Core Samples from the World
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A gorgeous, wide-ranging volume of poetry and essays by Forrest Gander, studded with the work of three great photographers.Forrest Gander's Core Samples from the World is a magnificent compendium of poetry, photography, and essay (a form of Japanese haibun). Collaborating with three acclaimed photographers, Gander explores tensions between the familiar and foreign. His eloquent new work voices an ethical concern for others, exploring empathic relations in which the world itself is fundamental. Taking us around the globe to China, Mexico, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and Chile, Core Samples shows how Gander's "sharp sense of place has made him the most earthly of our avant-garde, the best geographer of fleshly sites since Olson" (Donald Revell, The Colorado Review).
of Andacollo. At dinner, the Santiago poet averts her face from the gringo although no one else is sitting close enough for her to engage in conversation. A synecdoche, he is taken for his government. She lights up and blows sullen smoke down the table. With suspicion at the threshold of dialogue, there is always a word blocking the first word. And on the second day of the festival, after many papers, a consensus emerges that there are no longer regions of poetry; there are zones. A distinction
night. For a while, linguistic fluency may be bluffed with a good accent and fast delivery, but speed leads to grammatical mistakes and embarrassment from which the speaker can only emerge, like a gambler playing the Martingale, by doubling the speed and then the mistakes until he finds himself fallen into a well below the world of human voices. So the one who was hosted becomes hostage. One night, he rides a bus to La Silla, The Saddle, an observatory bordering the southern extremity of the
fourteen in the eighties, in the nineties, twenty. BUTCHER The famous Kashgar animal market takes place only on Wednesday. Discrete tracts for goats and sheep, for horses, and for cattle. Thronged with pedestrians and carts, men on horses, women shouldering enormous loads. Freshly slivered watermelons quickly sepia with dust. A butcher draws his blade across the plush throat of a goat lying on its side, its legs bound. His foot on the animal’s face keeps the head pointed upward, the throat
around for the light. I thought, that plant’s growing before my eyes, it’s insane. What the news media don’t want you to know about. All the wild edible plants, for instance. Getting on good here, blacks and white. No fossil-fuel based technology. I’ve eaten owl. Wing muscles and leg muscles, that’s the only meat on him. So much roadkill—beavers, otters, deer, raccoon. We cook them up, preserve the hide instead of slashing it. Got it laid out real clear. A lot can be done with duct
that other doctor to move here. Like in Vietnam killing those women and kids, that’s not the American mindset but I think it might come to such. Tanning hides. Fire without matches. When others won’t, we’ll make it. Take five milk goats and a sack of sweet potatoes, you can go anywhere. The natural order of things is when a species gets dominant over its niche. I’m always baffled by the connections. That plant’s growing before my eyes, it’s —. Instantly felt comfortable here. Skinned