String Theory Sutra
There are so many types of | |
“personal” in poetry. The “I” is | a needle some find useful, though |
the thread, of course, is shadow. | |
In writing of experience or beauty, | a cloth emerges as if made |
from a twin existence. It's July | |
4: air is full of mistaken | stars & the wiggly half-zeroes stripes |
make when folded into fabric meant | |
never to touch ground ever again— | the curved cloth of Sleeping Beauty |
around 1310, decades after the spinning | |
wheel gathered stray fibers in a | whir of spindles before the swath |
of the industrial revolution, & by | |
1769 a thread stiff enough for | the warp of cotton fabric from |
the spinning frame, the spinning jenny, | |
the spinning "mule" or muslin wheel, | which wasn't patented. By its, I |
mean our, for we would become | |
what we made. String theory posits | no events when it isn't a |
metaphor; donuts twists in matter—10 | |
to the minus 33 cm—its | inverted fragments like Bay Area poetry— |
numbers start the world for grown-ups | |
& wobbly fibers, coaxed from eternity, | are stuffed into stems of dates |
like today so the way people | |
are proud of their flag can | enter the pipes of a 4. |
Blithe astonishment in the holiday music | |
over the picnickers: a man waves | from his spandex biking outfit, cloth |
that both has & hasn't lost | |
its nature. Unexpected folds are part | of form where our park is |
kissed by cucalyptus insect noises ^^z- | |
z~ ~> crr, making that for you | Flag cloth has this singing quality. |
Airline pilots wear wool blend flag | |
ties from Target to protect their | hearts. Women, making weavings of |
unicorns in castles, hummed as they sewed | |
spiral horns with thread so real | it floated; such artists were visited |
by figures in beyond-type garments so | |
they could ask how to live. | It’s all a kind of seam. |
Flying shuttles, 1733, made weaving like | |
experience, full of terrible accidents & | progress. Flags for the present war |
were made in countries we bombed | |
in the last war. By we | you mean they. By you it |
means the poem. By it I | |
mean meanings which hang tatters of | dawn’s early light in wrinkled sections of |
the druid oak with skinny linguistic | |
branches, Indo-European roots & the | weird particle earth spirits. A voice |
came to me in a dream | |
beyond time: love, we are your | shadow thread ~ ~ A little owl |
with stereo eyes spoke over my | |
head. I am a seamstress for | the missing queen. The unicorn can’t |
hear. It puts its head on | |
our laps. Fibers, beauty at a | low level, fabric styles, the cottage |
industry of thought. Threads inspired this | |
textile picnic: the satin ponytail holder, | the gauze pads inside Band-Aids, |
saris, threads of the basketball jersey, | |
turbans, leis over pink shorts, sports | bras: A young doctor told us |
—he’s like Chekhov, an atheist believer | |
in what’s here —that sometimes, sitting | with his dying patients, he says, |
“God bless you.” It seems to | |
help somewhat. They don’t know what | causes delays between strings—by they, |
I mean the internet. Turns out | |
all forces are similar to gravity. | We searched for meaning ceaselessly. By |
we I mean we. Sewed it | |
us-wards, with flaws between strings. | It seems there is no revolution |
in the Planck scale. My sisters | |
& I worked for the missing | queen: she said: be what you |
aren’t. A paradox. There are some | |
revolutions: rips in matter, the bent | nots inside our fabric whirred & |
barely mattered anymore. Our art | |
could help take vividness to people | but only if they had food. |
No revolution helped the workers, ever, | |
very long. We worked on this | or that flag after sewing this |
or that unicorn. They called Trotsky | |
back from Canada. Tribes were looser than | nations, nations did some good |
but not so very always, & | |
the types of personal in art | turned & turned. Nylon parachutes in |
1937. Lachesis. We shall not flag | |
nor fail, wrote Churchill. O knight, | tie our scarf on your neck. |
There are more than two ways | |
to make beauty so movements end | like sutras or horizons, somewhat frayed. |
Je est un autre wrote Rimbaud | |
the gun-runner. Over & inner & | code. The unicorn, c’est moi. The |
rips by which the threads are | |
tethered to their opposites like concepts | of an art which each example |
will undo. We spoke of meanings. | |
I, it, we, you, he, they | am, is, are sick about America. |
Colors forgive flags—red as the | |
fireskirt of the goddess Asherah, white | |
as the gravity behind her eye, | |
blue for the horizon unbuttoned so | the next world can get through. |
The “thin thread of calculable continuity” | |
Santayana refers to —it’s not a | choice between art & life, we |
know this now, but still: How | |
shall we live? O shadow thread. | After the cotton workers’ lockout 1922 |
owners cut back sweatshop hours to | |
44 per week. In string theory | the slippage between string & theory |
makes air seem an invented thing | |
& perhaps it is, skepticism mixed | with fear that since nothing has |
singular purpose, we should not act. | |
To make reality more bearable for | some besides ourselves? There’s a moment |
in Southey’s journal when the tomb | |
is opened & the glow-beast exits— | right when the flying shuttle has |
revolutionized their work—by their I | |
mean our —& cut costs by | half. So lines are cut to |
continue them & if you do | |
help the others, don’t tell. String theory | posits symmetry or weight. My country |
’tis of installing provisional governments. | |
Why was love the meaning thread. | Textiles give off tiny singing no |
matter what: washable rayon, airport | |
carpets, checked flannel smocks of nurses, | caps, pillowcases, prom sashes, & barbecue |
aprons with insignias or socks people | |
wear before/during sexual thrills after | dark subtitled Berkeley movies next to |
t-shirts worn by crowds in raincoats. | |
Human fabric is dragged out, being | is sewn with terror or awe |
which is also joy. Einstein called mystery | |
of existence “the fundamental emotion.” | Remember? You unraveled in childhood till |
you were everything. By everything I mean | |
everything . The unicorn puts its head | on your lap; from there it |
sees the blurry edge. How am | |
I so unreal & yet my | thread is real it asks sleepily~~ |
Credit
From Pieces of Air in the Epic by Brenda Hillman. Copyright © 2005 by Brenda Hillman. Reprinted with permission of Wesleyan University Press.
Date Published
01/01/2005