Thought Point


(for Berta Cáceres)


Lisa Samuels has not shared anything on this page with you

In her book a personal devotion to feminist theory

Is an erotic situation because words drape electrically through her mind

Which insists on reciprocity where we live

Whose meeting point’s a commission between external and in-

Sight: at the point where anything is made is the center of its making

You can go there, over to the new center

Down to the new center, up to the new center

You integrate divergence without fail muscles

As a courtesy to this idea, which meets where you become one too

Where the literal becomes physical as a consequence of your attention

You become yourself a concept meeting that one, free

From self-possession’s warrantless erasure of relation.


Go to work and take up the material of nature’s swift ability

To self-heal, if you count a heal as change mark

To the dense struggle to make external possibles

Ready for those shots that come where she is not alone

The very visceral vanishing of point perspective

As the concept ceases to be holding

Provided by its other. The concept realizes self-perception’s lonely cry

Because the filled-in area is vanishing.


Every center gets its day replete inside and out

Not long enough for anyone to know it

Which is why the exhalation leads to terminals where the

Battery charge of culture wants to rest. Please let us rest

Says Cloaky to the bastion of divergence. No, Cloaky, no:

She’ll not. One’s claim in faith to ill sunder finds

There’s battle in the breath, certain scattered objects

Such as water, life, stars, eyes, voices calling out

A topic’s reason for assent to start itself righteously

In the center of what’s powerless. That center pulse

Gives out a new authentic, one’s own object turns

A scaling trans-surrender in the zone that never mocks.

This is what gets called authentic tribute. The idea of her

Eyes and stars and water is a center one can breathe

In as example. The social location of our ideas has changed

Which is exhausting to the slow move against which

Measure’s latent knowledge’s wont to hover.


So we put a body there: its signs of force

Trigger the necessity of knowing from that center

Pulls us towards an other we accept, attention’s moment

Emphasis mine. To cause her to be idea’s open score

The words fill up our heady eyes and flesh out

To the multiples of center. We cannot abnegate

In thinking for her of her near to her

Breath’s contention cancels out the slow

Determination how we value musters in “the world”

A known dispute. There’s no way to speak ugly but to say

Plural’s a wretch, so close in to the skin such

Convention’s blasted its own wise.


Which is related, tell me, to the topic of our

Mass centrality everywhere you can think

Think allow it. This is predicated on belief

Your structures listen to announcements very far away

Her body brings it close and proves the rule.

The satisfied relief’s no thought at all

Since publication’s superadded form

The circumstance of central’s system fix, means we’re

Undergone, a fragmentation loss as having given up

In gaze. It almost makes you wish for porn’s effects,

Distributed submission to the site where desire’s activate

Hits hard a moving purview. The gaze returns itself

Without a recognition of its mirror apps

The schedule of our freedom’s hidden from the beast

We give ourselves, a private reliquary stipend

When we save our chance to misrecognize

For the wrong occasion. We might instead cross-cut

The labor of our thought as yielding when

We meet in real quiescence to the far-off zone

Where thought displaces both itself and us.


The product of a woman failed itself far-reached

But only in a hid-sight dead to actual failure’s

Crucial work. You have to give up in advance to understand

The work the water did over her flesh

Without analysis, our context becomes a moment’s

Harvest kept with hers: that’s thinking parlance

Self-formed in a wrap with far-clung instance

More authentic than what you’re swamped with feeling’s

Vacant register smashed on you when it’s “close to home.”

Further’s no escape beyond control if it’s choisir

We’re dead not knowing so reciprocal to how

We might then land. I can’t interpret her whom I’ve not seen

But having seen in scene withstand

Trajectory of thought beyond the heart.

Misrecognition’s grace is there interpreted

Resisting on the eye, the living space a dark intended

Document we’ll never see, so knowing’s then a subject

Near to me so far as I have no such face nor never will.

Authentic listening’s bonds broke mutual.

When you express it starts to feel as well, a mutual

Cancellation of captivity breached in the ramp

Where blood’s a thought armed on the floor’s example

Intemperate wish to make us heal as hole.

So nothing’s thought the echo of this one-time stolen role.

Accept and don’t accept the rigorous loss of view

Lisa Samuels has shared anything on this page with you






Lisa Samuels has published thirteen books of poetry and prose, with recent experiments in memoir (Anti M, 2013) and the novel (Tender Girl, 2015). Her poetry has inspired musical scores and scholarly essays internationally, and her recent critical essays include Over Hear: six types of poetry experiment in Aotearoa/New Zealand (2015). Her edited book A TransPacific Poetics, with Sawako Nakayasu, is coming out this year, and current projects include Symphony for Human Transport (poems) and The Long White Cloud of Unknowing (prose). A U.S.-born transnational poet, Lisa has also lived in Sweden, Israel/Palestine, Yemen, Malaysia, Spain, and since 2006 in Aotearoa/New Zealand, where she teaches at the University of Auckland. In 2016 she is a Visiting Scholar at the University of Washington Simpson Humanities Center in Seattle.