pp145 Ghost Milk: Calling Time on the Grand Project by Iain Sinclair
Wednesday 17 April 2013
the secret
The secret of Roberto Bolano’s great literary project,
beyond his physical disappearance at the optimum moment, and the spectral
record of his movement, Chile through Mexico City to Spain, was this: poetry is
conspiracy. Poetry is a virus. Poets, sick with pride, chosen and cursed, habitués
of the worst bars, the grimmest cafes, night-birds, defacers of notebooks, feed
on the glamour of truth. Immortality postponed. They are owl heads, hawkers of
mis-remembered quotations. Solitaries jealous of their hard won obscurity.
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