100 neue Wörter: »Fangs for the memories«

In the organizer's words:

Lecture Performance Premiere, Artist Talk
by Ed Atkins

"Fangs for the Memories" is Ed Atkins' only performance piece, which is retitled each time. In it, Atkins will attempt to appropriately recite Gilbert Sorrentino's poem "The Morning Roundup" (1971), interspersed with songs: "I don't want to hear any news on the radio / about the weather on the weekend. Talk about / that. // Once upon a time / a couple of people were alive / who were friends of mine. / The weathers, the weathers they lived in! / Christ, the sun on those Saturdays."

"The Morning Roundup" is a poem shaken by the finitude of all things and the promise and failure of language to provide comfort or reparation. The poem's brevity reinforces this experience, so that each time Atkins recites it, it moves further away from his failed attempt to communicate sentiment: the weather, love, the past; that which is gone forever. There is the poem and then there are songs.

"I throw everything into the balance. The songs are a kind of respite: they break the rhythm and offer a little respite from the challenge of grasping language as something that conveys meaning - perhaps especially through the profundity of poetry. The songs are generous; songs are generous. These changes are modal in many ways, and perhaps most importantly, with them pressure comes off, in an intentionally friendly way. They are songs I sing and have sung to my children."

***English***

"Fangs for the Memories" is Ed Atkins' sole performance piece, newly titled every time. In it Atkins will attempt an adequate recitation of Gilbert Sorrentino's poem "The Morning Roundup" (1971), interrupted by songs: "I don't want to hear any news on the radio / about the weather on the weekend. Talk about that. // Once upon a time / a couple of people were alive / who were friends of mine. / The weathers, the weathers they lived in! / Christ, the sun on those Saturdays.

"The Morning Roundup" is a poem frustrated by the finitude of everything, and the promise and failure of language to console or offer recompense. The poem's brevity concentrates this sensation, so that every time Atkins recites the poem, it shrinks further away from its broken attempt to communicate sensational experience: the weather, love, the past; what is gone for good. There is the poem and then there are songs.

"I throw everything at it. The songs are a kind of reprieve: they interrupt the rhythm and afford a little respite from the challenge of speech as something meant to convey significance - perhaps particularly by the profundity of poetry. The songs are generous; songs are generous. The shifts are modal in many ways, and maybe most significantly they are pressure drops that are deliberately kind in some essential way. They are songs I sing and sang to my children."