aglimpseof 17 . GAIA’s FLESH


October 2014-March 2015

SOURCE TEXT: The collage text Gaia’s Flesh edited by Sarah Crewe and Dimitra Ioannou


• The poem Gaia Is Gone by Louise Anne Buchler is linked to the words “Gaia.”

• The sound piece Gaia’s Flesh and an Untitled Poem by Alice Hui-Sheng Chang is linked to the words “flesh,” “history,” “geography.”

• The poem Becoming Gaia / a liturgy to accompangy transition by Markie Burnhope is linked to the words “toxins,” “genes,” “contortions,” “textures,” “holes.”

• The video Lijis by Misha de Ridder.

• The artwork Untitled (Landscape) by Lefteris Tapas is linked to the words “My holes, my parasites, my luminosity, my turbulences are oracles.”

• The visual poem Not Without Newsprint by John Morgan is linked to the words “membrans,” “geography,” “turbulences,” “dead.”

• The poem Ventricle by Steve Toase is linked to the words “goddesses,” “fallen,” “heart” from from the source text Gaia’s Flesh. | published March 14, 2015.

• The video Evanescent episodes: arrival and exodus by Caroline de Lannoy is linked to the words “MIraculous MOmentary SAtisfaction,” “We become Gaia” from the source text Gaia’s Flesh.

• The poem Estuary by Ann Matthews is linked to the words “dead,” “trees,” “dandelion fluff,” “turbulent,” “between sea and marsh.”

• The poem Terrible Goddess by Yoko Danno is linked to the words “yesterday,” “swallow,” “living,”  “wind,” “pile,” “human,” “pear tree,” “earth.”

Gaia‘s Flesh
My toxins, my temperatures, my hormones, my precipitations are climatic.
My genes, my blood cells, my organs, my wilderness are history.
My contortions, my breathing, my colors, my mutations are intelligence.
My textures, my membrans, my secretions, my definitions are geography.
My holes, my parasites, my luminosity, my turbulences are oracles.

D.I. (Dimitra Ioannou)

We live in Gaia’s flesh.
We celebrate the weeds, the incects, the gardens in motion (Gilles Clément), the MIraculous MOmentary SAtisfaction (Francis Ponge), the water goddesses, the season of hellebores (winter), the march of buds (Karel Capek), the speckled Italian salamander, the golden Greek jackal…
We become Gaia.

Gaia’s Flesh

Once, this planet had plenty of water
(But that was in the days when all those things
That now belong to a dead language – things such as dawn,
Looks, and smiles – were still portents of things to come)

Tada Chimako, After Half a Century, translated from the japanese by Jeffrey Angles.多田-智満子-Ⅲ

Yesterday I was reading about the reasons for the disappearance of song birds in Germany. The spread of scientific forestry, horticulture, agriculture, have cut them off from their nesting places and their foo
d supply. More and more, with modern methods, we are doing away with hollow trees, wastelands, brushwood, fallen leaves. I felt sore at heart. I was not thinking so much about the loss of pleasure for human beings, but I was much distressed by the idea of the stealthy and inexorable destruction of these defenceless little creatures that the tears came into my eyes.

Rosa Luxemburg: Letters From Prison Wronke, May 2nd, 1917.

Here at the sea’s edge
I have planted my dragon-toothed garden
to defend the porch,
steadfast warriors
against those who protest their impropriety
even to the end of the world.
A fathomless lethargy has swallowed me,
great waves of doubt broken me,
all my thoughts washed away.
The storms have blown salt tears,
burning my garden,
Gethsemane and Eden.

derek jarman’s garden, Thames & Hudson 1995.

Derek Jarman, Prospect Cottage, Dungeness, Kent, UK.
Derek Jarman, Prospect Cottage, Dungeness, Kent, UK.
who raised 
these rocks of human mist

pyramidical survivors
in the cyclorama of space

In the
austere theatre of the Infinite
	the ghosts of the stars
perform the "Presence"

The celestial conservatories
blooming with light
are all blown out

excerpt from Mina Loy’s, “The Starry Sky” OF WYNDHAM LEWIS, Lunar Baedeker, Poems 1921-1922.

                                                                      in tenebris
walking the land between sea and marsh
                                                                      in tenebris
floating the cows like funerary urns
                                                                      in tenebris
glossing the mud as the jewelled head
                                                                      in tenebris
the sea creatures near converse
                                                                      in tenebris
stupid beings crouched
                                                                      in tenebris

From In The Footsteps by Wendy Mulford.

Continue reading “aglimpseof 17 . GAIA’s FLESH”

Terrible Goddess

by Yoko Danno

Among piles of dust and ashes lie
yesterday’s fireflies—motherfucker,
mother earth, who swallows all
sentient beings—have you ever
thrown up corpses from indigestion?

“I will defy death by setting up
1,500 maternity homes in a single day
in the land of the living,” god retorts
to his wife, the eater of bizarre food,
the multi-faced goddess with centi-legs

Her white hair floating in the air
like dandelion fluff—rootless,
will-less, antenna-less— she goes
sailing with every shift of wind.―
Tomorrow maybe a turn for a new life

“Animals don’t escape to somewhere,
but from something,*” god says. In time
a moonlit pear tree may grow― but for now
he is singing sweet love songs for humans
under the shadow of nuclear umbrellas

*Quoted from “Life of Pi” by Yann Martel

aglimpseof 15 . DINNER IS SERVED

Τonight you are invited to an improbable dinner hosted by the French writer Antonin Artaud (1896-1948), with special guests, the Japanese poet Yoko Danno, the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, the French writer Joseph Joubert (1754-1824), the French philosopher Hélène Cixous, the American poet Frank O’ Hara (1926-1966), a character created by the Japanese writer Kobo Abe (1924-1993), and the American poet Evelyn Posamentier.

