"Earlier in the history of American literature, the novelist Henry James acknowledged in his biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne that "the best things come, as a general thing, from the talents that are members of a group; every works better when he has companions working in the same line, and yielding the stimulus of suggestion, comparison, emulation. As a facet of country's cultural history, clusters have been an outstanding feature of our literature."
So we all know about community. Wouldn't be here if we didn't believe in it right. But why are we afraid of losing ourselves to a cluster? The possibility of narrowing, constricting but at the same time the possibility of expanding. Since the self is a little s anyway mirrored from others why not just let go of the delusion that we are special (same compost heap etc.)
Then again, we are special. If we were too similar the clusters would fail. And fail they haven't.
Silliman talks about this unique moment in literary history without a solid cluster or clusters. Just little clusters failing to gather momentum. Everything is post this post that. Even the anarchists are post. Post punk (or dead punk).
So when do we get past the post?
(this is the "point" of this entry as per the title)
But I can't stop. So on another note:
Getting nervous, real nervous, about the onslaught of summer. it's still nice and cloudy in Greensboro, NC. A little nip. Low of 29 last night.
Ran into a few blogs hyping the sumshine:
So exposed in the sun. All the tanning etc. I like blusters.
Tight white undershirts, long johns, wool socks, boots, scarfs, gloves, wonderful acrylic hat. Snuggle and bundle all the way.
Also feels like a few poet bloggers are turning 30 (myself included).
It is good to feel less alone.
What is it about 30 that makes mortality more real (as opposed to 29)?