'All of Nichol’s paintings is stamped via his wish to create texts which are conducting themselves in addition to in context, and to take advantage of oblique structural and textual units to hold that means. In The Martyrology other ways of talking testify to a trip via other ways of being. Language is either the poet’s teacher and, via its a variety of diversifications, the dominant 'image' of the poem. The [nine] books of The Martyrology record a poet’s quest for perception into himself and his writing via scrupulous awareness to the messages hidden within the morphology of his personal speech.’ – Frank Davey
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Depuis Verlaine, quelques poètes ont ecu le redoutable privilège d’être appelés "maudits". Mallarmé, Rimbaud, Corbière se sont vus décerner un pareil titre. Les deux premiers ont hardiment franchi los angeles barre de cette malédiction imposée. Tristan Corbière, quant à lui, n’a pas ecu los angeles même probability.
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Additional resources for Ad Sanctos (The Martyrology, Book 9)
Alone on a spit a mile further. I recalled how these islands roast and eat white women if there’s a question of whose: easier to divide. Rabbit-still, I stared at the ship, lagoon bound, bobbing. That night the sailors peeled a coconut crab and found it red with egg and ate it. I watered the plants. On rumor, Bougainville himself sent a man. We are loathe to err, he said. qxd 7/3/09 10:24 AM Page 40 a woman on board, and all that. I got the brig. Then two of the natives ate our mirrors and their deaths made my sex of less interest.
Not me, not me, chirps the chirper. But there we are, yelling again, or crying, or frying— blinking. Manmade fritz lies behind muscle and even brain. Why, that smile, while not shocking, belies emotion’s grounding: sic, read as written, if we can, with these dark plugs out. We will still cough. qxd 7/3/09 10:24 AM Page 19 A L O G - L O C K E D N AT I O N Nothing so national as a flag, the man says. A pink or blue wound you could take a pick to, a little level ground with tainted water. You could reconsider, the man says.
A flag over her body. Doesn’t she look nice? Guinevere slept with x who slept with y. Sutures sound like futures—hers? A tiny cat, fake fur still attached, the switch missing. qxd 7/3/09 10:24 AM Page 51 ANIMAL LOVER A horse rises in a balloon full of writing. You could ride it yourself and get no farther than brother, the animal inside clawing out. You are an animal though you seldom achieve such grace, except in cars. The animal that directs your dying Over here! with the wilder cells bunches in familial nests very close to I said that.