A notebook with commentary revealing I once "understood" a now all but impenetrable Susan Howe poem
Other notebooks reveal an (obviously stymied) effort to learn to read Anglo-Saxon, a once-thorough grasp of the German language, and that I used to think about something called 'alterity,' the actual definition of which I can now never seem to remember. The grisly horror of all this? Apparently, when you don't use your mind, you can lose your mind. Here's hoping I can get mine back. In all seriousness. Here I have been one of those people who just put their brains out to pasture while they drift away in the light summer breeze. I had better start reviewing German verbs or something. Or some other mental daily mental feat. Brainteasers from the supermarket. (Of course, there have been weighty circumstances. But the circumstances are coming to a much longed-for end.)
So stand forth, impenetrable poetry. Come forward, dead language of our ancestors. I have tightened the screws where my head is connected to my neck and am fully ready for you once again. Thank you.
So stand forth, impenetrable poetry. Come forward, dead language of our ancestors. I have tightened the screws where my head is connected to my neck and am fully ready for you once again. Thank you.
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