Adrienne Rich — Rereading The Dead Lecturer

Overthrow. And make new. An idea. And we felt it. A meaning. And we caught it as the dimensions spread, gathering in pre-utopian basements figured shadows scrawled with smoke and music. Shed the dead hand, let sound be sense. A world echoing everywhere, Fanon, Freire, thin pamphlets lining raincoat pockets, poetry on walls, damp purple mimeos cranking —the feeling of an idea. An idea of feeling. That love could be so resolute And the past? Overthrow of systems, forms could not overthrow the past nor our neglect of consequences. Nor that cold will we misnamed. There were consequences. A world repeating everywhere: the obliterations. What’s surreal, hyperreal, virtual, what’s poetry what’s verse what’s new. What is a political art. If we (who?) ever were conned into mere definitions. If we accept (book of a soul contending)