Writing on the PostCardPoems
It's a familiar format for motel postcards of this period: three distinct sections, showing the motel from the front, often another of the area around the pool, and then an example of one of the motel's rooms. This presentation is, at times, varied in its shapes and arrangement, and its distribution of images shifted in location and size, but otherwise, its tripartite formula becomes familiar.
In the postcard above, of the elongated top section, a large American car is parked at the motel's entrance, a yellow Oldsmobile, and behind it, we can see half of a van, white or tan, with a brown top. Both vehicles offer the most clarifying signs of the postcard's era, the early 1980s, while the design of the motel itself, with its many arches and its white stucco facade (with a neat brown trim of presumably clay shingles), speaks of the Southwest (indeed, the back of the postcard confirms that we are in Tuscon, Arizona). There are three palm trees of different sizes directly in front of the building and, in the foreground, there are other clustered low shrubs and bushes; two very large rocks and some arranged smaller stones complete the motel's designed entryway.
The sky above the motel is blue, sky blue (what will soon be recognized, from other postcards, as a recurring kind of "postcard blue"), but it's only partially visible above and to the side of the building.
No one can be seen at the entrance of the motel and even the vehicles appear to be unoccupied. It must have been very quiet at the time that the picture was taken. Beneath the motel's sign, AZTEC INN (using a kind of Aztec font for its lettering), is a smaller marquee, the kind with changeable lettering, announcing that the motel has "sports on a 7 ft. TV" and a "Sunday Buffet $3.95." Between the signs are two large light fixtures, their sharp shadows functioning like those of sundials, telling time. It's likely late morning or early afternoon.
In the image below, on the left, taking up the lower half of the postcard, we are in the motel's pool area. It's very sunny and five people can now be seen. In the foreground, there is a young man with dark hair, perhaps in his early thirties, standing in the water up to his stomach, both of his arms resting on the edge of the pool; one of his legs, submerged and at a right angle, is placed upon the visible steps that lead out of the pool.
Right next to him is a young woman, about the same age as the man, with short, blond hair and a striped, two-piece bathing suit, lounging out of the water, on the pool's concrete edge and its very green artificial grass; one exposed leg is resting upon the other, crossing at the calf, while one of the woman's arms is held in front of her. Both the man and the woman, tanned, are smiling quite broadly, as if posing for the photograph, while looking a bit to the side and not directly out of the picture. They are physically very close to each other but not quite touching, though the man's left hand, just behind the woman's back, is unseen. One assumes that they are a couple, perhaps on holiday.
The water of the pool is very blue, aqua blue ("pool blue"), with irregular waves of shadowy light reflected through it. Behind the couple, on the other side of the pool, we can see just the head of what appears to be a young man swimming, with dark hair, his mouth open. Directly behind him sits a woman in a dress, mostly in shadow, with something draped over her crossed legs and lap, perhaps a newspaper. At the far end of the pool, someone else is lying on a folded-out lounge chair, on his or her stomach, a hand positioned as if to block the bright sun, looking toward the couple (or perhaps toward the postcard's photographer). The person may be wondering why the picture is being taken.
In the third section of the postcard, the other half of the picture below, we see an unoccupied room of the motel, one that faces directly out onto the pool that is visible through the sliding glass doors, their tall white curtains pulled open. Two large beds are tightly made, with nearly matching red covers, once more using patterns suggestive of the Southwest. This material, and this theme, are repeated on the large picture above the bed (a full moon is depicted). A bulbous lamp is placed on a bedside table between the beds, and next to the lamp is a very white telephone, its spiraling cord dangling to the side several inches. A thick phone book is in the slot just beneath the lamp.
The carpet of the room is a deep red, and light from the table lamp casts shadows upon it. Opposite, there are two chairs, again using the Southwest fabric design. Between these chairs is another lamp and table, as well as a darkened television screen that is only partially visible.
On the narrow porch directly outside the room, there is a webbed folding chair and a small table. Through the room, out the window, and across the pool, a person can be faintly seen sitting in the sun under an arch and near the water.
What reality there was / buried in layers of seeing.
Of the earliest photographs, those being photographed were instructed to remain perfectly still. If they moved, it was understood that the camera would capture their motion--a turning head, a shifting shoulder, even the blink of an eye. Restless children and the wagging tails of dogs frequently render the blur of such exposed moments. One of the inventors of photography, Louis Daguerre, in what is often described as the first photograph that includes people within it, his View of the Boulevard du Temple, Paris, 1838, is a case in point, an exception that proves the rule. Daguerre's photograph is of a busy street in the middle of Paris on a sunny afternoon. One can assume that the sidewalks seen in the picture were, at the time the photograph was taken, bustling with people moving along. Still, the only person seen is a single individual who, apparently, had paused long enough for his image to be rendered, perhaps to have his shoes shined. Otherwise, the sidewalks are empty, or appear empty, for those walking along them that sunny afternoon had, in their motion, vanished into particles of light.
