These two poems are an excerpt from David Spittle’s recent pamphlet with HVTN Press—B O X

BOX 11.

“The finding of an object serves here exactly the same purpose as a dream, in the sense that it frees the individual from paralyzing affective scruples, comforts him and makes him understand that the obstacle he might have thought insurmountable is cleared.” André Breton ■ As the object becomes the material articulation of a desire it emerges that collecting is to life what dreaming is to sleep: “just as the function of dreams is to ensure the continuity of life.” Jean Baudrillard ■ I dreamt of collecting dreams, that is, wishing for a chance to wish for a chance and then, on waking, I searched everywhere and felt the embarassing pang of being genuinely saddened by the loss of something that had never existed.

 

BOX 21.

I remember you telling me – like a box from a comic-strip –

and I sat there nodding dumbly

and I thought how sad it was, how pathetic

that “I love you” now became

the imploring “but I love you”

and there it was, it was, there was equivocation

and I remember the sound of gravel under tyres,

dashboard’s glow, lane’s black yawn and Winter

or maybe I remember Summer

and how a photo is the memory

and so I don’t, I don’t remember –

but there was, it was, outside of framing

happening without a promise of what it was.

 

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David Spittle has poetry published in Blackbox Manifold, 3am, The Literateur, Datableed, Zarf, and is translated into French by Black Herald Press. Twice shortlisted for the Melita Hume Prize (2015/2016) and included in the Best New British and Irish Poets 2016 Anthology (Eyewear Press). His first pamphlet, B O X, is with HVTN Press (September, 2018), from which these two poems are taken.