By Richard Mather
Kneading Substance [2706__0024]
ebrah k’dabri - “I will create as I speak”
I am kneading this substance
into shape, imposing form
on matter* and with a name
I firm it up. What cannot be named
has no being; it is lo dabhar.
Inform the material, affirm
its special mode of being**.
A spoon or plate; desk or jar.
Whatever I like.
Call it thingification.
These days everything is a thing.
From the primary
and continuous
come the secondary
and the discontinuous.
The words I use limit
the unlimited, make it actual.
Repeat the word: the sound takes hold;
the shape thickens. Repetition
lends weight. And again:
the clay lets go my fingers.
Every thing is a body
and an idea of the body.
And the word is the idea.
It holds the thing together.
A nameless substance is between
two states, amorphous and sticky,
neither something or nothing, blob-like.
Named things serve a purpose.
But when they don’t, or are hidden,
or unready-to-hand, they quiver
into a slimy mess of stuff.
This poem is a thing: a tangible mass
with a certain weight and heft.
But left in a drawer out of sight
for too long a time, it loses shape.
Meters unwind, stanzas collapse,
graphemes liquidate.
The world is also a thing, an object.
But who is there to maintain it,
To repeat the name that firms it up?
It must be God.
He keeps it in mind.
The word ‘world’ is on his tongue.
* What’s the matter? Matter is pliable.
** Technê invested with logos.
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Kneading Substance [17052021__0102]
ebrah k’dabri - “I will create as I speak”
I am kneading this substance into shape
And with a name I firm it up.
What’s the matter? Matter is pliable.
A nameless substance is between
Two states, amorphous and sticky,
Neither something or nothing.
Things when named serve a purpose.
But when they don’t, or are hidden,
Not present-at-hand, they quiver into slime,
Become a sticky mess of stuff.
This poem is a thing: a tangible mass
With a certain weight and heft.
But put in a drawer out of sight,
A poem will lose shape and meter.
Stanzas liquidate, become a mess.
The world is also a thing, an object.
But who is there to maintain it,
To repeat the name that firms it up?
It must be God. He keeps it in mind;
The word ‘world’ is on his tongue.
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Kneading Substance [31/01/2021__0023 or 32]
I am kneading this substance into shape
And with a name I firm it up.
What’s the matter? Matter is pliable.
Fixed to its being by the name I give it
I turn what was pliable and sticky
Into something reified.
(From thought to word to thing.)
Nouns make substance matter.
The spoken word affirms it.
Repetition thickens it.
I affirm its special mode of being:
A spoon or plate, lamp or jar, whatever I like.
Call it thingification.
These days everything is a thing.
A nameless substance is between two states.
It is amorphous and sticky.
Try to let go of it and clings
To your fingers.
But naming is forming:
It informs the material.
Words give form and purpose to matter.
A kind of magic where the word’s
Potency infuses and becomes the object.
The incarnation of the word.
In Jerusalem davar means both object
And word. In Athens, words exist
In a platonic heaven and lend form
And purpose to matter.
Substance is unlimited, a dynamic continuum.
If substance is primary and continuous,
things are secondary and discontinuous.
And words are what we use to limit the unlimited.
The tension between the continuous
and discontinuous requires harmony.
Things serve a purpose. But when they don’t,
Or are hidden, not present-at-hand,
When they are not observed and affirmed by name,
They quiver into slime, become a sticky mess of stuff.
This poem is a thing: a tangible mass
Of words with a certain weight and heft.
Poetry is the reification of language.
But put in a drawer out of sight for too long
A poem will lose shape and meter. Stanzas liquidate,
Become a mess that sticks.
The world, our world, is also a thing, an object.
But who is there to maintain it,
To repeat the name that affirms its shape?
It must be God. He keeps it in mind;
The word ‘world’ is on his tongue.
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