I swear to G-O-D that contemporary American letters would not exist without the G.I. Bill. The Times today carried the obituary of teacher, editor, and essayist , who died at the age of 83. After serving in WWII, Poirier returned to Massachusetts, where he attended Amherst through the G.I. Bill ( was teaching there at the time), and then went on to, oh, Yale, Cambridge, and Harvard. He later founded the Raritan Review, which has published a bunch of poets I’ve heard of, and some poets I haven’t. Among the latter is this week’s contributor, . My Uncle Larry always said never trust a guy with two first names, but I like the line repetitions here anyway. Anyone know what this from is called? I ask because I genuinely don’t–I’m pretty sure even my remaining brain cells no longer function too good.
Have a great week, -ed.
Like Most Revelations
(after Morris Louis)
It is the movement that incites the form, discovered as a downward rapture--yes, it is the movement that delights the form, sustained by its own velocity. And yet it is the movement that delays the form while darkness slows and encumbers; in fact it is the movement that betrays the form, baffled in such toils of ease, until it is the movement that deceives the form, beguiling our attention--we supposed it is the movement that achieves the form. Were we mistaken? What does it matter if it is the movement that negates the form? Even though we give (give up) ourselves to this mortal process of continuing, it is the movement that creates the form.