On He Is Not Fe

I receive a quote by Anne Carson. Sent to me by a friend, in common we have Cancer and a distaste for negative predictions. My friend sends me horoscopes but only the ones that may prove valuable and exciting and full of prosperity. Mining the Internet's self-helped for a helping of please and thank you.

You remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?

I am thinking of Anne and her headshot saved to my desktop, Anne as a .jpeg or a .jpg or pixels. Anne as a resolution. Anne as high-definition.

This is a high definition.

I pick up "The Glass Essay" from Glass, Irony and God by Anne, 1994. I start from the beginning to make my way to the quote I have received.

My friend sent only four lines because they fit together cleanly, but the fifth line completes the stanza and the thought:

She shifted to a question about airports.

I continue reading "The Glass Essay" and making my way through glass, irony, and god.

Anne continues reading Brontë and making her way through the tangential memory of poetry.

A body is a poem because every line must be rewritten.
A body says the same thing about itself without using the same words twice.

Poetry is an exercise in vocabulary.
Poetry is an exercise in penetrating syntax.

of a poem she wrote in 1839
(about six years before Wuthering Heights) that says:

That iron man was born like me
And he was once an ardent boy:
He must have felt in infancy
The glory of a summer sky.

How was the iron man born like me?
Cancer under a summer's sky.

How he may be iron but he is no man.

Babied through infancy, on top of the world.
You are lightning into glass, you are unbreakable iron, you are god.

Iron is the metal of manufacturing, construction.
Iron is the metal for civilization, for steel.
Iron is non-toxic to the body.
Iron is necessary.
Iron is mortal.

This is not god.
This is not a high definition.