WEBVTT

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I think I'll end with this
poem, and it's not very long.

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No.

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This is a poem about
a geometric point.

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It's called The Point.

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It's talking about a little--

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big piece of paper, and a
little dot, that kind of thing,

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a point.

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And if you read
Euclid and others,

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it's sort of-- in a sense, it
doesn't exist really, so forth.

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It's just a very abstract,
a very complex thing.

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The Geometric Point, and so I'm
thinking about that little dot

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in a big piece of paper.

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The Point.

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It has four parts, but just
a little pause between parts.

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The Point.

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This is a story afraid to go on.

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This is the iron cradle of
the stillness that rocks

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the story afraid to go on.

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How it regrets the
loss of its purity.

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The madness of this single burnt
consonant, which now sits shy,

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solitary among all
these white spaces.

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And it dreams, the
story afraid to go on.

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In its dream, it builds
itself in the shape

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of the gallows tree.

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When the gallows
are completed, it

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hangs by the neck, what's
left of its dreamings.

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Underneath in the dirt,
the shadow of its beginning

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comes to nibble
its quivering feet.

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There is no point, says
the story afraid to go on.

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It's all a question of
the mote in your eye.

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It watches as you watch.

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Perhaps this evening
reflects its final blackness.

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Reflects its final
mourning, before it

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dissolves into a tear.

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After its death, they opened
the story afraid to go on

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and found nothing.

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Inside nothing, they found
a slip of the tongue.

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Inside the tongue, a loose hair.

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Inside the hair,
they found whatever

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is destroyed each
time it is named.

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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