line ’em up, count time. night cuffed the dying light.
like / the ones / who / walked / before
flowers don’t speak & they / are not expected to
Horses asleep on the cusp of a minor hill, / quietly bending their heads to the grass. / I could be one of them, lit by the billboard signs,
By Aaron Barrell | Senior Editor
This month, from Andrew Zawacki, an analogue of memory: Andrew notes that “’Videotape’ is a serial poem primarily concerned with landscape—whether natural or manufactured, oneiric or simulated—and with the various media we employ to record, juxtapose, even invent geography, not to mention ruin it. I’m specifically interested in obsolete technologies, like VHS and Betamax, with their magnetic tape and plastic cassettes, figures of inevitable decay. These date from my childhood—also, of course, from the Reagan era, a technocracy of scary proportions (leveled by someone who’d been a film star). While I’ve tried to leave dramas of selfhood out of these clips—the one thing not seen in a visual field is the person behind the viewfinder—, recalling that a camera’s lens is termed the ‘objective,’ a few subjective moments have nonetheless punctured the work. 51—a love song, written while my wife was away—is among them, with its speaker’s sentiments (nostalgia bordering on pathetic) themselves articulated in an outdated mode. (We were spending summer in Paris and had just inherited cordial glasses dating from the Second Empire …