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1 | --- | ||
2 | title: 'How to read this' | ||
3 | project: 'Elegies for Alternate Selves' | ||
4 | ... | ||
5 | |||
6 | This book is an exploration of life, of all possible lives that could be | ||
7 | lived. Each of the poems contained herein have been written by a | ||
8 | different person, with his own history, culture, and emotions. True, | ||
9 | they are all related, but no more than any of us is related through our | ||
10 | genetics, our shared planet, or our yearnings. | ||
11 | |||
12 | Fernando Pessoa wrote poems under four different identities---he called | ||
13 | them *heteronyms*---that were known during his lifetime, though after his | ||
14 | death over sixty have been found and catalogued. He called them | ||
15 | heteronyms as opposed to pseudonyms because they were much more than | ||
16 | names he wrote under. They were truly different writing selves, | ||
17 | concerned with different ideas and writing with different styles: | ||
18 | Alberto Caeiro wrote pastorals; Ricardo Reis wrote more formal odes; | ||
19 | Álvaro de Campos wrote these long, Whitman-esque pieces (one to Whitman | ||
20 | himself); and Pessoa's own name was used for poems that are kind of | ||
21 | similar to all the others. It seems as though Pessoa found it | ||
22 | inefficient to try and write everything he wanted only in his own self; | ||
23 | rather he parceled out the different pieces and developed them into full | ||
24 | identities, at the cost of his own: "I subsist as a kind of medium of | ||
25 | myself, but I'm less real than the others, less substantial, less | ||
26 | personal, and easily influenced by them all." de Campos said of him at | ||
27 | one point, "Fernando Pessoa, strictly speaking, doesn't exist." | ||
28 | |||
29 | It's not just Pessoa---I, strictly speaking, don't exist, both as the | ||
30 | specific me that writes this now and as the concept of selfhood, the | ||
31 | ego. Heraclitus famously said that we can't step into the same river | ||
32 | twice, and the fact of the matter is that we can't occupy the same self | ||
33 | twice. It's constantly changing and adapting to new stimuli from the | ||
34 | environment, from other selves, from inside itself, and each time it | ||
35 | forms anew into something that's never existed before. The person I am | ||
36 | beginning a poem is a separate being than the one I am finishing a poem, | ||
37 | and part of it is the poem I've written has brought forth some other | ||
38 | dish onto the great table that is myself. | ||
39 | |||
40 | In the same way, with each poem you read of this, you too could become a | ||
41 | different person. Depending on which order you read them in, you could | ||
42 | be any number of possible people. If you follow the threads I've laid | ||
43 | out for you, there are so many possible selves; if you disregard those | ||
44 | and go a different way there are quite a few more. However, at the end | ||
45 | of the journey there is only one self that you will occupy, the others | ||
46 | disappearing from this universe and going maybe somewhere else, maybe | ||
47 | nowhere at all. | ||
48 | |||
49 | There is a scene in *The Neverending Story* where Bastian is trying to | ||
50 | find his way out of the desert. He opens a door and finds himself in the | ||
51 | Temple of a Thousand Doors, which is never seen from the outside but | ||
52 | only once someone enters it. It is a series of rooms with six sides each | ||
53 | and three doors: one from the room before and two choices. In life, each | ||
54 | of these rooms is a moment, but where Bastian can choose which of only | ||
55 | two doors to enter each time, in life there can be any number of doors | ||
56 | and we don't always choose which to go through---in fact, I would argue | ||
57 | that most of the time we aren't allowed the luxury. | ||
58 | |||
59 | What happens to those other doors, those other possibilities? Is there | ||
60 | some other version of the self that for whatever complexities of | ||
61 | circumstance and will chose a different door at an earlier moment? The | ||
62 | answer to this, of course, is that we can never know for sure, though | ||
63 | this doesn't keep us from trying through the process of regret. We go | ||
64 | back and try that other door in our mind, extrapolating a possible | ||
65 | present from our own past. This is ultimately unsatisfying, not only | ||
66 | because whatever world is imagined is not the one currently lived, but | ||
67 | because it becomes obvious that the alternate model of reality is not | ||
68 | complete: we can only extrapolate from the original room, absolutely | ||
69 | without knowledge of any subsequent possible choices. This causes a deep | ||
70 | disappointment, a frustration with the inability to know all possible | ||
71 | timelines (coupled with the insecurity that this may not be the best of | ||
72 | all possible worlds) that we feel as regret. | ||
73 | |||
74 | In this way, every moment we live is an elegy to every possible future | ||
75 | that might have stemmed from it. Annie Dillard states this in a | ||
