The Violence of the Impossible: Patti Smith’s Blakean Conversations
This is where we meet, full-on, what she is. Her voice pursues both deep space and rounded volume and then conjures a flattened-out alternative. Her voice is at times an angular Russian icon, a tender cheek-to-cheek embrace of impossible thin closeness, a simple overlap of plane-point vowels. But then the oily power-depth of her timbre breaks through the flattened-out surfaces, giving every phrase a joy that creates the impossible bite of her voice, both thin and fat.
Richard Marshall on Patti Smith in conversation with Geoff Dyer.
ampere’s and
This week’s visuals: What does J.G. Ballard look like? & The artists behind Penguin paperbacks [via Vol.1 Brooklyn] And a look at Penguin’s Never Judge exhibition & Look after your spines, book designers & The Record: Contemporary Art and Vinyl, exhibition expolring culture of vinyl records within the history of contemporary art & A collections […]
this is a poem about three things
as we left for what your da called the badlands
the gate to our complex broke
and you licked the battery in the remote
and swore to me it’d work
that’s how you bring them back to life
it did
but your tongue hurt then and tasted bad from the resurrection
four yellow letters
boom over the barren waste of this something like a suburb
this moth-eaten skyline
dwarfing the gold twinkle of the only taxi in the rank;
there was no room in the car after the grey billy shelves
the pots and pans of our new life…
By Sarah Maria Griffin.