversational translation process that will result in the publication in France of Cinma du prsent. Poyets translation began when we were invited by poets Sarah Riggs and Cole Swensen to take part in the annual summer Read Hall translation seminar in Paris in 2012. His index was written as a response to the text during our participation in Poets and Critics at Universit Paris Est Marne-La-Valle, a series of two-day colloquia on contemporary poets and poetics, which focused on my work in December of 2012. Thank you to the organizers, Vincent Broqua and Olivier Brossard, and to the other participants, for engaging discussions around the manuscript. Alana Wilcox at Coach House is an extraordinary publisher, and I have been indebted to her since 2006, when we started working together. I am also grateful to the Canada Council for the Arts, the Fund for Poetry, and to Simon Fraser Universitys Ellen and Warren Tallman Writer-in-Residence program, for support that assisted the writing of this poem, which took place between 2008 and 2012, in Oakland, Berkeley, Vancouver and La Malgache, France.

Lisa Robertson
Books by Lisa Robertson

Poetry
The Apothecary
XEclogue
Debbie: An Epic
The Weather
The Men
Lisa Robertsons Magenta Soul Whip
Rs Boat
Essays
Occasional Works and Seven Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture
Nilling: Prose


W hat is the condition of a problem if you are the problem?

You move into the distributive texture of an experimental protocol.

A bunch of uncanniness emerges.

At 20 hertz it becomes touch.

A concomitant gate.

At the middle of your life on a Sunday.

A dove, a crowned warbler in redwood, an alarm, it stops.

You set out from consciousness carrying only a small valise.

A downtown tree, the old sky, and still you want an inventory.

You were an intuition without a concept.

A gallery, a hospital, an hypothesis.

Pure gesture.

A gate made of carpet tape.

Even to prolixity you strayed.

A gate made of weatherproof tar.

Within the concept of the present, the figure-ground relationship effaced itself.

A gate made of a brick.

You are the silence they exchanged.

A gate made of a plinth.

It was a wide and empty Pacific place in too-strong light, with a general appearance of low-grade lack.

A gate made of a sofa bed and light bulbs.

You tried to see how the sky in 972 comes up absent.

A gate made of artificial plants, vinyl, hinges and pins.

Smudgy, thick, cold.

A gate made of badminton shuttlecocks.

Is this a city?

A gate made of bejewelled barrettes, artificial peaches, a rotary phone.

And this too?

A gate made of bread and screws.

You believe women exist.

A gate made of buckets.

Nature mocks you.

A gate made of cotton, nylon, rubber and leather.

I see it on your face.

A gate made of exit signs, metal mesh, payroll sheets, chrome walkers.

I keep asking about the facts: tiredness, procrastination, doubt.

A gate made of floral foam, beeswax, silver leaf, drywall.

Each hormone curates something untenable.

A gate made of forceps and silicone tube.

Theres no logic to what organisms demand.

A gate made of gas pumps.

You would educate yourself to an absolute and unconditionalsubmission to the demands of transcription.

A gate made of gold, metal rods, driftwood, glass, concrete, peacock feathers, wood.

For you are such a procession.

A gate made of iron, neon, clay.

Only your tail was human.

A gate made of lamps.

Bark closed over your words.

A gate made of marble and coat-check stubs.

For you there is no information.

A gate made of medium-density fibreboard, fibreglass, foam, balsa wood and copper.

And at first you stank with the sensation of fate in your gut.

A gate made of Perspex.

And even a stab of love for your condition.

A gate made of photocopies, photographs, computer prints.

Irony was both your mother tongue and the intimate science of your future.

A gate made of photocopy.

Tell me more about animals, you said.

A gate made of poles, stanchions and masking tape.

Trash gyres, pre-objective monumentality, a rental.

A gate made of string and charcoal.

A gate made of photocopy.

A gate made of turntables.

When the anarchic excess has already been anticipated, what next?

A gate made of wood.

You might go so far as to falter.

A gate of hacksaw blades and bicycle spokes.

You sought a coat for intellectual ampleness.

A girl in a black cotton dress and bare legs is wearing a tiara.

Were you a dandy then?

A graph, a growth curve, an age pyramid, a distribution cloud; a palpability.

You, with your one-sided headache, your dark relationship to nature, your lack of whatever.

A jay, a rook, a parking ticket.

I dont know what you felt.

A latent rhythm discovered you.

Let us suppose that language is compatible with your errors.

A miniaturist, a Benedictine, a prisoner.

You sallied forth across emptied sidewalks, your fists in your pockets.

A quorum of crows will be your witness.

Youre witnessing the belated eruption of a real condition.

A thumb-sized bird, a medieval allegory, a metaphor that sustains the activity of thinking.

Its already your life.

A university, a swimming pool, a botanical park.

A downtown tree, the old sky, and still you want an inventory.

About the time question in money culture: you perceive an exhausted narrative hardening into currency.

Unfortunately, all of your considerable skepticism was retroactive.
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