but works an effect

For in accord with the Eastern conception, the mandala symbol is not only a means of expression, but works an effect. it reacts upon its maker. Very ancient magical effects lie hidden in this symbol for it derives originally from the “enclosing circle,” the “charmed circle,” the magic of which has been preserved in countless folk customs. The image has the obvious purpose of drawing a sulcus primigenius, a magical furrow around the center, the templum, or temenos (sacred precinct), of the innermost personality, in order to prevent “flowing out,” or to guard by apotropaeic means against deflections through external influencs. The magical practices are nothing but the projections of psychic events, which are here applied in reverse to the psyche, like a kind of spell on one’s own personality. That is to say, by means of these concrete performances, the attention, or better said, the interest, is brought back to an inner sacred domain, which is the source and goal of the soul. This inner domain contains the unity of life and consciousness, which, though once possessed, has been lost, and must now be found again.

Jung, C. G. Psyche & Symbol. Ed, Violet S. de Laszlo. New York, NY: Anchor Books, 1958. 321-2

the unity of all

…overcome now by rapture, now by terror, at he mysteries which are opening before me. All round me walls are crumbling, and horizons infinitely remote and incredibly beautiful stand revealed. It is as though threads, previously unknown and unsuspected, begin to reach out and bind things together. For the first time in my life my world emerges from chaos. Everything becomes connected, forming an orderly and harmonious whole. I understand, I link together, a series of phenomena which were disconnected and appeared to have nothing in common. …
I am reading the chapter on levers. And all at once a multitude of simple things, which I knew as independent and having nothing in common, become connected and united into a great whole. A stick pushed under a stone, a penknife, a shovel, a see-saw, all these things are one and the same, they are all “levers.” In this idea there is something both terrifying and alluring. … It it as thought I already feel the unity of all and am overcome with awe at the sensation.

Ouspensky, P. D. A New Model of the Universe

a spiritualized circle

The spiral is a spiritualized circle. In the spiral form, the circle, uncoiled, unwound, has ceased to be vicious; it has been set free. I thought this up when I was a schoolboy, and I also discovered that Hegel’s triadic series (so popular in old Russia) expressed merely the essential spirality of all things in relation to time. Twirl follows twirl, and every synthesis is the thesis of the next series. If we consider the simplest spiral, three series may be distinguished in it, corresponding to those of the triad: We can call “thetic” the small curve or arc that initiates the convolution centrally; “antithetic” the larger arc that faces the first in the process of continuing it; and “synthetic” the still ampler arc that continues the second while following the first along the outer side. And so on.

Nabokov, Vladimir, Speak Memory, 275.

it is a reality in itself

The constellation is the simplest possible kind of configuration in poetry which has for its basic unit the word, it encloses a group of words as if it were drawing stars together to form a cluster.
The constellation is an arrangement, and at the same time a play-area of fixed dimensions.
The constellation is ordered by the poet. He determines the play-area, the field or force and suggests its possibilities. the reader, the new reader, grasps the idea of play, and joins in.
In the constellation something is brought into the world. It is a reality in itself and not a poem about something or other. The constellation is an invitation.

Gomringer, Eugen in Concrete Poetry: A World View. Ed. Solt, Mary Ellen. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1968.

the possibility of other/additional/simultaneous texts

That this text is designed to interpolate itself into emptiness/silence—to let emptiness/silence in—gives it remarkable breath: possibilities of in- and exhalation to writer and reader alike. I’d like to suggest that it is a woman’s feminine text (denying any redundancy) that implicitly acknowledges/creates the possibility of other/additional/simultaneous texts. This is a model significantly different from Bloom’s competitive “anxiety of influence.” It opens up a distinction between the need to imprint/impress one’s mark (image) on the other and an invitation to the others discourse as necessary to an always collaborative making of meaning. Collaboration with the reader is unnecessary only when meaning is being reported rather than made.

Retallack, Joan. The Poethical Wager. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. 125.

a lived pattern of conscious and unconscious values

If poethics is a lived pattern of conscious and unconscious values, its contested habits of being are performed in literature as lettristic-phonemic practices. These ventures foreground the parts of our human agency exercised by means of configuring words—words that incorporate and transform experiences of mind, society, and nature at increasingly busy linguistic intersections. Poetry, as chronically blurred genre, can demonstrate just how busy by operating simultaneously from multiple perspectives, in multiple dimensions, in multiple languages that draw on the inherent ambiguities, cross-references, polyglot intercultural vectors of all languages in today’s electronically intimate world. Poetry, particularly authentically contemporary poetry (that which could only have been written in its own time), is polyglossia in motion. The poethics that comes out of the postmodern crisis is in programmatic dissonance with simplistic thinking and ideals of purity.

Retallack, Joan. The Poethical Wager. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. 104.

little gaps of solitude and silence

The problem is no longer getting people to express themselves, but providing little gaps of solitude and silence in which they might eventually find something to say. Repressive forces don’t stop people from expressing themselves, but rather, force them to express themselves. What a relief to have nothing to say, the right to say nothing, because only then is there a chance of framing the rare, or ever rarer, the thing that might be worth saying.

Deleuze, Gilles. Negotiations. New York: Columbia University Press, 1997.

understanding what is subversive about love

People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints, such people have corpses in their mouths.

Vaneigem, Raoul. The Revolution of Everyday Life. Trans., Donald Nicholson-Smith. London: Left Bank Books and Rebel Press, 1983. 15.

realization of utopias

A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when Humanity lands there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail. Progress is the realization of Utopias.

Wilde, Oscar. The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: Historical Criticism, Intentions, the Soul of Man, Volume 4. Ed., Josephine M. Guy. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. 247.

shoring/another sense another said

It is possible to imagine thinking, with its concepts, dictionaries, and organon, as shoring ‘man’ against the forces of chaos and dissolution, but we can also — when we extend this potential — see thinking as a confrontation with chaos, as allowing more of what is not ourselves to transform what we take ourselves to be.

[In addition] to the produced texts and terms, and in addition to the explicit historical presuppositions, there is an unthought or outside — the problem, desire or life of a philosophy. For Deleuze, then, reading as a philosopher requires going beyond his or her produced lexicon to the deeper logic of production from which the relations or sense of the text emerge. This sense itself can never be said; in repeating or recreating the milieu of a philosopher all we can do is produce another sense, another said.

Colebrook, Claire in
Parr, Adrian, Ed. The Deleuze Dictionary. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2005. 4.