Frank Lima's Sacttered Vignettes

Frank Lima's Scattered Vignettes.

One of the few contemporary poems I stumbled across in my adult life and felt it contained a world within that I could inhabit, Frank Lima's Scattered Vignettes remains for me one of the most magical sustained invocations of language (English).

Elsewhere in this quixotic library and toy store, I have collected material of those who address misery by making an aesthetic object of consumption out of it. That is, while enjoyable, often, the trap. One cannot possess meaninglessness (the ultimate ghost of upheaval and trauma) by turning it into a product, buying and consuming it. Meaninglessness is more elusive than, say, delicious candy. In meaninglessness (death, violence, despair), the hunger is not sated by eating more of the same.

The groping towards any space of serenity in this relationship between observer, meaning and world, one that retains not only the images of trauma, violence and beauty but also the meaninglessness of those very things which make our time here storied, would require one to communicate or build something actually transformative.

This is not easy. Misery has stubbornly resisted prognostication and prescriptions, as in Marx, or magical solutions, as in Fascism. Often it hovers just outside the purview of Liberalism, the phantom limits of its ability to act. The nostalgia of religious fanaticism can only hold it at bay for so long. Ignoring it does not dispel it.

Frank Lima, so despairing, so ritually beautiful in his figures, so uncomplicatedly attuned to myth and the ceremonial gestures of magic, in a matter of a few pages, manages to cover a continental scourge of difficult and ambivalent territory. The miracle in these vignettes is how he never drops out of poetic voice. He takes things that are already meaningless (failed lives, the sad household objects that are the props for traditional magic) and uses them to help communicate the ultimate things, which are generally resistant to meaning (violence, ultimate taboos, spirit). Somehow the ineffable--by sheer conjuration of this sensitive but semantically perilous alchemy--manages to pass through.

For More on Frank Lima:
Here is an interview.