In the postcard above, of the elongated top section, a large American car is parked at the motel's entrance, a yellow Oldsmobile, and behind it, we can see half of a van, white or tan, with a brown top. Both vehicles offer the most clarifying signs of the postcard's era, the early 1980s, while the design of the motel itself, with its many arches and its white stucco facade (with a neat brown trim of presumably clay shingles), speaks of the Southwest (indeed, the back of the postcard confirms that we are in Tuscon, Arizona). There are three palm trees of different sizes directly in front of the building and, in the foreground, there are other clustered low shrubs and bushes; two very large rocks and some arranged smaller stones complete the motel's designed entryway.
The sky above the motel is blue, sky blue (what will soon be recognized, from other postcards, as a recurring kind of "postcard blue"), but it's only partially visible above and to the side of the building.
No one can be seen at the entrance of the motel and even the vehicles appear to be unoccupied. It must have been very quiet at the time that the picture was taken. Beneath the motel's sign, AZTEC INN (using a kind of Aztec font for its lettering), is a smaller marquee, the kind with changeable lettering, announcing that the motel has "sports on a 7 ft. TV" and a "Sunday Buffet $3.95." Between the signs are two large light fixtures, their sharp shadows functioning like those of sundials, telling time. It's likely late morning or early afternoon.
In the image below, on the left, taking up the lower half of the postcard, we are in the motel's pool area. It's very sunny and five people can now be seen. In the foreground, there is a young man with dark hair, perhaps in his early thirties, standing in the water up to his stomach, both of his arms resting on the edge of the pool; one of his legs, submerged and at a right angle, is placed upon the visible steps that lead out of the pool.
Right next to him is a young woman, about the same age as the man, with short, blond hair and a striped, two-piece bathing suit, lounging out of the water, on the pool's concrete edge and its very green artificial grass; one exposed leg is resting upon the other, crossing at the calf, while one of the woman's arms is held in front of her. Both the man and the woman, tanned, are smiling quite broadly, as if posing for the photograph, while looking a bit to the side and not directly out of the picture. They are physically very close to each other but not quite touching, though the man's left hand, just behind the woman's back, is unseen. One assumes that they are a couple, perhaps on holiday.
The water of the pool is very blue, aqua blue ("pool blue"), with irregular waves of shadowy light reflected through it. Behind the couple, on the other side of the pool, we can see just the head of what appears to be a young man swimming, with dark hair, his mouth open. Directly behind him sits a woman in a dress, mostly in shadow, with something draped over her crossed legs and lap, perhaps a newspaper. At the far end of the pool, someone else is lying on a folded-out lounge chair, on his or her stomach, a hand positioned as if to block the bright sun, looking toward the couple (or perhaps toward the postcard's photographer). The person may be wondering why the picture is being taken.
In the third section of the postcard, the other half of the picture below, we see an unoccupied room of the motel, one that faces directly out onto the pool that is visible through the sliding glass doors, their tall white curtains pulled open. Two large beds are tightly made, with nearly matching red covers, once more using patterns suggestive of the Southwest. This material, and this theme, are repeated on the large picture above the bed (a full moon is depicted). A bulbous lamp is placed on a bedside table between the beds, and next to the lamp is a very white telephone, its spiraling cord dangling to the side several inches. A thick phone book is in the slot just beneath the lamp.
The carpet of the room is a deep red, and light from the table lamp casts shadows upon it. Opposite, there are two chairs, again using the Southwest fabric design. Between these chairs is another lamp and table, as well as a darkened television screen that is only partially visible.
On the narrow porch directly outside the room, there is a webbed folding chair and a small table. Through the room, out the window, and across the pool, a person can be faintly seen sitting in the sun under an arch and near the water.
What reality there was / buried in layers of seeing.
Of the earliest photographs, those being photographed were instructed to remain perfectly still. If they moved, it was understood that the camera would capture their motion--a turning head, a shifting shoulder, even the blink of an eye. Restless children and the wagging tails of dogs frequently render the blur of such exposed moments. One of the inventors of photography, Louis Daguerre, in what is often described as the first photograph that includes people within it, his View of the Boulevard du Temple, Paris, 1838, is a case in point, an exception that proves the rule. Daguerre's photograph is of a busy street in the middle of Paris on a sunny afternoon. One can assume that the sidewalks seen in the picture were, at the time the photograph was taken, bustling with people moving along. Still, the only person seen is a single individual who, apparently, had paused long enough for his image to be rendered, perhaps to have his shoes shined. Otherwise, the sidewalks are empty, or appear empty, for those walking along them that sunny afternoon had, in their motion, vanished into particles of light.
