Leveler Poetry Journal
About Leveler Submission Guidelines More Poems

THE SEVENTH

 

 

 

I’ve told you nothing—I’ve pointed myself to encircled shock and sacrificial effort—yet, love must wage what tenderness consumes—lesser comforts for much, too much—and for the one upended in binds—faithfully shamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Listening to a music heard between frames, we, engorged by attention, describe an intense heat rising off a perpendicular line—skeptically immeasurable—and likened to Rothko’s self-immolation—his own relation— unable to describe—homesickness, done with—piety wedded in new oil.”




LM Rivera

levelheaded: THE SEVENTH

 

Mystery #1: what is “THE SEVENTH”?

 

Look down: the bottom part of the poem, be it a quote as suggested by the enclosing quotes, or rather part of the poem set up as a fictional quote, refers to “Rothko’s self-immolation.” So Rothko is Exhibit A. We’ll get back to the bottom part of the poem soon. For now, let’s stay with our investigation of the title.

 

Exhibit B: scroll down to the bottom of the “Reactions to his own success” section of Rothko’s wikipedia page:

 

In November 1958, Rothko gave an address to the Pratt Institute. In a tenor unusual for him, he discussed art as a trade and offered “[the] recipe of a work of art—its ingredients—how to make it—the formula.

  1. There must be a clear preoccupation with death—intimations of mortality… Tragic art, romantic art, etc., deals with the knowledge of death.
  2. Sensuality. Our basis of being concrete about the world. It is a lustful relationship to things that exist.
  3. Tension. Either conflict or curbed desire.
  4. Irony, This is a modern ingredient—the self-effacement and examination by which a man for an instant can go on to something else.
  5. Wit and play… for the human element.
  6. The ephemeral and chance… for the human element.
  7. Hope. 10% to make the tragic concept more endurable.

I measure these ingredients very carefully when I paint a picture. It is always the form that follows these elements and the picture results from the proportions of these elements.”

 

So THE SEVENTH is Hope. The defense rests its case.

 

Or, maybe it’s entirely unrelated. It’s fun playing poetry-style Sherlock though. No one could really tell you you’re wrong.

 

Also, and quite randomly, this article contains the following sentence:

 

“The works were seen as being charged with a powerful absence – ‘icons of the absence of God’ – and apparently they all led up to Rothko’s sacrificial self-immolation on the altar of art.”

 

Remember “self-immolation” from the bottom part of the poem? So now what do you think, is it a quote down there, or is it part of the poem? That’s Mystery #2. Needless to say we googled the quote and couldn’t find any match. So we will treat it as part of the poem until further notice.

 

In some ways we’ve had more clarity a few weeks ago with Heidi Reszies’ “(from) A Paper Likeness”—a poem resembling “THE SEVENTH” in its visual structure: a title, a short section that appears to be the poem, and a poetic footnote at the bottom. With “THE SEVENTH,” the mystery of Rothko and the unclear boundaries between his work and LM Rivera’s creates an enigmatic, no less enticing, reading experience.

 

Let’s look at the part that does not (at least not directly) refer to Rothko: the one sentence that makes the body of the poem. In this sentence we find “love must wage what tenderness consumes[.]” It’s nice to hold on to “love” here. Does seem like almost every work of art is a love poem in one way or another. And this gives another dimension to a poem otherwise locked in trying to find the key to another artist’s work, or perhaps translate its core from painting to language. We can leave Rothko aside for a moment, and think of the speaker who tells us “I’ve told you nothing,” and tells us he brought himself to a position where he is “faithfully shamed.”

 

If “love must wage what tenderness consumes” there is an element of suffering to love. It is “too much.” It requires “sacrificial effort.” This sentence (“I’ve told you nothing […] faithfully shamed”) would absolutely be able to live on its own. It is a poem within a poem.

 

One last look at the footnote if that’s indeed what it is. We can comfortably interpret ‘“Listening to a music heard between frames” as describing the experience of looking at paintings: looking at framed objects, experiencing the non-verbal expression (“the music”), feeling “engorged by attention” (“engorged” once again suggesting “too much”). We discover Rothko as a connection to what the poem previously referred to: love (or art) as an experience of “intense heat,” one that is “immeasurable” and indescribable, leading to difficult feelings, “homesickness,” unrest, and still somehow coupled with “piety.”

 

The blank space in between the parts of the poem gives us some relief. Perhaps it makes a white painting within a transparent frame, asking to be stared at. The different textual surfaces balance each other: the title in all-caps, the poem in regular font, the footnote italicized.

 

Yet altogether, the main ingredient of our reading experience is tension. Love, piety, and tenderness, are compromised by shock, immolation, and longing. Rivera’s poem sends us out investigating, and then back in examining emotional complexity. As readers, we feel represented, and accomplished.

 

 

– The Editors