Poetry is the shadow of man. It extends him; increases
him; diminishes him; deforms him; sticks to his body by an invisible hinge;
follows him; precedes him; or walks at his side. At least from the perspective
of the gods, because, for man, it is his actions that create his worth, that
are the roots of being in him, and that surround him. Which only shows how the
poetic work, with a malaise equal to its lucidity, offers to us a laughable
reflection of our own gestures, ancient gestures colored by magic, everyday
gestures, new gestures, sacrilegious gestures, bizarre gestures, gestures by
which makes and unmakes himself in the intertwining of his myths. Poetry
opposes the pure and useless scraps of its inconsistency to the attempts of the
Faire. Nevertheless, this is the moment in which philosophy effaces itself to
allow room for an art of living, for a style that demands analysis, the slow
analysis and revalorization of the Forms and Shades. Faced with the decline
that menaces it, poetry is ready to be made concrete and, through a return to
its sources, to be crowned a new force and form of action so that its magical
virtue, long veiled, is rekindled in the fire of the sciences. The will to be
done with the individual as a point of comparison doesn’t cease to affirm
itself in innumerable attempts at collective expression. From Lautréamont to
the situationists, the same urge pushes personal awareness to surpass itself,
to get free of itself and to re-find itself in the flux of the tides, among the
unanimous swelling of the waves and the always-singular crests of foam.
Concrete poetry, by simultaneously joining together action and philosophical
meaning, claims to renew the previously broken links of grand communication and
to open itself to the human under the sign of liberty, disalienation, and the
totality. How could such a poetry – an integral (or totalitarian) poetry, a
poetry that simultaneously covering thought, dream, fantasy, magic, awareness
and action, simultaneously multiple and singular, limited and unlimited – how
could it avoid a fundamental ambiguity, an imperfection, something uncompleted
or an oversimplification in its presentation (dependent on the bookish form and
writing), which, here, is its own? What are these fragments? In no case are
they works of traditional poetry or theory. If one must situate them, it would
be somewhere between coded messages, magic formulae, work songs, revolutionary
hymns and literary agitation. Reading them is like reading a musical score
whose meaning and value come from its performance. One must bring to these
texts lives that only audio-visual technology can kindle in the hearts of the
masses; one must bring them into collective action, which, by transfiguring
them, will assign to social praxis its veritable measure, which is that of
man-become-world. If their critique can be reduced to this simple assessment,
essentially tied to the comprehension by and collaboration of a large number of
people, they were the work of a single one.
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