lighthouselightfingernaillight

The spot color is red.

Red is the color of the ink that affixes the typographical ornament, the only typographical flourish of this book, to the cover. Red is the color of the thread that ties this tiny palmbook together.

There are two books here, as there always are: the book as physical object and the book as a memorial of thought. The first book is beautiful with a stiff laid paper cover and small square pages of white adorned with tiny bodies of rounded Bembo. The second book is not held together by red. The second book is held together with words, with ideas, with a subtle shuffling together and expanding of ideas as it develops its body. The book is a body of words. That body is both physical and intellectual. That body affects both the mind as the drawing room of the intellect and the eye as the perceiver of the visual.

This book is a chapbook. This chapbook is called My Fingernails are Fresnel Lenses. A Fresnel lens a particular type of lens designed for lighthouses, to make their lights more visible without making their lenses and lamps outrageously large. (There are other uses for a Fresnel lens. There are other uses besides poetry for words.)

This book is a set of words. A creator of a set of words is called a writer. The writer of this book is Christopher Fritton, a poet with wishes.

This book defines realities for us and examines how they work. One reality is that “the human body emanates detectable light,” which makes the poet think,

There is light coming out of my hands.
There is light coming out of my feet.

After this couplet, the book continues with little paragraphs considering bioluminescence, the physical recording of information in the human brain, the degradation of memory over time. Quickly, the book develops syllogisms, postulating various ways of considering biological features of activities such as thinking.

The book is a tiny marvel of concision. The book regulates itself as it develops its thoughts. The book is a biometaphysical poetic treatise. The book understands light. The book understands sound.

This book fits in a palm. Though small, the book holds many thoughts. The thoughts are bigger than the words that trace the outlines of the thoughts. The thoughts are bigger than the pages that swaddle them. The book is a short read of elegance and insight. The words of the book are poetry. The poem is not divided into lines as a poem generally is. Prose can be fine poetry. The finest poetry can be the smallest.

Read slowly to enjoy.

_____

Fritton, Christopher. My Fingernails are Fresnel Lenses. Buffalo: Sunnyoutside, 2008. US$10.

ecr. l’inf.