Roy White is a blind person who lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota with a lovely human and an affable lab mix. His work has appeared in Poetry, BOAAT Journal, Kenyon Review, Copper Nickel, and elsewhere.




Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: Decorative Boulder


Roy White

Fables of the Enlightenment


[An erasure based on Edmund Burke’s treatise On the Sublime and Beautiful (1757).]

Obscurity terible obscurity seems general give credit to despotic governments founded on the passions of religion even barbarous Americans in a dark part of the hut consecrated their bosom the oldest and most spreading secret all is dark Of the Difference Between Clearness and Obscurity with Regard to the Passions if I make a palace I present imitation reality the obscure idea is in a stronger emotion than words a great clearness of passions without any sounds The Same Subject Continued I believe this excellent mistake will be found by love with coolness in warmth with animated poetry the common sort of people are not much understood but their passions are fanatic children and poems bad or good produce the same effect obscurity has dominion over art eternity and infinity are nothing we understand a justly celebrated Satan archangel great and confused shall examine the pleasure of dark fancy passions we are terrified wrapped up in incomprehensible darkness poetry is very happy. The Cries of Animals men or animals in pain are causing a great sensation the nature of things cannot be said the modifications of the sublime are infinite Of Beauty passion is evident in brutes this sense of beauty a law which confined them but man is a sensible object love is the beauty of sex sex sex beauty beauty women and men and other animals give us joy and pleasure we enter willingly I want this attraction it is probable that Providence did not make this great end his wisdom is not wisdom Of Beauty my beauty is reduced because used bodies cause love to subject us the mind hurries us on to possess love desire beauty beauty love desire desire violent and tempestuous Smoothness smoothness I now recollect beautiful slopes of earth smooth streams of fine women in ornamental furniture I have handled beauty Beautiful Objects Small bodies are held gathered I am told, the objects of love spoken of in all languages The Greek affection and tenderness quick and delicate feelings slid into the lessening termination In the English language things were the objects of love some we retain still in the creation of our own species we are fond beasts we submit to what submits to us we are forced are flattered, into compliance Of the Passions Which Belong to Society society may be divided into sexes we have with men and with other animals and even with the inanimate world pain and danger have their origin in gratifications and pleasures a lively character rapturous and violent scarce amounts to an uneasiness but a forsaken lover insists on the perfection of loss Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Vegetables beauty relates to convenience a creature of the senses even fire produces a satisfactory conclusion we have no voucher but the happy voice of proportion to answer the vegetable kingdoms to satisfy their mechanical purposes our eyes find beautiful an infinite variety of botanists their names are a large flower upon a small shrub most engagingly attired lost and confounded before it is full blown Darkness Terrible in Itself pain is observable as we recede from the light nature has contrived the contraction of great darkness the eye remains open to nothing but its own efforts anyone will find a dark place a very perceivable pain I have heard some ladies so pained and weakened they could hardly see [All words appear in their original order. Punctuation and capitalization have been removed.]


One of the pleasures of composing this piece was the chance to bring out the original’s skewed lyricism, as in “Proportion Not the Cause of Beauty in Vegetables.” Another was the opportunity to turn the text against itself, especially in its pervasive habit of representing as exalted universal truths the author’s personal crotchets and his culture’s distinctive obsessions. The title echoes a long-ago R.E.M. album, Fables of the Reconstruction. You can read Burke’s text here.



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