76 | biological manner when she says in *Pilgrim at Tinker Creek*, "Every | ||
77 | glistening egg is a memento mori." Nature is inefficient---it spends a | ||
78 | hundred lifetimes to get one that barely works. The fossil record is | ||
79 | littered with the failed experiments of evolution, many of which failed | ||
80 | due only to blind chance: an asteroid, a shift in weather patterns, an | ||
81 | inefficient copulation method. Each living person today has twenty dead | ||
82 | standing behind him, and that only counts the people that actually | ||
83 | lived. How many missed opportunities stand behind any of us? | ||
84 | |||
85 | The real problem with all of this is that time is only additive. There's | ||
86 | no way to dial it back and start over, with new choices or new | ||
87 | environments. Even when given the chance to do something again, we do it | ||
88 | *again*, with the reality given by our previous action. Thus we are | ||
89 | constantly creating and being created by the world. The self is never | ||
90 | the same from one moment to the next. | ||
91 | |||
92 | A poem is like a snapshot of a self. If it's any good, it captures the | ||
93 | emotional core of the self at the time of writing for communication with | ||
94 | future selves, either within the same person or outside of it. Thus | ||
95 | revision is possible, and the new poem created will be yet another | ||
96 | snapshot of the future self as changed by the original poem. The page | ||
97 | becomes a window into the past, a particular past as experienced by one | ||
98 | self. The poem is a remembering of a self that no longer exists, in | ||
99 | other words, an elegy. | ||
100 | |||
101 | A snapshot doesn't capture the entire subject, however. It leaves out | ||
102 | the background as it's obscured by foreground objects; it fails to | ||
103 | include anything that isn't contained in its finite frame. In order to | ||
104 | build a working definition of identity, we must include all possible | ||
105 | selves over all possible timelines, combined into one person: identity | ||
106 | is the combined effect of all possible selves over time. A poem leaves | ||
107 | much of this out: it is the one person standing in front of twenty | ||
108 | ghosts. | ||
109 | |||
110 | A poem is the place where the selves of the reader and the speaker meet, | ||
111 | in their respective times and places. In this way a poem is outside of | ||
112 | time or place, because it changes its location each time it's read. Each | ||
113 | time it's two different people meeting. The problem with a poem is that | ||
114 | it's such a small window---if we met in real life the way we met in poems, | ||
115 | we would see nothing of anyone else but a square the size of a postage | ||
116 | stamp. It has been argued this is the way we see time and ourselves in | ||
117 | it, as well: Vonnegut uses the metaphor of a subject strapped to a | ||
118 | railroad car moving at a set pace, with a six-foot-long metal tube | ||
119 | placed in front of the subject's eye; the landscape in the distance is | ||
120 | time, and what we see is the only way in which we interact with it. It's | ||
121 | the same with a poem and the self: we can only see and interact with a | ||
122 | small kernel. This is why it's possible to write more than one poem. | ||
123 | |||
124 | Due to this kernel nature of poetry, a good poem should focus itself to | ||
125 | extract as much meaning as possible from that one kernel of identity to | ||
126 | which it has access. It should be an atom of selfhood, irreducible and | ||
127 | resistant to paraphrase, because it tries to somehow echo the large | ||
128 | unsayable part of identity outside the frame of the self. It is the | ||
129 | kernel that contains a universe, or that speaks around one that's | ||
130 | hidden; if it's a successful poem then it makes the smallest circuit | ||
131 | possible. This is why the commentary on poems is so voluminous: a poem | ||
132 | is tightly packed meaning that commentators try to unpack to get at that | ||
133 | universality inside it. A fortress of dialectic is constructed that | ||
134 | ultimately obstructs the meaning behind the poem; it becomes the | ||
135 | foreground in the photograph that disallows us to view the horizon | ||
136 | beyond it. | ||
137 | |||
138 | With this in mind, I collect these poems that were written over a period | ||
139 | of four years into this book. Where I can, I insert cross-references | ||
140 | (like the one above, in the margin) to other pieces in the text where I | ||
141 | think the two resonate in some way. You can read this book in any way | ||
142 | you'd like: you can go front-to-back, or back-to-front, or you can | ||
143 | follow the arrows around, or you can work out a complex mathematical | ||
144 | formula with Merseinne primes and logarithms and the 2000 Census | ||
145 | information, or you can go completely randomly through like a magazine, | ||
146 | or at least the way I flip through magazines. I think writing is a | ||
147 | communication of the self, and I think this is the best way to | ||
148 | communicate mine in all its multiversity. | ||