“There are aesthetic emotions for which there are no corresponding thoughts, emotions that awaken the Unconscious alone and that never touch the brain; emotions vague, indefinable, confused; emotions that wake whirlwinds and deep-sea hurricanes…” [words: Benjamin de Casseres, ‘The Unconscious in Art’; image: Francois-Henri Galland]
Poetic goes beyond imaginable into the sphere of a dream, of some unconscious possibility. Poetry is interested in creating newness. It “points to language;” it makes “language artificial” and unrecognizable 
. The meaning is not given nor aimed at; the new possibilities are offered and investigated. New connections are established. The old ones disrupted. Poetic is overwhelming.
A memory, a kiss, a moment, a view, a feeling, a sound, a thought, a gesture – all these could be poetic.
Encounter with a poem is personal; the extracted meaning (or rather a ration-less sensation) private. The poetic digs deep… It reveals the hidden wantings… what teases us, jolts us, magnifies us. The poetic reveals us. Contact with poetic is both sobering and elevating; it both crushes and repairs.
In some way poetic is always outside the law; rebellious. It disobeys. It is full of seeming errors. It puts language in disarray. But this constant revolt generates novelty. Poetic is outside the stasis. It shatters everything we knew and leaves us in the sphere of liminal, in a state of becoming – lost to what we were but not yet found in our newness.
Poetic does not result in the meaning. It is perceived corporeally. It affects the body, the bones, the vessels. The reading is rhythmic. It resonates. Poetic is felt, rather than known. Intuitive rather than conscious. The experience is inexpressive yet it sways us profoundly. It takes us out of the comfort zone of knowing. It disarms us…
The poem is illegible; it brings us in a state of affinity, “an ambivalent relationship felt towards an object.” This “affinities tug us towards something” but we are left in a state of travel.
Some things I think of when thinking of poetry:
One of the most poetic film scenes of all time by Hungarian master Bela Tarr, shot in a mesmerizing one take.
Photography by Ines Kozic
Choreography by Dimitris Papaioannou
A reminder that we could read poem as something that it isn’t. “Read it as a constitution, love letter, or recipe…” [image: Masao Yamamoto]
Poems by Pier Paolo Pasolini, Derek Jarman, Syliva Plath, Luce Irigaray, Pablo Neruda, Paul Eluard, Federico Garcia Lorca, Sergei Yesenin, Marty McConnell … [image: Francois-Henri Galland]
Contacts with strangers … brief … magical … [image: Luna Jovanovic]
Reading this article… [image: Yung Cheng Lin]
Words by Luce Irigaray from ‘Elemental Passions’:
“You give me being. But what I love is the fact that you give it to me. Staying there is of little matter to me. I like your giving me a mirror which is not made of ice. Your flowing into me, and me into you. Receiving you melting, molten, and giving that flow back to you. Without end.
When I am affected and reaffected by you in the profoundly distant totality, I rediscover the total expansiveness of my affections. The total space of my outstretching. The full extent of my flow. Of my fluidity. Why do you fear to lose me there?
But when lips kiss, openness is not the opposite of closure. Closed lips remain open. And their touching allows movement from inside to outside, from outside to In, with no fastening nor opening mouth to stop the exchange. The possibility of exchange is born from two lips remaining half open?” [image: Yung Cheng Lin]
[Text: I. F.]
 All quotes are from the book “How Reading is Written” by Australian poet, performer and researcher Astrid Lorange