Poem of the Month / The PACK Admires

For St. Valentine: JILTED. Stéphane Mallarmé.

from A Tomb for Anatole, [7]                                 what has taken refuge your future                    in me                     becomes my purity through life, which I shall …

‘The human mind is not some otherworldly essence that comes to house itself inside our physiology. Rather it is instilled and provoked by the sensorial field itself, induced by the tensions and participations between the human body and the animate earth. The invisible shapes of smells, rhythms of cricketsong, and the movement of shadows all, in a sense, provide the subtle body of our thoughts. Our own reflections, we might say, are a part of the play of light and its reflections.

‘By acknowledging such links between the inner, psychological world and the perceptual terrain that surrounds us, we begin to turn inside-out, loosening the psyche from its confinement within a strictly human sphere, freeing sentience to return to the sensible world that contains us. Intelligence is no longer ours alone but is a property of the earth; we are in it, of it, immersed in its depths.’

David Abram

For St. Valentine: GREATER THAN LOVE. Stephanie Adams-Santos

Horse Head Underwater Strewn to waste. Over the white pulp of mouth,                                                        Stark— The little eddies.                               God I stumble away …