Sunday, June 8, 2014

Excerpts from 'The Zero Eye'---Michael Mc Aloran (Oneiros Books)

From 'the hang(ed) light

iii-

…flayed yes there is no light an empty chamber/ the flesh bound echoing it stills/ steals/ forgets is recollect/ amber the light dead nothing more/ this is the dead landscape/ invisible the naught by which all lights are viewed/ dead zones of paroxysm/ then nothing/ ever-speech murmuring like some retarded entity/ clasping the brutal tearing/ see/ settling/ it cannot it can only of/ asks then of the dead to follow on from/ the skin pared away/ obstruct of yes or no/ working the bone haven silently/ spitting piths of teeth unto where light cannot be retrospect/ dense as excrement what matter if/ sung sand/ muted/ claw lung of the silenced breeze of it/ distances to trace/ yes all over again/ as if one could/ what matter/ climbing the same ongoing mass only to recollect beneath/ afar/ afar from oneself/ no nothing/ hence/ what will or not/ claim no broken of course broken/ what of/ the substance of which cannot be of the disregard/ the hung light’s nothing claimed/ not  a distance to trace/ not from the commence of it/ back then to shadow onward/ settled/ never settled…

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vi-

…in echo’s chamber/ knock-knock/ dread stirring/ closed fist/ inebriate of solace tide/ where cleft alone bites the majesty of none/ of the dementia of X./ the black weight of all devoured/ shadowy nocturne of the bleeds escapade/ give or taken/ spent light of the hungs dissolve/ scattered skins scattered by the breeze/ all sight eradicated/ re-birthed/ back then till emptily/ sunk sight/ a butchers caress/ concrete kisses still the edge till nothing else/ becoming of the sight by which the dream exhales/ all strung together/ iced white/ diseased the words clamour of the hung light/ fleshed abandon in deserted rooms lacking desire or/ hence given to unfold/ dissipated wounds resurfacing unto/ claim claim of some foreign absenteeism/ knock-knock/ no answer/ the door is the winds promise of all else/ other than this/ as if it could be followed/ as still the shadows edge collapsed/ tidal immensity of murmurs lacking any merit/ screams that turn to dust as soon as they escape/ walls that peel of the solace nothing/ fleshless/ the black weight of/ no nothing ever/ not a trace/ fragments perhaps lacking traces/ transparent as the film coating the roving eye/ bitten by the dusts of collapse and final/ such is/ ever was… 

--

x-

…there may/ a hole in the socket that/ only the cataract knows of it/ blind death in the circus night/ laughter spasms reaching out for/ dead struck to lack/ loss of the obscene still yet or of the accord/ the stillness ever/ the naked foot of a woman upon a blood soaked pavement/ scattered hence the crows to the sky of murder/ all the while the broken glass appeal of sorrow’s chalice shattered/ revealing the essence known/ unknown/ long grasses the/ an estuary where/ dank detritus of the abscond/ night claiming/ yes again the night what of it what of/ it/ yet none of the dreaming of in the light unsung/ hung/ whittling the purpose sheer/ the slit of/ impregnated with absences/ soon yes or no/ bone whither and the asking of what matter/ the skin away appeal the skin is the surface tension/ bleeding colours of light/ what/ till close what of it/ closed as of/ blood fills the latrine/ emptily to travail and so for on it follows on from/ here or there the sun light/ dreams cast into the dark what of what if it/ they/ absentee/ not a trace either way/ fleshed yes there of course/ somnambulant/ echoing inwardly/ the eye set to rove…  


Code #4 Texts--Aad de Gids & Michael Mc Aloran (Oneiros Books)

front

“…echoes/ echo none/ echoing…echoes of the where…echoes of the…a clear…a clear cut wound the wound clear spliced…open undue the palm open spliced of/ not a distance to trace…blank the eye’s meat/ drained of/ spasm head no not of echoing/ dreaming/ a clear gash to the collapsed breath of…the meat of it/ haven/ knotted madly/ as if to recall the tumour of it or of the once departed/ all for/ nothing no colours not a…still yet the breathe bite blade of the bite/ ask/ ask/ absent purpose/ divulged the eye’s collapse/ not a sight nor sound/ ever-clear as this…from the outset/ begun/ shattered/ the frozen air/ stillness yes/ not a trace…”


CODE #4 TEXTS is available to purchase here

The Zero Eye--Michael Mc Aloran (Oneiros Books) reviewed by David McLean

front

The Zero Eye
Michael Mc Aloran
Oneiros Books, 2014
85 pp.
Review by David McLean

This collection by Michael Mc Aloran is condensed and highly idiosyncratic, perhaps his most experimental collection thus far. It is equipped with an introduction by Aad de Gids that brings out the direction taken, that the poetry laments the absence of something it very well knew was missing all the time. It is of the “itch of the redeem” and the knowledge that the itch never gets to be assuaged.

The book servers as a key to the others in a sense, a description of what happens “in damage seasons”, a summary statement of the pointlessness and the beauty there nevertheless is in all of the emptiness.

the silent light/ the light by which no light may be seen/
hence the distil/ the teeth of it/ the bones of it in a
slaughterhouse of all/ mocking the lung lock/ awash with
bile and unspeaking reckless nothingness/ no prayers for
the now/ silenced/ shine a light/ here a breath there a
breathe/ in damage seasons/ having breached/
absconded/ not a bloody chance/ no nothing/ no not from
the commence of/ no no other route…

Mc Aloran, says de Gids, is expressing a point about the development of the polities and sociuses in which we live, that their ultimately arriving at this dreadful impasse where everything is excused in the name of political rectitude is what we all anyway wanted, the endgame, the terminus, the final fucked up destination. I see the point of the poems as more ontological, that if we were living in a perfect Utopia life would still suck balls because of finitude, and the fact that the fuckers have remorselessly destroyed any chance of jouissance anybody ever had is just icing on the suicidal cake, as it were.

Still, the book introduces itself as “a book of misunderstandings” so the vicissitudes of interpretation are all well and good.

Mc Aloran is also a visual artist, thus the “eye” is deeply involved in the book, the function of seeing, usually taken as the exemplary sense for humans, and the comprehension of light and color, the conquest of color being something Deleuze regards as fundamental and a source of great anxiety for the visual artist.

…the eye recalls it does not recall/ stratosphere of bled/
sun light of asked of promise/ spat out/ sheen purpose of
the whole/ locked to the might of virulent/ a-breeze/
shattered frozen flesh/ dead light what of it/ the half moon
circus of redeemed purpose/ knocking the teeth from the
broken jaw what laughter now/ fingers yet/ yet fingers
hands to caress/ there is blood beneath the fingers of the
unearthed/ the earth clogs the lungs there is nothing in the
hands of breaking lightlessness/ as if to say/ what speech/
what of the voice that imparts the dead colours/ the
tourniquet heart/ spasm/ spillage of blood/ asks of till
given silences mocking the reaching purpose/ which is to
bile less than ever was before/ a syntax of shattered bones/
till ever-dreaming in the shadow’s longing/ as if to be gone
were the only crosshair in sight/ and yet/ subtle the
change in the pulse/ here or there/ dead light what of it/
spit forth/ the raped tune of these silences that cannot be
acquainted with/ less or more/ dead songs/ dissipatory/
struck shine/ some detritus of light.

Thus the book develops its reach into the emptiness from the most fundamental percepts, from the bottom up, instead of from the abstract and at an already and exclusively semantic level from which the text never departs, as I would have done.

All in all, a splendid read, well worth buying, and it's here