ASHES ARE FOR BURNING
A Cinema of Stills
Minor White
APPERANCES ARE FOR THE BLIND:
SO WE OUGHT TO LOOK AT THINGS UNTIL WE SEE WHAT ELSE THEY ARE.
JUST AS THE LINE IS GIVEN TO THE POET, SO IS THE SIGNIFICANT PHOTOGRAPH
GIVEN: THE REST IS UP TO ME. WHEN LINE AND PHOTOGRAPH ARE WELDED,
THE SENTENCE MAKES MY HAIR STAND ON END.
If the viewer is to engage the story in this sequence of photographs
and words, he must be willing to remember while looking at one picture
what the preceding picture and text reminded him of.
The viewer must assume that the photographs are used in a metaphorical
way and are linked, not by subject matter, but by mood, by overtones,
by the overall emotion evoked. ?The story is to be found in the
flow and contrast of moods which arise from the words and pictures
considered as poetry.
IN PAYMENT TO PROMISES MADE WALK WHITMAN AND WITH INVOICES TO
DONNE, DICKENSON & BLAKE: FREUD, STIEGLITZ AND WESTON.
E N T R A N C E S
HINGES REMIND ME OF DOORS THAT HAVE OPENED
BEFORE ME AND CLOSED BEHIND. AND THOSE THAT
I REMEMBER STAND WITHOUT WALLS.
ONE DOOR A HINGE REMINDS ME OF
IS THE GATE AT GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE,
IN HER GARDENS OUR ONLY DREAD WAS
THAT THE LILACS WOULD NOT LAST UNTIL DECORATION DAY
THE HINGE OF A BOOK REMINDS ME OF READING
THAT THE ONLY WEST LEFT WAS GO. AND I WENT.
ONLY I HAVE ENOUGH DAYS IN ME TO SEE THE WHOLE WORLD
WANDERER: WHEN SYMBOLS OF LAND AND SEA MEET I AM HOME.
I N T I M A T I O N S O F D I S A S T E R
HOW BLANK A DOOR THAT HAS NO FACE
SEEN ONCE THE SYMBOLS DANCE EVERYWHERE
STARING AT ME, DO THEY SEE THE SAME SYMBOL IN MY OWN FACE?
MIRROR, MIRROR, WHAT ANXIETY IS AUGURED?
B Y T H E L A W
[WITH BACK TO A LOCKED DOOR]
I HEARD A VOICE SAYING: \"BY A LAW OF YOURSELF YOU ARE CONDEMNED
TO LIVE IN FEAR OF THOSE WHO WILL LOVE YOU
AND TO BE BORED WITH THOSE WHO DO NOT.
CROSSED BRANCHES OVER BURNED STUMP: ASHES
THE VOICE SPOKE AGAIN: “YOUR LOT IS TO LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE WHITE IS BLACK AND BLACK IS WHITE”.
\r\n\r\n
HINGES ARE SILENT
WHEN THIS DOOR SHUTS
A M P U T A T I O N S
WITH BAYONETTE, WITH LAST WILL
& MINOR TESTAMENT, I WOULD CUT
AWAY ALL THINGS I GOT IN WAR
TO AZERIK DEAD OF A HOLE
IN THE BACK OF HIS HELMET
I LEAVE THE STORES OF SALT
TO MECHANIZED CAPTAIN BLACK
FOR INSPIRING HATE IN HIS MEN
I LEAVE MY HOMEMADE BOOBY TRAP
TO ARMCHAIR COMMANDO, CAPRECHETTI
I LEAVE MY PITY,
HE SHUNS THE SUN OF SPRING
BECAUSE THE SUN OF SUMMER KILLS
WHAT'S LEFT TO GIVE A MAN GONE BERSERKE?
MY FEET ARE GONE THAT RAN AWAY
MY HANDS CUT OFF THAT MURDERED
TO CROMPONE SORROWING FOR HIS BUDDY
NO TRIFLES REMAIN
SO I LEAVE THE MYSTIC SON
BORN OF SEED AS DRY AS LEAVES
TO DEATH I LEAVE MY BREATH TO DIE
TO SLATTERY BURRIED AT SEA
I LEAVE MY FISH LINE & CORK
HIS DAMPISH GHOST CAN FISH UPWARD
FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE BRINE