That’s my hubs


-PAUL KLINGER, from RUBBLE PAPER, PAPER RUBBLE (Further Other Book Works 2013)

Last week I got to hear chapters of this, voiced with the phonetic settling of steel beams set gently into a squat frame to drape all Texas over. Tho Klinger’s reading was dutiful to the work and serious and amiable in just the right proportions, the poems aloud can’t capture the texture of the page. Their lyric loft drifts off. They need the page’s ground to compel their rise from it. And these mapped words may be Braille’s origin myth—to experience them as sound or sight alone gives rise to a basic lack. But w/in the smudged noise the rubbings are worn thru, the senses converge, and the sensate’s dulled in its heightening, and there you are where Klinger began, finding worn lyric within monument not by the common anemia of erasure but by the first art act, making marks.

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