8 abr. 2005

The variously unsatisfactory or seemingly insufficient aspects of Creeley's work are inseparable from the actual greatness of the work. The inarticulateness, hesitancy, the occasional triviality, vagueness, or sentimentality. What else? A minimalism that sometmes seemed (to me) a dead end. Sentences that are as abstract as anything out of Ashbery:

"Things continue, but my sense is that I have, at best, simply taken place with that fact. I see no progress in time or any other such situation. So it is that what I feel, in the world, is the one thing I know myself to be, in that instant. I will never know myself otherwise."

A sense of oneself in the specific here and now, but expressed abstractly, negatively. It is a kind of mysticism. This attempt to explain the work is more difficult than the work itself. A work very appealing and genial yet paradoxically enigmatic. "Position is where you put it." Koan-like tautologies. Let's not translate all this into a critical metalanguage.

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