
Q: What does writing in paradise have to do with a bunch of poets beneath a palm tree? (0)
Several years ago, during the Eden of a Miami dry season (known as winter in most of the country), I sat around with a group of young poets playing language games the French Surrealists made up almost a century ago. Our goal was to unlock the unconscious and share our loamy, gritty, terrible (1) personal ephemera. Or: our goal was to make something new from the viscera of our collective imagination. Or: our goal was to honor insouciance in a scholarly setting (halls of ivy and strangler figs, rules of meter and meaning). Maybe we just wanted to free ourselves from the constraints of rational order, substituting chance and indeterminacy for premeditation and deliberation. (1½)
Or maybe Paradise made us Continue reading “On Surrealism in Paradise: Or How Collaboration Makes People Crazy (I mean Magic)”
You must be logged in to post a comment.