In the darkness of my funks insights come to me. Epiphanies come floating up; geometric, physical-like. Spiritual. This time of year (a turning) brings its own weight and gravity, the season of my youngest's birth. I often give in to its tumult and twists of bleary-eyed tortures if only to live the long ago and far away: before the intrusion of feeling, when I touch the face of God and saw.
I was recently commissioned to interpret Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. I think I nailed it.
I used Poe's meter to coincide with rhyming pronominal-/case- endings of Inukt. but in an uniquely Inuit elocution - ie, my patterns fit within the stanza but obey their own beat. I did some readings of random sections and recorded the first stanza. Everything seems to fit so far. we'll wait and see...
The 'darkness' of the Raven is in the uncertainty of comprehension/apprehension of 'the moment'. Is it we who are unawares or the bird that can only repeat what it's heard? Does the Raven mean anything in its reproductions of human speech? Do we?
Of course we do (disregarding the bird for the moment).
We create art. We create representations of not so much the physical rendition of our subjects but its psychological archetypes that figure large therein. And in there they live and breathe, these ideas. Penny's (big bang theory) rolling-of-eyes mean different things at different times precisely because she's at play and responsive to the context. Go figure.