The Knowledge

Name: The Knowledge
SKU: rm8mzkz
Price: 11.23 USD
Availability: InStock

Fifteen Prose Collages

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'The Knowledge' consists of 15 interlinked prose collages, originally commissioned for a performance piece mounted in Clermont-Ferrand in 1998. The work was later adapted & recorded for the ‘Atelier de Création Radiophonique’, Radio France Culture (broadcast April 2004). This edition is a reissue of the original chapbook published by Rakehelly Press in 2006.

Details

Publication Date: Nov 23, 2024
Language: English
ISBN: 9781304063786
Category: Poetry
Copyright: All Rights Reserved - Standard Copyright License
Contributors: By (author): J.L. Baxat

Specifications

Pages: 59
Binding Type: Paperback Perfect Bound
Interior Color: Black & White
Dimensions: Novella (5 x 8 in / 127 x 203 mm)

Keywords

Baudelaire Walter Benjamin OuLiPo William Burroughs Harold Pinter Samuel Beckett Poetry Avant Garde Experimental Beat poetry prose collage Dada French poetry European poetry psychogeography J.L. Baxat experimental writing chapbook

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About J.L. Baxat

J. L. Baxat (1969–2017) was a peripatetic compiler of paper-thin worlds whose texts arrived pressed between hotel stationery and the carbon smudge of a card-imprinter. Accounts of his life are mostly receipts: cities with checkout times, a habit of annotating the margins with small storms, and the recurrent emblem of a suitcase that never properly closes. He is best known for The Hotel Letters, a long drift of room-keys, bellhop bells, and lobby air that smells faintly of rain on photocopiers, in which whole chapters seem to be written by the coat-stand.[1][2] Those who met him insist he was there; the pages suggest he stayed elsewhere.[3] Baxat’s practice was to fold experience until it crackled. He dated days by minibar inventories, arranged time by elevator chimes, and treated the red “Do Not Disturb” tab as a national flag. The prose is a ledger of small transactions, ink for sleep, postage for memory, a coffee ring for a coastline, spelled out in a hand that looks like maps pretending to be veins. Print-on-demand listings came and went like late trains: covers swapped, page counts drifted, the author’s note replaced by a lobby sign pointing both ways at once.[4][5] Readers were advised, politely, to bring their own ending; housekeeping would do the rest.[6]

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