Printmaking, Typesetting and the Space between Words
Four small wooden blocks,
centuries old, probably,
defunct lettershop press.
Intricate I silk-screened,
marbled and block printed,
finally I sorted metal and wood type
Every white space between every word -
A printer has to think about negative space
as something tangible.
En Space - rectangular metal or wood
whose primary purpose is to be smaller.
It is never seen, it doesn't catch ink,
doesn't sit proud, not an ordinary character,
nonsense, a trick, a flourish, a dingbat.
Printing is as much an act of spacing
as an act of marking.
Inefficiency is a virtue in a print workshop,
spaces in the composition -
spaces in the workplace.
It doesn't take a turtleneck
to see why
blank space, is so moving.
Impure found poem
taken from an article by Lindsay Lynch,
How I Came to Love En Space.
From The Atlantic.com, published Sept 9, 2016.
Surviving the sea
Rare west wind blows coast to sea,
While I rewax board, stretch limbs
Climb into wetsuit, crash right into
classic combers rolling in on the Atlantic sea.
No rip current, in fact no current to speak of,
it's the wind carrying my pleading voice
away from the last jut of land,
from lighthouse, from all forms of rescue.
For thirty-two hours waves were my only earworm,
vying for attention as my mind scorched,
get me out of the sea, the bone grinding,
pervasive, seeped-in, cold of the sea.
No one knows the levels of dark that comes
when the sea tries to eat you at night,
black moonless sky, black land encircling,
black endless bed of ocean.
A single speck, yellow surf board no better than a
Canary in a mine,
blue flies set it aglow in the darkest hour.
Buff of wind, splash of mist,
paddling to preserve body heat,
If I close my eyes I will drown.
A seagull helicopters overhead,
I dream of being found.
Impure found poem
First published at Nocturne Podcast
Shortboard a podcast by Vanessa Lowe
August 10th 2017