![]() ![]() In Thayil’s poems, the gesture of encounter is submergence – think of weight in water, how swimming opens a third dimension of autonomous movement (‘Start with fish’). Little wonder his first solo collection was named Apocalypso – ‘to uncover’. (‘Every tributary led to her, to water.’) Thayil’s filaments are adamant and fine, some wrapped in glass like kite thread (‘They were fighting fish, no question about it’), their lattice possessed of a gravity that lets them settle on the very bed of the mind and spread, bright welding fires at their ends and edges, catalysts of synaptic anabranches and anastomosis. His is in any case consistent with the paradoxical net of what is called ‘Good Poetry’ – what is captured is freed what is severed is fused more perfectly. As guitarist and vocalist in such musical projects as Sridhar/Thayil, and Still Dirty, as well as in his poetry, spoken word and fiction, Thayil seeks to provoke chosen exposure from edenic contentment: his band runs all channels its frequency is tuned to, ‘consciousness precludes excusion’ its broadcast permits no prisoners, for each reached is thus released. Indeed, the spirit of the enfant terrible lives in Thayil’s creations. ![]()
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