What Goes Without Saying

for Theresa Hak Kyung Cha,
her videos and her book DICTEE

vi vida vide vide o deo eo voce velata in english or french or latin each letter in a word gets its own space exil é e dict é e in korean, han'gul, characters cluster by syllable re spacing the signs to hear differently deseutude diseuse to speak to be spoken "she, of the interval" (Trinh T. Minh-ha) video snow as empty spaces swarming ( ) a man watches the white noise for a moment snorts, then walks out a mouth appears and opens sounds of water running from a faucet the mouth closes snow vibrations easing in again erasing the image of the mouth then the sounds of water increase and "the voices pour down like rain" (Joy Kogawa) a molecular hum riffling the pages of an open book sutra sutra commentary as counterpoint or undersong artus sutra a difficult jointure severe confined packed and deep "You write. You write you speak voices hidden masked you plant words to the moon you send word through the wind.... From one mouth to another, from one reading to the next.... The dawn or dusk the clay earth and traveling birds south bound birds are mouth pieces wear the ghost veil for seed of message. Correspondence. To scatter the words...." (DICTEE, 48) What about the history of hands in museum paintings their poses, what they presuppose or a child's Korean "I want to see my home again" carved inside a mine in Japan what about halmonis (grandmothers) outside the Japanese embassy in Seoul every Wednesday--every Wednesday-- since January '92 (Margaret Juhae Lee): discomfort women facing silent stone and glass and documents locked down in archives while back in '43, in relocation camps in the US of A, secondhand schoolbooks are piled high to keep out the wind white dust settling on the bones of empire all the relocutions a blindfold with AVEUGLE stenciled in black letters put it on yourself with your eyes closed only your hands to guide you parole in french, parole in english fold the blindness, then refold it fingering the edges Kore Kore a "we hereby divide. . ." / the mother tongue hands cup a glass bowl filled with water brilliantine sunlight billowing two voices speak french & english words layer upon layer, strand over strand sometimes the sounds shimmer and separate like laughter in another language alveolar tips light on the mouth's roof then morph to liquid sound light quaking in a bowl now all things arise and cease a breeze stirs over the necropolis "do you hear what I hear?" (Walter Lew) évitée resuscitation "mouth to mouth" brisance (

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