Frances Richard wrote and performed the following poem as part of HMD's 2016 Bridge Project, "Ten Artists Respond to Locus, a multidisiplinary exchange inspired by dance pioneer Trisha Brown. In the performance, Richard marked the graphic symbol "<<>>" with a simple hand gesture, a quotation from Brown's Accumulation (1971).
Frances Richard's program notes for Locus Poem:
"Locus Poem considers several kinds of 'placedness,' including a) being
subject to gravity, like absolutely everything in the universe; b) belonging
to a lineage or parentage—or not; c) questions about differences
between saying words out loud, writing words down, making gestures
with the body, and notating gestures on paper; d) questions about
thinking and moving inside categorical systems, and how such systems
are simultaneously orderly, constraining, mysterious, imperfect, secretly
outrageous, necessary. Most of the poem comes from notes I took in
2016 Bridge Project workshops with Diane Madden, Associate Artistic
Director of the Trisha Brown Company.”
Photo by Margo Moritz of Frances Richard reading her "Locus Poem."
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LOCUS POEM
A body is always shown in fragmentation ( so ) ( we )
seek out liquidations ( you see a sound
interlocking with its own shape in the air >>>> emanata: speed or stress lines
emphasizing valence >>>> )
a ground-math, invented
entity to help you. Map the
spiral cross-touching while resisting
the reference-body.
“We are fools in language, yes—”
We need everyone to be a person.
∧
∨
If I disintegrate the letters in a printed page will you
receive it in particles cathected, stray in private
flesh, a borrowed impress foisted <<>> loss projected as
disintegration—no—because the blowing letters
unadhesived from their selves, their tissue words mute honey
phrases drip, smear into yours, get heady, crystalize.
Toss and regather. Leave it alone <<>> take
the backward step. Meaning don’t
do much, just touch
the floor, the air, your bones, flesh, mind, and
others. Like, the place is there exactly
when you need to fit in it, to measure
placedness. And otherwise
it flashes, drops.
∧
∨
Let’s practice our
politics of the lack of
—is it knowledge <<>> drawing-trace, or the weight of
keeping wanting
to over-cross? Because she is not
a piece of paper. Counterforce
to gravity is desire—will—momentum—
centrifugal
∧
∨
spin.
( So ) go ahead and lean on space
( it ) keeps ( us ) from flying off the planetary
surface, keeps our organs organized, affects every
object, creature, event constantly ( gravity
qua god, the given
mother << very available >> << a lineage
of speed or stress lines ) emphasizing >> valence.
You be time and I’ll be
space—no—take
the opposite.
∧
∨
( So ) challenge is extended
repetition like being
one unstatic place. Take agency over each orifice, resisting. Though obviously everyone
needs parents—that is, combinations
geometric, viscous, sweet, preservative, medicinal and
collectively secreted from each orifice like honey. Right now
a honey of gravity is dripping
( so ) The penultimate word is
the ground. The ultimate word
suspends above the head.
Space-between is the gut.
( Are you saying gravity secretes from the
gut of the planet—yes—are you saying
repetition is the mother, is a
valence challenge—yes—are you
tossed, regathered, flashing, private, smeared
in language? Yes. )
∧
∨
“It’s really kind of fun” she said, “to barely fall <<>> falling
requires you to connect, which is what I like
about a vocabulary motivated <<>> via falling”
through a little liquid zone, a shaped speed
or stress, invented
entity to help you organize. Qua secret mother written on the air who doesn’t
see my body, secret
body practicing its lack qua
piece of paper. Maybe now you’re wondering
what << qua >> is? In the condition of, deriving from a feminine
root meaning who. And ( so )
the shame of questions
is there exactly when you need to fit in it, and then it
flashes, drops.
Show me again
<<>> how my body appears <<>> falling <<>> I never
learned
∧
∨
( So ) think right now <<>> whose work
makes your mind possible.
Kept
that part of my safety-shape. The
inter-given, weight of the phrase
qua semiotic of the nervous line, an empty
drip of molten space that makes
the pelvis possible <<>> in the condition of
the spiral possible
I just was thinking about this all my life.
∧
∨
( So ) see her moving
emanata in an over-remote
micro-past, saying viscous, thinking
ground-math, mapping secret
counterforce—fool practice >>>>
<<<< tongue of the muscle to lick the
numbered air.
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Thanks
especially to
Brian Conley
Tracy Taylor Grubbs
Emily Hoffman
Peiling Kao
Hope Mohr
Bhumi Patel
Megan Wright
and
Diane Madden