short essay on the violence of Graham Foust's poem Jump

By Kevin Barrett Kane

You were there, in my ear (that naïve place), stirring up the wind with your hands. A thousand

thousand sounds but none of them sounding. A poem comes. We stand in it. I literally tear the page

just to get at you, old beast. Some say the sand marks its time by pressing, but like other particulates

it means “earth” only when it shadows. I wake up on this real mattress—the real feelings make it so.

You wear down on me like the opposite of remembering a dream.

Kevin Barrett Kane is an analog designer specialising in books and typography. He is the in-house book designer at Stanford University Press and is the co-founder of The Frontispiece. He lives in San Francisco.