Showing posts with label Sarah Mangold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sarah Mangold. Show all posts

Monday, June 5, 2023

Greg Bem : The Atom, by Sarah Mangold

The Atom, Sarah Mangold
Wave, 2023

 

 

We
are a repetition
of familiar forms.

(from Number 17)

 

Sarah Mangold’s latest work is a foray through a century-old series of drawings by Swedish artist and mystic Hilma af Klint: The Atom Series. Mangold has responded through book length form with her own series, a short interpretation and processing of the works that pushes forward Mangold’s powerful commitments to a contemporary feminist poetics across time and space. Mangold’s writings here are wondrously charged poem responses that bring Klint into 2023 through ekphrasis, existentialism, and literary conversation.

Klint’s The Atom Series was released in 1917, and according to Mangold in her chapbook’s afterword, they “illustrate two images of an atom on each page: one image shows the atom as it exists on the etheric plane and the other shows the atom’s state of energy on the physical plane enlarged four times.” A brief look at these works through a Google search reveals something between geometric elegance and hallucinogenic mutation. Klint is known to many art historians as the first painter to create abstract art, and we see in The Atom Series a fantastical journey between abstraction and representation by way of the painter’s personal relationship to and description of the works as a process, of an opened door.

Klint included captions to each, brief lines of poetry that offered a semblance of representation to otherwise superbly abstract and revelatory works of mysticism. Lines like “Through its longing to create ever more beautiful forms / first on the etheric plane, and then in matter, the body / becomes capable of being penetrated by light” (from The Atom Series, Number 4) accompany the beautiful and colorful artworks. Mangold provides every one of the captions alongside her original works: an awesome offer of reawakening and rejuvenation for Klint’s words, which stand up and feel current, fresh, living.

All
bodies of
the same kind serve
the substance.

(from Number 9)

The words offer a pathway to the core of each drawing, exploring the essence of “the atomic” through abstraction and poetry. Alongside contemporary discoveries and cultural phenomena including the X-Ray, Radio, and Science Fiction, Klint’s poems and paintings feel both ancient and futuristic, getting to the core questions of humanity. Indeed, they fit into that phantasmagorical period between romancing the pastoral and becoming inundated with the techno-industrial: where do humans, where does the human spirit, fit into this wild and perplexing world? Klint’s atoms are as much about atoms as they are about the awestriking impact of creation, where the minuscule and the infinite coexist somewhere in our minds.

Enter Mangold, at a time where the world continues to brace itself amidst ecological disaster, human rights abuse, and the complete and utter breakdown of consciousness into technological addiction and deadening. Mangold’s The Atom fits right in as a foil to the everyday horror we, global humans, face daily. Sarah Mangold’s small publication is a small siren or horn that beckons us to return to the radical exploration of the self as we move through a historical landscape of trauma and systemic pressure.

In addition to including all twenty captions from The Atom Series, Mangold offers her own interpretations of each work. Her writings capture a uniquely hybrid form that evokes a variety of poetry forms and aesthetics: vispo meets haiku meets confession meets tweet here. Each poem is circular, roughly 9-10 lines in length moving from short to long to short again. The twenty poems correspond with the twenty drawings and are also reciprocal to Klint’s captions.

I
am a pressure
gauge with a circular
face.

(from Number 3)

Like her previous works, Mangold brings personal voice into her atoms. There are many unknowns to Mangold’s words, but they are calm, collected, and despite their curious qualities feel direct and precise. This is a striking difference from Klint’s writing, which feels omniscient, guardian-like, the chorus or philosopher passing along flutters of wisdom. But Mangold’s words, her reflections and responses, her translations, read as wisdom too. They feel her own, and also universal. They have their own sense of mysticism in the era of the internet. As they bridge experience with field, the mystical is a return to seeking the raw, the harmonious, verisimilitude over delusion and consumption. They are open, mysterious, raw, and inviting.

Mangold isn’t the only artist to be entranced and inspired by Klint’s cosmic and awe-inducing visual works, but her poetry finds an element of relationship that connects to Klint’s voice be it through word or picture. She has positioned both the original works and her own into a new space that asks us to consider and reconsider the role of abstraction in our daily world of understanding, alongside the role of history. This aspect of the longitudinal emerges beyond previous postmodern disintegration and instead feels welcome in our shared global contexts.

 

 

 

 

Poet and artist and librarian and union organizer in Seattle Metro since 2010, Greg Bem lives on a ridge, explores ambience, peripherals, artificiality, and mountains.

