Anna Moschovakis
from Part Four of PRELIMINARY NOTES ON RISK
< ——— >
I know, as you know, that nobody's perfect
You know, as I know, that I am not perfect
We know we're not perfect
But does this mean
that we shouldn't forgive one another
That we should
How to know
when to forgive one another
or when it's okay
or when it's required
to refuse
What's the problem
after all
with a universe in which
the desirability
of forgiving one another
is taken for a given
Is it given
What universe
is this
Repair sounds good but has fallen
under legitimate suspicion of late
I am paying attention
My nervous system
responds to legitimate suspicion
Unfortunately
it also responds
to the illegitimate kind
If the question is
When is pressure
on the notion of repair a
required or defensible
pressure, how can you
let alone your
nervous system
know
And
all else being equal
isn't it nicer to repair?
Or to attempt
or partially attempt
repair
But what even is
partial repair
When is it
legitimate—forget
legitimate
when is it even
"safe"
Partial repair: definitely not
safe when in comes to
the airplane's engine
Definitely safe
when it comes to
the tea cup
broken by accident
during a hot
session
Unfortunately
most cases fall
between
Another question: What
is an individual?
It seems obvious
that it's more tempting to try
more tempting to attempt
repair
with an individual
to apologize to
or receive an apology from
an individual
than it is
(tempting) to repair
with or expect
repair from
a corporation
an instutution
a state
a system
an army
a position
a policy
a god
from your nerves
synapses
from
that feeling in the gut
the weather
And yet from another
perspective
does this distinction
even hold?
What I'm trying to say is
ask is
Does forgiveness
occur in the subject
or in the object
in the forgiver
or in the forgiven
If you have thoughts
on the matter
please share
Earlier we mentioned
the insincere
apology
we dismissed the lie
But of course this begs
a question
Doubt
creeps
There are things you know
willingly or not
consciously or not
So how to mitigate this in-
stability, lack of clarity
What can be brought to bear
What about Kant, categorical
imperatives
What of the status
I mean
of the apologiser's
intent
Or, through a more experiential lens:
What about when an apology
starts out right, and then, something—
Riddle: What starts out right
and ends wrong
every time
The day I began this section
of the poem
was a week after a friend had died
abruptly
much too young
leaving a husband
bereaved
a world
work
friends
I'd been replying
to email I'd neglected
for months
Most of the replies
began with
an apology
I said yes to appearing
at the memorial
of a different friend
who had also died
abruptly
too
young
leaving a world
husbands
work
friends
I am sorry for your loss
I am sorry for your loss
I search the phrase in my inbox
looking for the date
of yet another
memorial
How many times
How often
How expected
who to blame
what proximity
what complicity
lover
friend
comrade
lover
stranger
comrade
neighborhood
city
stranger
neighborhood
hospital
country
stranger
enemy
comrade
friend
I'm so sorry for your loss
I'm so sorry
for how I've contributed
whether wittingly
or unwittingly
or uncomfortably
or
or
I'm so sorry for everything
Yelena printed
on 4x6 cards and handed
them out
They were white
We were young
I carried that white
card in my bag
for years
< ——— >
Before deciding it's time
to let go of the poem
I use my opposable thumbs
to type another text
an apology I'm not
sure I mean
I don't send the text
I don't delete the text
I leave it hanging
in opposable
undecidable
space
I check my Signals and read
an invitation to join
a hunger strike
proposed by the national chapter
of Faculty for Justice
in Palestine
I accept the invitation
I eat the cookie
somebody drops in my lap
for free
They are starving
too late
being starved
still too passive
a construction
still too—
I look down
my eyes fall on
a passage in
the translated book that lies
in my lap
The passage reads
Resistance is
[never] futile
A question begins
to form in my mouth
I don't punctuate
the question with a mark
I can't end the poem
with a question, or ask
what a hunger or strike of anything
might do
I can't end the poem with
yet another
I'm sorry
I can only
open my mouth
There are so many other
things to say
I can only run
in the direction of risk
take the hard way
abyss
everywhere
and what if
everyone
Note on the text: These are excerpts from the fourth section in a long poem, earlier sections of which have been published as a Belladonna* Chaplet and online in Folder Magazine.
Anna Moschovakis writes, translates, teaches, forages, sometimes performs, and often collaborates on artistic and community projects, mostly in New York and California.