This is just ravishing, Cameron, I keep coming back to it and reading it over and over again and, really, I have nothing to suggest that might improve it. It has such a forward momentum that it carries one through its typographical eccentricities so that, as a reader, I feel almost like a blind man feeling my way through a maze that grows more and more familiar as I proceed. The negative theological connotations it sets up with God as a blankness (as opposed to a flood or a whirlwind), a blankness that only a blind poet can supply with the variegated logos of creation—that gyre of thought takes me, as a reader, on a thrilling ride. I love how this God frees his blind Adam from sin in such an unorthodox way, and how blindness and blankness are the source of the all, how blindness to the all restores blankness, and yet blindness in blankness then restores creation, word by word by word. The whole unfolds like an alchemical process in which only the adept can distinguish between the prima materia and its ultimate transmutation.
As I have said before, these blind poet poems need to be collected, and published as a suite.
Nemo
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