Thursday, December 1, 2022

Meredith Stricker : Two poems (for Sarah Mangold

from Report from the Mangold Society, Vol. 1 No. 1

 

 

 

 


 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meredith Stricker works in cross-genre art and is co-director of visual poetry studio, a collaborative focusing on architecture and projects to bring together artists, writers, musicians and experimental forms. Her most recent book Rewild was awarded the Dorset Prize and recently appeared from Tupelo.

 

Friday, November 4, 2022

Lori Anderson Moseman : PIN [pen] (for Sarah Mangold

from Report from the Mangold Society, Vol. 1 No. 1

 

 

 

 

                                                              i.

Mangold [Sarah] taps me on the shoulder
pins me upon the skins of creatures

suddenly    peephole    nostalgia
suddenly    a widower + a witty crone + a mail carrier
         
      + two other poets + me [paid host]

         
      wait for Rich [Adrienne]
         
      who will read for us live

         
      tomorrow… we might, tonight,          (become surrogate daughters
         
      trill our tongues without naming       (for our weeping mail

         
      string birdsong to stars                        (carrier delivering love notes       
         
      stitch wild constellations                    (she herself never receives
 

but           manners demand we follow    
         
      the bereft widower to his domicile –  
         
      ghostly overstuffed cabin: raptors                

         
      share the ground floor with rodents.
                taxidermy chatter ushers us to upstairs'

         
      prize fox     the witty crone certain
         
      we will find his wife stuffed too

now          Mangold shows us his mate
         
      there in fauna’s placement

         
      in predatory relations
         
      their sewing hides

     
markets awaking
         
      the allowable departure

         
      from actualities       see it
         
      an index of her sensitivity tidy

         
      workroom’s order iridescent
         
      randomness of fatality

 

 

ii.

[Sarah] [Adrienne]

 

every specimen fact retracting
like vision     we choose to know
her landscape              or not

occupied places      perfect bound postcards
in want of a fox    briars of legends
 

this snail could have eaten the monster
this snail could travel     sleepwalking
could have dreamed it was a painter

an unconscious drive        burnt yellow eyes
lacerated skin                            sharp truth
 

putting up graffiti         now      ancient
patterned vision ridden
to move in on backhanded fear

to enfold in a protective        hand-         shake
a vixen’s courage in vixen terms
 

skin recital an accidental                  masterpiece
no   not accidental             scurrying attention
magnified              attentiveness

ontological tricks to slip        the normal
into the birth-yell of the yet-to-be

 

 

iii. 

                               a grid of permanence
the book instructs how to make
a strong winter sun with a cork

when masking fluid is not at hand
                              
some nicety will be required

remember what this color pencil cannot do
too much force too little spit

paper shreds back to pulp
                              
whipped white silk

on cold press, “obliged” the only
word blurring “turf as a rebirth”

dehydration kills most swiftly
                              
an ordinary fire

if only there were a tray
with little troughs for washes

Naples yellow and vermillion
                              
to change immediately after death

#12 brush makes a whole horizon
a continuous sky where air still hisses

in the room where mother sleeps
                              
bent into diverse attitudes

her nasal mask often out of place
each day inching toward the finishing

nap a lesson in low cloud mist
                              
perishing the keeper

soon her coma will blue her legs
she will merge and soften

a thin wash of rose madder
                              
devotion to the task at hand

hospice concertinas
the diorama the window

is less and less

                              
her wilderness her body
 

 

 

iv.

permanence
a weak winter sun
masking fluid
 

nicety
too much force
paper shreds
 

whipped
 “obliged”
“turf . . .”
 

ordinary
only there
little troughs
 

immediately
air hisses
           
mother sleeps
 

bent
out of place
inching
 

perishing
coma blue
rose madder
                              

the task
         
less
         
less

 

 

 

Wreading Sarah Mangold’s The Goddess Can Be Recognized By Her Step (Dusie Kollective, 2014) and Her Wilderness Will Be Her Manners (Fordham University Press, 2021) with Adrienne Rich’s “Sleepwalking Next to Death,” Times Power: Poems 1985-1988 (Norton, 1989) and the title poem in Fox 1998-2000 (Norton, 2001). Weaving in, too, poems I wrote when my dying mother was in hospice.

 

 

 

 

 

Lori Anderson Moseman’s latest poetry collections include Darn (Delete Press, 2021), Y (Operating System, 2019), Light Each Pause (Spuyten Duyvil, 2017), Flash Mob (Spuyten Duyvil, 2016) and All Steel (Flim Forum, 2012). Her collaboration with book artist Karen Pava Randall, Full Quiver, is available from Propolis Press. A former educator, she ran Stockport Flats press from 2006 to 2016. See https://loriandersonmoseman.com

 

 

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