Poem of Critical Commentary: Lyn Hejinian

“Umbrellas — strange totalities — upheld,

wheeling.”

---Lyn Hejinian, ‘[but isn’t midnight intermittent]’ (poetryfoundation.org, 2.2.2024)

Remark: Lyn Hejinian.---Her name, then. Her reputation, that is. Her good name, then too. I hold myself to not upsetting her, nor her good name. Unless that upset were merely a seeming, a confusion, and so, perchance very well worth the seeming, initial confusion of her (untrue) dishonor, as this can go rather far for bestowing a greater good, as a return perhaps (to overdo it) of her same immutable good as before—plus an impossibly greater surfeit of self-same goodness, all this to her name. I sincerely wonder if her fortune, her fortunate name, or title, see: her titles, can change at all in any aspect in the least, no matter whatever the unter-spleen’d effluxes of this contribution. Again, and yet directly to it, a name: an umbrella, a strange totality, upheld, wheeling—and this, as a scant remodeling of how these words first appear in the herein remarked Lyn Hejinian excerpt above. The umbrella-name: mobile shelter, protection, safety, warmth, dryness, fashion, exoskeleton, defense, shield, hollow, nook, vagina, uterus, mouth, skin, trap, thing, object, item, expense, liability, property, herd, grace, salvation, heaven, hell, limbo, limit, enclosure. A name is like an umbrella: it keeps you safe from the elements. It makes you look cool (or uncool). A name is then again not much of an umbrella: this is for saying, although as very ill-defined from my over-extended laziness, everything else not on my list of (somewhat) synonyms, that can be proper to the umbrella-name issue herein. Now, a rather stereotypically postmodernist and even commonplace, yet and still risky, risk: the vaginal umbrella, and the uterine umbrella, as a concavity: thus far, if no more, geometrically isomorphic over some vaguely indiscernible range with the vagina and uterus. This symbol is also upheld, and wheeling, in the remarked above. Pleasure. It is a pleasure to read this remarked text, and so too to compile this somewhat-by-now staid postmodernist type of absurdly-hyperbolic interpretation of it far underneath it in the immortality pile. Lyn Hejinian is a pleasure. She is pleasurable,---so far as her authority extends its Cruel Pleasures of Power from the text remarked above to my own converse, or obverse, sided affection by it/her. Her name connotes joy. Or, let her name now connote joy. I demand it. Joy:---and then a list of the so many more historical forms it takes on in its etymological entries, as if were as I the great Jacques Derrida, that is, but all of these are herein censored, for want of more fun within this word-puzzle, out of a rankest silliness for exhaustive work discipline. A name is indeed a strange totality, anyhow. A totality that isn’t the one and only true ontological totality: the strange totalities of umbrellas. A totality that isn’t everything-everywhere-immediately-forever-whole,---is an ontic region, or finition. This rather unsurprisingly late postmodernist acceptation of the above Lyn Hejinian remarked here from on above remains, if only for my trifling exhaustiveness and exacting fancy, vaguely, nay impossibly, seeming very much like something-something close enough to her intention for it—again, if only, for myself—and confessedly in the teaching of a somewhat inaccurate pseudo-Levinas (whom is neither Lacan, which is my much truer damnation), as anyone’s personal intentionality is embodied in flesh at its limit, at the edge of its skin, in the aporia of such porousness, a crudely hewn but realistic ratio, or delineation, for dividing us into our sensation, yet singularly so, and so also as an exorbitant hollowness, void-subject, unreal and yet restless introjective center-point for the coordinate plane calculus of perception, et al., and so also, and finally, to be taken as a rather contingent and very partial outcome of the greater heights of the unintentional-for-me (disincarnate) sways of Nature’s lordship, to begin with, and the elemental declination of This externality. Intention resembles unintentionality. I am responsible for what happens, even if I didn’t intend for it to happen so.