In another motel postcard, we once again see the three-part structure of pictures being used, but this time the arrangement of images is inverted. The elongated exterior shot of the motel's exterior is now at the bottom of the picture, while the motel room and pool area are now on top.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
The exterior view below shows three floors of rooms, with two large, leafy trees on the left and right sides of the pictures (a parked pickup truck is seen, small, at the extreme right edge of the image). The sky above is blue, but this time some wispy clouds are a part of the picture. In the foreground, below, adjacent to the sharply defined rooftop of a smaller structure, three open parasols appear above a low brick wall, no doubt the pool area.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
Attached to that brick wall is the motel's sign: The Gov. Bradford Motor Inn (the back of the postcard indicates that we are now in Plymouth, Massachusetts, and the handwritten notation reads "April 1976").
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
The picture above, on the right, of the area around the motel's pool, confirms the placement of the three parasols, The small pool itself, shaped like a fish, is unusually green, reflecting both the adjacent tree and the evening sky. No one is present at the pool; the lounge chairs are empty, the water is undisturbed, and the diving board extends out into the luminous green.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
On the top left of the postcard, the vacant motel room is completely empty. The bedspreads on the two large beds are a bold, bright red, pulled tightly at the bed's edges. A door at the back of the room opens onto a balcony and a view of a distant body of blue water. Nothing appears out of place. No one is present; there is a stillness in the room, a stillness in the air.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
Perhaps one hears the buzzing of a fly.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
The exterior view below shows three floors of rooms, with two large, leafy trees on the left and right sides of the pictures (a parked pickup truck is seen, small, at the extreme right edge of the image). The sky above is blue, but this time some wispy clouds are a part of the picture. In the foreground, below, adjacent to the sharply defined rooftop of a smaller structure, three open parasols appear above a low brick wall, no doubt the pool area.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
Attached to that brick wall is the motel's sign: The Gov. Bradford Motor Inn (the back of the postcard indicates that we are now in Plymouth, Massachusetts, and the handwritten notation reads "April 1976").
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
The picture above, on the right, of the area around the motel's pool, confirms the placement of the three parasols, The small pool itself, shaped like a fish, is unusually green, reflecting both the adjacent tree and the evening sky. No one is present at the pool; the lounge chairs are empty, the water is undisturbed, and the diving board extends out into the luminous green.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
On the top left of the postcard, the vacant motel room is completely empty. The bedspreads on the two large beds are a bold, bright red, pulled tightly at the bed's edges. A door at the back of the room opens onto a balcony and a view of a distant body of blue water. Nothing appears out of place. No one is present; there is a stillness in the room, a stillness in the air.
Not a single person can be seen in any section of this postcard.
Perhaps one hears the buzzing of a fly.
signs of | no sign
The dividing of "time" and "truth," caught and colliding in Bruegel's stormy sky, as if the "person," St. Anthony, is torn in two by his own temptations, but seen, "saw" still--an "I," for an "I" (that small word, there at the edge)--that small mark nearly lost among the clouds.
Through the seemingly direct reference points, there’s a kind of suggested “anchoring” of the individual images (Benjamin’s word for the work of the “caption”): “sky-blue” on what is indeed a very blue sky. Often, with my multi-fragment postcards, one of the fragments frequently has some quasi-concrete link to the image, or a hint of a link anyway—like Magritte’s “pipe” that is not a “pipe.” Here, the “sky-blue,” though affixed to a picture of blue sky, is in fact syntactically joined not with that sky but with memories (memories of such a sky?), or with language “as” memories, memories that are finally (blindingly?) “forgotten,” or actually, even more absorbingly, “already” forgotten (having never been seen?).
The “slide” into the next card, though it was a bit inadvertent (dependent to some extent on that day’s pile of fragments), is suggested by the “meanwhile,” working almost like a hinge between the cards, again unplanned (Joyce frequently uses “meanwhile,” as you’ll know, to signal simultaneity and I like how that works in this card, too). A narrative is nearly suggested between the cards; almost.
“Meanwhile / the motion / beneath.”
Of course, there is no actual motion “beneath,” simultaneous or otherwise, but, in that busy scene, there certainly appears to be (along with a lot of noise, though Piccadilly Circus couldn’t be more silent, almost deathly so; almost?), and the word “motion” itself both describes and denies what’s happening.
“Meanwhile / the motion / beneath.”
Of course, there is no actual motion “beneath,” simultaneous or otherwise, but, in that busy scene, there certainly appears to be (along with a lot of noise, though Piccadilly Circus couldn’t be more silent, almost deathly so; almost?), and the word “motion” itself both describes and denies what’s happening.
Finally, on the third painted (interestingly not photographed) seascape postcard (in which there are at least as many people depicted as in Piccadilly Circus, packed onto all those ships), the “white cloud” is really not very white at all (though our imaginations often try to insist upon such color coding), but the “printed word” is unquestionably a printed word (or two of them, actually), and through them something like a “glimpse,” one that is, though, decidedly “broken.”
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