Kress

35-83

The only thing that I could think of throughout this whole section was a poem by Robert Hass entitled "Meditation at Lagunitas." When discussing the signifer and signified in terms of a difference in meaning, one must think on the way that people interpret the same thing in different ways. The idea of disconnect between perseption and speech is something that scholars have been battling to reconcile for years. I love that a class focusing on digital literacy can bring in such areas of inspection that are so fascinating. In this poem, does blackberry mean blackberry or as the poet suggests, does saying blackberry mean the death of its true meaning? Does speaking the word "woman" grasp its true perseption? It is a strange and interesting thing to tie into the digital realm.

All the new thinking is about loss.
In this it resembles all the old thinking.
The idea, for example, that each particular erases
the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown-
faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk
of that black birch is, by his presence,
some tragic falling off from a first world
of undivided light. Or the other notion that,
because there is in this world no one thing
to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds,
a word is elegy to what it signifies.
We talked about it late last night and in the voice
of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone
almost querulous. After a while I understood that,
talking this way, everything dissolves: justice,
pine, hair, woman, you and I. There was a woman
I made love to and I remembered how, holding
her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,
I felt a violent wonder at her presence
like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river
with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat,
muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish
called pumpkinseed. It hardly had to do with her.
Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances. I must have been the same to her.
But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread,
the thing her father said that hurt her, what
she dreamed. There are moments when the body is as numinous
as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.
Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,
saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.