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