Six from Thrown
Poems by James Wagner to a Painting by Bracha L. Ettinger
Bracha L. Ettinger, NO TITLE YET, N. 3 (EURYDICE, ST. ANNE),oil on canvass, 54x29 cm. 2003-2009. © The Bracha L. Ettinger Studio
Swam and answered with innards:
the night’s inside.
By implication: remember him
red and waving,
her knees near the thieves,
her sex versus traces later
remembered. Is this the sky I know of?
Was it ever so spoken for?
What is this red man an omen of?
If we are mutating fragilities, always
askance, wallowing, then this
under of how come is breeding
without order. So one must
the legs lifted, the
No need to fake
or hide a sky away.
Here are the
Photograph of a corpuscle. The itinerants in us.
What white light on the albino giraffics,
where the childhood waited in red,
covering elders in specks even as they moved
seemingly out of reach of it. A nuance in the blue,
a fear of impersonating one’s self, a self absurd
or intermittently aghast at the hurt one can never
name. Mingling triplets in the middle?
Of roads in the mountains. There are nexuses
in the left threading, but not a one notices.
“As I was saying, as I was saying...” calls
into the spaces that separate these dreams—
In the sleep of beliefs,
in the misunderstandings
blur of the persons and the dabbling
vacuums on the margins
bracing fragments in
meanings //// the undigested
the formlessness pours from
these three winds finish in
the ars poetica of the ants...
These creatures seem lost in white trees.
A semblance of sayings supports them,
opening their loneliness outward, so
when the shadows cough their blacks
at them, they will maintain their shapes
in the deluge.
This trickery of winter welcomes in
the breezes of missing in the houses
they are leaving. A kind of kinky
electricity jaggedly and vibrantly
encases. A love, from the crimson
blue, absolves all
who might whisper and wait for a
meaning to remember. No
coding, no gateways, no findings
of unkindness in the hazefields.
One eye watches for sympathy, drifts
of it, in us.
And what of the kids, prim, faceless
at the knees, being led into a new
oblivion, unaware as the others?
One only knows the wordless glow
in lark sounds there, beyond the small
omens of men.
Bracha L.Ettinger is a visual artist, philosopher, and theoretician of French Feminist psychoanalysis. Recent solo exhibitions at: the Historical Museum of St. Petersburg, Peter and Paul Fortress (2013); Museum of Fine Arts (Beaux-arts), Angers (2011); Tapies Foundation, Barcelona (2011), Freud Museum, London (2009). Recent group exhibitions at: Museum of Modern Art, Warsaw (2013-2014); Pompidou Centre, Paris (2010-2011). She is the author of Matrix. Halal(a) -Lapsus, MOMA oxford (1993) and The Matrixial Borderspace, University of Minnesota Press (2006).
James Wagner is the author of Thrown (There Press, forthcoming),Work Book (Nothing Moments), Trilce (Calamari Press), the false sun recordings (3rd bed), and several chapbooks, including Geisttraum—Tales from the Germans and The Idiocy: Plays. His poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in The American Poetry Review, The Baffler, Boston Review, Fence, 6x6, Zoland Poetry and elsewhere. He lives in California.