When I opened up Treadwell’s document, I was at a loss for language. Her poems strike me as so beautiful, so well-thought and felt, so perfect, that it seems silly to even broach a reaction to such a piece of work.
I’ve been reading my friend Charles Bernstein a lot lately. Charles has a habit of making up words. I’m not a shallow person, but I tend to have my own set of words I rely on heavily. I’m just not all that curious about new words to say things. I’m too much caught up in struggling with the mundane. So, Charles’ work has me googling things like Disfluency.
Treadwell makes me go to the dictionary for Passerine. A sparrow. Which includes more than half the species of birds. Which includes more than half the birds.
I feel like I’m with my ex watching Iranian cinema. And to make matters worse, we are in Montreal, so the subtitles are in French. The film is called Gabbeh.
This poem, Treadwell’s poem, is “about” the patriarchy and motherhood and nature. It’s subversive without seeming so. All Iranian films are funded by the state, of course, so it is forbidden to show a man and woman touching, or criticize the government. So, you make a film (you make a poem) about children or about a rug. You write a poem about nature, but you include the words earthly griefs, we couldn’t sleep, we champion each other.
You sit back and watch the film in two languages that are both foreign to you. As the beauty unfolds, so does the story. This is called the magic of lyricism.
Did I mention it before? Treadwell is an amazing writer. Period. The End.
I’ve been reading my friend Charles Bernstein a lot lately. Charles has a habit of making up words. I’m not a shallow person, but I tend to have my own set of words I rely on heavily. I’m just not all that curious about new words to say things. I’m too much caught up in struggling with the mundane. So, Charles’ work has me googling things like Disfluency.
Treadwell makes me go to the dictionary for Passerine. A sparrow. Which includes more than half the species of birds. Which includes more than half the birds.
I feel like I’m with my ex watching Iranian cinema. And to make matters worse, we are in Montreal, so the subtitles are in French. The film is called Gabbeh.
This poem, Treadwell’s poem, is “about” the patriarchy and motherhood and nature. It’s subversive without seeming so. All Iranian films are funded by the state, of course, so it is forbidden to show a man and woman touching, or criticize the government. So, you make a film (you make a poem) about children or about a rug. You write a poem about nature, but you include the words earthly griefs, we couldn’t sleep, we champion each other.
You sit back and watch the film in two languages that are both foreign to you. As the beauty unfolds, so does the story. This is called the magic of lyricism.
Did I mention it before? Treadwell is an amazing writer. Period. The End.