The Perforated Map, and Writing the Unknown

In English my mind has to make deep circles to get at what seems obvious. The circles have gotten smaller, but I continue to travel, not as a tourist but going back to places I have lived in before, in other languages, other cultures. In writing as in life, I have moved, and returned to ; I have wandered around and desired. Like re-reading a book at different ages, I have re-read places at different ages. In the same way reading Henry James will create a different space from reading Frederick Douglass, these writers, like travel, are the maps, and my words come out of a longing to participate, to insert myself, to become "one with"

…that we live in the center of a physical poetry, a geography that would be intolerable except of the non-geography that exists there–few people realize that they are looking at the world of their own thoughts and the world of their own feelings.

Wallace Stevens, The Necessary Angel

“The body is a field,” Robert Creeley wrote. The body is a map. “In America space haunts, not architecture,” I wrote in Fugitive. And so I approach what haunts me : Books like Susan Howe’s Europe of Trusts, LeslieScalapino’s Way, Inge Christensen’s Alphabet and Michael Palmer’s Sun ; Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictée written in multiple languages, calling on all nine of the muses for a fluid interplay of literature, identity, history, film and biography haunts me : poets like Marina Tsvetaeva, Paul Celan, George Oppen, Lorine Niedecker and Arthur Rimbaud haunt me ; Emily Dickinson and H.D. haunt me ; Bishop’s “Crusoe in England”, Virginia Woolf, and many others left unaccounted for, haunt me.

via The Perforated Map, and Writing the Unknown by Elena Rivera.