{"id":3528,"date":"2015-08-19T14:06:16","date_gmt":"2015-08-19T14:06:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=3528"},"modified":"2015-08-24T00:14:59","modified_gmt":"2015-08-24T00:14:59","slug":"kafkas-axe-michaels-vest-chen-chen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=3528","title":{"rendered":"Kafka\u2019s Axe &#038; Michael\u2019s Vest  &#8212; Chen Chen"},"content":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: left;\"><em>for Michael Burkard<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Still winter. Snowing, still. Can it even be called action, this patience<br \/>\nin the form of gravity overdressed in grey? &amp; how should we respond to<br \/>\nthis world, with passive-aggressive silence or aggressive-aggressive speech?<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nPerhaps think of how each could be an axe, smashing through the frozen sea,<br \/>\nas Kafka calls for. An unexpected smashing, a sometimes unwelcome<br \/>\nopening. Though it could also be a shattering, a severing that leads to closing.<br \/>\nThink of peace &amp; how the Buddhists say it is found through silence.<br \/>\nThink of silence &amp; how Audre Lorde says it will not protect you.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nThink of silence as a violence, when silence means being made a frozen sea,<br \/>\nbeing evicted from meaningfully being. Think of speaking as a violence,<br \/>\nwhen speaking is a house that dresses your life in the tidiest wallpaper.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nIt makes your grief sit down, this house. It makes you chairs when you need<br \/>\njustice. It keeps your rage room temperature. I\u2019ve been thinking about<br \/>\nhow the world is actually unbearable. About all those moments of silence<br \/>\nwe\u2019re supposed to take. Each year, more moments, less life, &amp; perhaps<br \/>\nthe most monastic of monks are right to take vows of silence that last a decade.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nI\u2019ve been thinking of the master\u2019s tools &amp; how they build the house of silence<br \/>\nas well as the house of speaking, though Audre Lorde says, better to speak,<br \/>\nto call out the unbearable in order to unthink, undo. Though someone else<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n(probably French) says our speaking was never ours; our thoughts &amp; selves<br \/>\nhoused by history, rooms we did not choose, but must live in.<br \/>\nThink of Paul Celan, writing in the language of his oppressors. &amp; by writing,<br \/>\nI mean speaking. &amp; by speaking, I mean singing. What does it mean<br \/>\nto sing in the language of those who have killed your mother, &amp; would<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nkill her again? Does meaning unravel completely, leaving behind<br \/>\nthe barest moan? When I read Celan\u2019s singing, I hear an unbearable hurt.<br \/>\nBut to hear it, doesn\u2019t that mean I\u2019m already bearing it, somehow?<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nThis English, I bear it, a master\u2019s axe, yet so is every language\u2014<br \/>\nevery tongue red with both singing &amp; killing. Are we even built<br \/>\nfor peace? If I were to hear every pang, the piercing call of everyday<br \/>\nnon-peace, I would not be able to say anything, to breathe.<br \/>\nI think of breath &amp; my teacher, Michael, one of the least masterly,<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nmost peaceful people I have ever met, &amp; Kafka\u2019s number one fan.<br \/>\nI think of the blue vest Michael wears when his breaths turn white,<br \/>\nthe puffy vest that inspired my own blue &amp; puffy vest.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nEven when I\u2019m doing my best to think axes &amp; walls, brave monks<br \/>\n&amp; unbearable houses, the thought of Michael in his bit-too-big<br \/>\ndeep blue vest leaks in. I think, I\u2019m pretty sure I know a constant,<br \/>\nuncompromising grief would be unbearable, but what\u2019s a truer response<br \/>\nto an unbearable world? Still, I don\u2019t think I will ever stop<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\ntrying to sneak into casual conversation the word <em>ululation<\/em>. If only<br \/>\nall language could be ululation in blue vests. If silence could always be<br \/>\nas quiet as Michael, sitting with his coffee &amp; his book, rereading.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\" size-full wp-image-3540 alignleft\" src=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/08\/nn-headshot-chen-chen-11019548_10153308097483395_1205934577744737908_n.jpg\" alt=\"nn, headshot, chen chen, 11019548_10153308097483395_1205934577744737908_n\" width=\"160\" height=\"160\" srcset=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/08\/nn-headshot-chen-chen-11019548_10153308097483395_1205934577744737908_n.jpg 160w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/08\/nn-headshot-chen-chen-11019548_10153308097483395_1205934577744737908_n-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 160px) 100vw, 160px\" \/>Chen Chen is the author of the chapbooks, <em>Set the Garden on Fire<\/em> (Porkbelly Press, 2015) and <em>Kissing the Sphinx<\/em> (Two of Cups Press, 2016). A Kundiman Fellow, his poems have appeared\/are forthcoming in Poetry, Narrative, Drunken Boat, Ostrich Review, The Best American Poetry 2015, among others. He holds an MFA from Syracuse University and is currently a PhD candidate in English &amp; Creative Writing at Texas Tech University. Visit him at chenchenwrites.com.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>for Michael Burkard Still winter. Snowing, still. Can it even be called action, this patience in the form of gravity overdressed in grey? &amp; how should we respond to this world, with passive-aggressive silence or aggressive-aggressive speech? &nbsp; Perhaps think of how each could be an axe, smashing through the frozen sea, as Kafka calls [&#038;hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3577,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[177],"class_list":["post-3528","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","tag-from-fancyquote"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3528","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3528"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3528\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3578,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3528\/revisions\/3578"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3577"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3528"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3528"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3528"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}