[from Eileen Myles's blogpost on Harriet]
. . . I had received a grant that year for poetry so naturally I bought an electric bass. It was kind of hot for poets at that moment to be in a band. I had one lesson
. . . My whole poetic education if I think about it was all about suturing and using.
. . . the intervention of the imagination on the transcription process. The form of the poem seemed to arise out of my own response to the materials I chose. The materials were the occasion of the poem. The meaning was an accident, arbitrary.
. . . if I can take poetry really literally and think of the cut up and improvisational techniques I practiced on and practice as a kind of making that is full of accidents well I like that kind of craft. I like stuff.
. . . There’s no me at all. Just a writing self.
. . . now is perfect, is beautiful, though deeply flawed. I believe in a historically assembled moment and a poem is a reflection of that. An assemblage. It’s made out of time, literally.
. . . the Duchampian thing where the audience completes the work. You shouldn’t steal the reader’s right to silence. So in honor of that you don’t complete thoughts for the reader.