FACTURE
© Caroline Knapp 2013
L R Llittle red leaves textile editions
www.littleredleaves.com
FACTURECaroline Knapp
little red leaves textile series 2013
[3]
[3]
reticent wick. curve. gravity
of grain. smoothing-irons hot
across the landscape. horizontal passage
and repassage of men. to eat bread and coffee
in the gravity of them. wet
grey names affixed. a
damage. a welcome shade.
and the gold-frame stands outside it.
eye hears their talk
up like gold-straw f licks in heat. the day-
pulse. it shepherds them.
tend. tint. tind. tender.
Noon with Figures
[4]
[4]
I’ll be a birch
I’ll be a cottonwood
I’ll be a coyote willow
when they make
their silk tassles
Pastoral
[5]
[5]
the tablecloth’s clean plane
her mind gone out
into the things
accompagnateur
candles
as wax
who
goes
between
shadow
a dragged path
snow
Portrait: Domestic
[6]
[6]
outline
my shadow as
interior curve
as of a drum
waiting across
contour
stone field
adherence to
attend
field
my sown
under snow
[7]
[7]
each
drift’s shadow
the snow’s table
on fire
[8]
[8]
pan gloss surface on everywhere
this hard abeyance recoil of
every starred grass
every descripted against I
will starve in the field
I cannot taste
come be watchful for me
Nature Morte
[9]
[9]
a scrap
a stand of
shape
in thin air
a palette knife
the ah
in claro
held
to draw
along
a blade’s
frame
Landscape
[10]
[10]
my boy
in light his
black rectangle
his red natural
hands open
and everything falls
helplessly
through
gesture
an invested
line
through feature
[11]
[11]
to figure
from dark trouble
that eye
form will not forsake
is to craft
of sharp
an orphan shore
a trace
making a
a
a
a note
to love
[12]
[12]
one entwining of
forms equally form
moil and toss
etcetera
tourneur of arisen air
in pines
a lit cloth and skin the
body’s broad participle
an unsupervised participant
more sight than eye can
reconnoiter recounter
give
The Bathers
[13]
[13]
over to touch the
vibration of
dust through sieved
light a horse rolls
sheened glimpse the solid
silhouette of
appearances
what must be said
does not exist anywhere
within her unformulated
a life more the river’s than
[14]
[14]
the radio back on
some witness
a wavered
step
glossed and armoured f lies
what this would look like
flesh as much as
sunk pools
the lowlands in full
orison in
pines
[15]
[15]
what does not exist anywhere
would look like
a blank between
all forms equally
in my lowlands
shore
distinguishment
the cradle of things
[16]
[16]
I have left out
artery beneath form
artery
[17]
[17]
what took me was light on either
side. see how quiet . . . lee . . . shapes
a willow lets time through . . .
see, a bed full of hairpins.
see, live riverbank twists and mossy
they had . . . the Flood-tide with them.
a gardens runns down a great way.
even so, divigate. willough . . .
you . . . with them by several stepps . . .
Portrait: Device
[18]
[18]
they came trailing . . .
sheets pinned up . . .
to make rooms.
whose that knocking.
. . .
prest thorough the willowe
. . . a
clean sieve and findings.
also see my face
shell polyvocal lays woodgrain with
water sets out meshd
traps.
[19]
[19]
they go where they never were
bed full of shadow and
cross passages.
I lay you down the local
quarter . . . worn with traverse
and bright
in black footway
fountaining
against the stream.
[20]
[20]
Portrait: Trace
clad is door enough and take this
in a wave and it breaks
catching up see to that at hand and
I have my darted fit
this like a conduit
this like a labor
criede at thusse place
this is the wood they live in
hollow
[21]
[21]
a teeth and hipbone hinge
arrives the fresh skins
I have my facture
my fracture dissolves into is
this Bearer goes away so presently
+
this present like a facet
this with no perspectival or pictorial
arrives in like a wave and
[22]
[22]
weather-like
skins
my brushes
+
are we not
clothed in
form
+
the weaver stands the loom
[23]
[23]
and bravely my
shaking still
still to shake in this to be brent
web
+
this little wile
this morning
I have my composition
[24]
[24]
this afternoon
this evening
+
those roses are in a pile
that wind ope’d doors in the wood
I have f lesh of my sap
my f lash I seep
by perseverant workings the interior
like anything
[25]
[25]
else
little season
his is my house and this my
+
dead some residue
this kins
this the
+
I have this moment heard
[26]
[26]
+
this is my poore
gate
[27]
[27]
nulle part
danceuse
Still Life
[28]
[28]
what is left
on the loom
the warp
the day verticals
note of
eye-silks
atonal rustle
of parts bestirment
the beloved sleeps
sweetly f lung
shaped sweetly
sleeps I
Portraiture
[29]
[29]
and I
see outward the
generous the
touched room
of and and
the the trees’
courage
through
surface
the bare
strung
cord
Caroline Knapp lives and writes in Oakland, California. These
poems, and their poet, owe glad debts to the de Young Museum,
Maurice Merleau-Ponty, and Paul Cézanne’s letters to Emile Bernard.
This little red leaves textile series chapbook was designed and sewn by
Dawn Pendergast in Houston, Texas.