This is the same world where, in “a culture with a seemingly insatiable appetite for self-promotion and exposure,” it is also true that “the human need to be seen has its limits.” I find myself thinking about such things often lately, in a world where, as Busch writes, “a new vocabulary has emerged for…visibility.” Optics. ![]() The nature of the subject makes it difficult to be comprehensive, but my hope is to compile a field guide to invisibility, one to reacquaint us with the possibilities of the unseen world, to reimagine and reengineer our place in it with greater engagement and creative participation.Īnd so, I find myself thinking about invisibility and disappearance today. It is not loneliness, solitude, secrecy, or silence. When Busch brings up this poem in her book, she writes: ![]() Such ideas, of flammability and littleness and smallness, feel so at the heart of Nye’s work, and they feel at the heart of today’s poem as well, a poem that perhaps urges the reader to make themselves as small as possible, to “become a cabbage” (an idea I find myself cherishing). Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,Īn absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
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