Videotape
Andrew Zawacki. Counterpath Press, $14 paperback
(128p) ISBN: 978-1-933996-34-9
Film and poetry share some interesting properties.
Loosely speaking, both are laid out in long, sequential strips comprised of
individual units. Each unit on its own makes little sense, yet when the linear
strip is broadcast through some mechanism—the projected image to the eyeballs,
the spoken word to the ears—a whole image is produced and consumed.
If we accept this functional simile, then what would
we call Andrew Zawacki’s book-length poetry collection, Videotape, in filmic terms? Its scattered collection of loose
scenes from around the world wouldn’t really qualify as a documentary, or any
other genre one is likely to see at the megaplex. I see it as a home video
collection. It was in an unmarked cardboard box, lost in the basement for many
years. It’s damp, many of the tapes are damaged, and they are unlabeled.
Slipping the forgotten tapes into the machine (recall that satisfying
“ka-chunk” sound as the VCR accepts the cassette), you view the grainy scenes,
memories from someone else. Broken scenes from a life that you don’t understand
yet are compelled to watch.
Haloed by the devil’s own down-
pour: stop motion poplars, in a platinum stutter, the binary code of gravity
that pulls them toward the sod & solder their uv pro- gramming pushes them
from ...
Zawacki’s shifty and impressionistic verse skips,
cuts, and blurs the image, evoking eroding film stock. Though he avoids most
emotional terms, the representation of the poems as damaged and beyond repair
gives the book an undercurrent of decay and disuse. The thing about video tapes
is that they are old, outdated, and almost considered (shudder) vintage.
. . . scrolling
out from quinol clouds, by zoetrope or strobe: the moon, a strip of aluminum
foil, stuck to the film stock - here
Again, if poetry is film and film poetry, what does
it say about poetry to tie it so closely to a bygone technology? Has poetry
lapsed into obsolescence too? I think it’s a little bit “yes” and a little bit
“no”. Look to vinyl collectors, found-footage enthusiasts, classic 38mm
revivalists, remix culture and ephemera hounds, where outmoded technologies are
collected, discussed, dispersed, and loved despite their dust. Maybe Zawacki’s
poems/tapes are like that, someone taking an old form, seeing possibilities in
its age and imperfections, and projecting a bit of their weird light through
it. (March 2013)
Reviewer bio: Tom Taff lives and works in Saint
Paul, Minnesota.