This dinner could only take place in an improbable space like, for exemple, the installation “I’m Here, But Nothing 2000” by Yayoi Kusama which was presented at the Tate Modern (2012).

The guests talk about tonight’s menu, about the Marvelous, the voice(s), the food, the mind, and a ghost succeeds in communicating with them.

Issue’s 15 source text is co-edited by Yoko Danno, the British writer Ed Garland (extract from “The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert,” translated by Paul Auster), Dimitra Ioannou (extract from “Antonin Artaud, Selected Writings,” translated by Helene Weaver, University of California Press), titles of poems from the collection “Brainiography” by Evelyn Posamentier Argotist Ebooks), extract from the book “Coming to Writing’ and Other Essays” by Hélène Cixous, translated by Sarah Cornell, Deborah Jensen, Ann Liddle, and Susan Sellers, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1991), extract from the play The Ghost is Here by Kobo Abe, translated by Donald Keene, Columbia University Press), and Antonis Katsouris (extract from BIOTHERM (FOR BILL BEKSON) by Frank O’ Hara, Selected Poems, edited by Ronald Allen, Carcanet).

ISSUE 15 (January-March 2014) CONTENTS

~ a poem from Nocturnes by Jane Joritz-Nakagawa is linked to the words ‘caves,’ ‘mind breathes,’ ‘root.’

~ the artwork About the Marvelous by Caroline de Lannoy is linked to the words ‘The mind breathes outside the mind,’ ‘the Marvelous.’

~ the drawing Dinner Is Served by Andreas Kassapis is linked to the words ‘abandon your lodgings.’

~ the prose text Explication by Anne Boyer is linked to the words ‘The recipe tonight. A spoonful of madness.’

~ the poem Inextinguishable Lights by Ali Znaidi is linked to the word “swallow.”

~ the prose text En Panne by Denis LHomme is linked to the words “THE BRAIN SCATTERS ITSELF.”

~ the drawing Jocœur by Denis Lhomme is linked to the words “THE PHANTOM IS HERE.”

Dinner is Served

Antonin Artaud: Leave the caves of being. The mind breathes outside the mind. The time has come to abandon your lodgings. Surrender to the Universal Thought. The Marvelous is at the root of the mind.

Yoko Danno: The recipe tonight. A spoonful of madness, a kind of bait to lure fish or the opposite sex. Phosphorescent simile and a pinch of secret vice added in the broth.

Yayoi Kusama, I'm Here but Nothing 2000
Yayoi Kusama, I’m Here but Nothing 2000

Yayoi Kusama: One day, I suddenly looked up to find that each and every violet had its own individual human-like facial expression, and to my astonishment they were all talking to me.

Joseph Joubert: But the voice is not made only of air, but of air modeled by us, impregnated by our heat and enveloped like some kind of skin by the vapor of our inner atmosphere accompanied by some emanation that gives it a certain shape and certain properties capable of producing effects upon other minds

Hélène Cixous: I was raised on the milk of words. Languages nourished me. I hated to eat what was on a plate. Dirty carrots, nasty soups, the aggression of forks and spoons. ‘Open your mouth.’ ‘No.’ I let myself be fed only by voice, by words. A deal was made: I would swallow only if I was given something to hear.

yayoi-kusama Fruits 1995
Yayoi Kusama Fruits, 1995

Frank O’ Hara:
Déjeuner Bill Berkson
30 August 1961

Hors-d’oeuvre abstrait-expressionistes, américain-styles, bord-durs, etc.
Soupe Samedi Soir à la Strawberry-Blonde
Poisson Pas de Dix au style Patricia
Histoire de contrefilet, sauce Angelicus Fobb
Le réunion des fins de thon à la boue
Chapon ouvert brûlé, sauce Fidelio Fobb
Poèmes 1960-61 en salade

Fromage de la Tour Dimanche 17 septembre
Fruits des Jardins shakspériens
Biscuits de l’Inspiration de Clarence Brown

Vin blanc supérieur de Bunkie Hearst
Vin rouge mélancholique de Boule de neige
Champagne d’ Art News editeur diapré
Café ivesianien “Plongez au fond du lac glacé”
Vodka-campari et TV


Antonin Artaud: Words rot at the unconscious summons of the brain,


FUKAGAWA: (begins writing, repeating aloud GHOST’S words.): “Eight years and six months ago … The place was inside a Shinjuku department store in daytime … Until quite recently haunted the vicinity of Kabuki-cho. Since then … Hobby is riding trains … At the time he enjoyed crowds, but at present has a tendency to be attracted instead by solitude … Chief worry now? … Fear …” (Puts down his pen and nods.)

Antonin Artaud: Fear is poetry.


by Ali Znaidi

Capitals and cities vied for releasing
the most extravagant New Year’s lights.

On the periphery, near a tent
pierced by the wind
innocent children were celebrating
sharing the lights of an ember
on the verge of extinction.

Now, the extravagant lights dimmed.
But the children’s tears are still
releasing the most glittering lights.

— Lights on the verge of becoming a blaze.

Lights which will never be swallowed by
the piles of ash.