Writing Of Vertigo And Languor Poem by Denis Mair

for Abdelhaq Djellab's calligraphic triptych posted on October 10,2024) *
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With belief as a guide, he approaches the quotidian as an explorer. The quotidian plays the role of a brave new world, and he wears a navigator's cap. He even dives in the swaying kelp beds of calligraphy.

There is vertigo in the upper-right corner's writing. There is the pulse of sidewalk traffic in the upper-left corner's writing. There is languor in the lower right corner. There is the imminent resolution of an image in the lower left corner. When jungle leaves are about to resolve into the image of a face, that is not a mood, it is an operation. That is not an operation, it is a deferred journey. That is a swerve away from momentum, it is taking a break from leaping straight into an image. That makes the one who leaps toward images feel tantalized. When that happens, a series of operations gradually becomes a mood. It's a different kind of mood. When you advance this way, you make a mood into a subtle construct. This is fitting because it takes time to bring out the real human face of things. Proceeding this way is the result of believing in words. Or it believes in moods that arrive by a series of steps. A mood that arrives right away is an occasion for vertigo, for sidewalk traffic, for languor.
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[Note: My prose poem is also a response to the following poem by J.G. Ballard which Abdelhaq Djellab attached to his three-part panel.]

I believe in the power of imagination to reshape the world, unleash the truth within us, hold the night, defeat death, enchant the highways, reconcile with the birds, win the trust of the mad.
I believe in madness, in truth of the unexplainable, in common sense of stones, in madness of flowers, in a disease worthy of the human race by astronaut Apollo.
I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humor of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intentions of logic.
I believe in the non-existence of the past, the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.
I believe in the next 5 mins
I believe in the story of my feet.
I believe in migraines, noon boredom, the fear of calendars, the betrayal of clocks.
I believe in all children.
I believe in all excuses.
I believe every reason.
I believe in all hallucinations.
I believe in all the rage.
I believe in all mythologies, memories, deceit, fantasies, excuses.
I believe in mystery and melancholy, in the goodness of trees, in the wisdom of light.
J. G.