GR translation: deepen

[Alex Colter]

Deepening as if in some unholy baptism-by-rocket, the River enlarging to
receive her young...like John Lambton's Worm or Blakes Nine-Fold Nightmare,
the illusion of unending dark, Lilith's counter to Jerusalem's kingdom...a
terrible thought...

Post-Baptism a citizen of coal-black fire who goes about projecting
darkness onto already dim or darkening surfaces, deepening them, polarizing
or feathering the light, drawing a Line...in direct opposition to the
frenzy of illumination, the dragon of the land..
Also, drugs.

On Tue, Dec 13, 2011 at 6:04 PM, Joseph Tracy <brook7 at sover.net> wrote:

> agree- intensifying, becoming more defined and darker in hue, often by
> contrast with surrounding light ... but also containing the implication of
> moving toward an ultimate loss of definition as it deepens into darkness.
> The connection to dyes appears  a couple 3 times pointing toward coal tars
> ( rainbow colors from the deeps of the earth, congealed memories of ancient
> life) and by extension IG Farben. Somehow this whole fascination with dyes(
> to dye, to die)  and deepening ( to darken to go down into) seems to me
>  also an apt  way to suggest  the inner dynamics of fascism: the romance of
> liberation through  death, the sexuality and allure of  theft, betrayal,
>  and violence.
> On Dec 13, 2011, at 9:09 AM, David Morris wrote:
>
> > "Deepening" could mean "growing more intense.
> >
> > On Tue, Dec 13, 2011 at 5:31 AM, Mike Jing
> > <gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com> wrote:
> >> The word "deepen" appeared in GR 15 times (No.7 below includes two
> instances).
> >>
> >> No.1,3,5,7,8,10,12,13,and 14 seem to have the same meaning, which
> >> describes color getting darker, probably due to the loss of light.
> >>
> >> No.6,9,and 11 have nothing to do with light or colors.
> >>
> >> No.2 and 4 puzzle me a bit, because things are deepening under the
> >> light. What exactly does that mean?
> >>
> >>
> >> (1)   P22.5-8   The lieutenants stare at each other through the beery
> >> shadows, with the day deepening outside the high cold windows of the
> >> Snipe and Shaft, and Tantivy about to laugh or snort oh God across the
> >> wood Atlantic of their table.
> >>
> >> (2)   P29.39-P30.5   6:43:16 BDST—in the sky right now here is the
> >> same unfolding, just about to break through, his face deepening with
> >> its light, everything about to rush away and he to lose himself, just
> >> as his countryside has ever proclaimed . . . slender church steeples
> >> poised up and down all these autumn hillsides, white rockets about to
> >> fire, only seconds of countdown away, rose windows taking in Sunday
> >> light, elevating and washing the faces above the pulpits defining
> >> grace, swearing this is how it does happen—yes the great bright hand
> >> reaching out of the cloud. . . .
> >>
> >> (3)   P121.33-36   Hunting across the zero between waking and sleep,
> >> his halfway limp cock still inside her, their strengthless legs bent
> >> the same angle . . . The bedroom deepens into water and coolness.
> >> Somewhere the sun is going down. Just enough light to see the darker
> >> freckles on her back.
> >>
> >> (4)   P127.21-25   Try to hold it down old man, panic if you must but
> >> later, not here. . .. Faint washroom light bulbs deepen the thousands
> >> of old clustered water and soap spots on the mirrors to an
> >> interfeathering of clouds, of skin and smoke as he swings his head
> >> past, lemon and beige, oilsmoke black and twilight brown in here, very
> >> loosely crumbled, that’s the texture. . . .
> >>
> >> (5)   P148.7-14   Had he felt her, even then, beginning to recede . .
> >> . called up the control from across the Wall as a way of holding on?
> >> She was deepening from his waking, his social eye like light at the
> >> edge of the evening when, for perhaps a perilous ten minutes, nothing
> >> helps: put on your glasses and light lamps, sit by the west window and
> >> still it keeps going away, you keep losing the light and perhaps it is
> >> forever this time . . . a good time of day for learning surrender,
> >> learning to diminish like the light, or like certain music.
> >>
> >> (6)   P158.26-36   Yet her lines will not deepen fast enough, her
> >> mouth not learn hardening past a face she keeps surprising herself
> >> with, a daydreaming child’s face, betraying her to anyone who’ll look,
> >> exactly the sort of fat-softened, unfocused weakness that causes men
> >> to read her as Dependent Little Girl—even in Peter Sachsa she’s seen
> >> the look—and the dream is the same one she went to find while Franz
> >> groaned inside his own dark pain-wishes, a dream of gentleness, light,
> >> her criminal heart redeemed, no more need to run, to struggle, a man
> >> arriving tranquil as she and strong, the street becoming a distant
> >> memory: exactly the one dream that out here she can least allow
> >> herself.
> >>
> >> (7)   P191.23-28   From out at sea, the Casino at this hour is a
> >> blazing bijou at the horizon: its foil of palms already shadows in the
> >> dwindling light. Deepening go the yellowbrowns of these small serrated
> >> mountains, sea colored the soft inside of a black olive, white villas,
> >> perched châteaux whole and ruined, autumn greens of copses and
> >> solitary pines, all deepening to the nightscape latent across them all
> >> day.
> >>
> >> (8)   P217.40-P218.4   What have the watchmen of world’s edge come
> >> tonight to look for? deepening on now, monumental beings, stoical, on
> >> toward slag, toward ash the color the night will stabilize at, tonight
> >> . . . what is there grandiose enough to witness? only Slothrop here,
> >> and Sir Stephen, blithering along, crossing shadow after long
> >> prison-bar shadow cast by the tall trunks of palms lining the
> >> esplanade.
> >>
> >> (9)   P226.19-25   They sit listening to gusts of rain that’s nearly
> >> sleet. Winter gathers, breathes, deepens. A roulette ball goes
> >> rattling, somewhere back in another room. She’s running. Why? Has he
> >> come too close again? He tries to remember if she always needed to
> >> talk this way, in draw-shots, rebounding first before she could touch
> >> him. Fine time to start asking. He’s counter-conspiring in the dark,
> >> jimmying doors at random, no telling what’ll come out. . . .
> >>
> >> (10)  P266.8-13   Out again in the city: precision banks, churches,
> >> Gothic doorways drilling by . . . he must avoid the hotel and the
> >> three cafes now, right, right. . . . The permanent Zürchers in
> >> early-evening blue stroll by. Blue as the city twilight, deepening
> >> blue. . . . The spies and dealers have all gone indoors. Semyavin’s
> >> place is out, the Waxwing circle have been kind, no point bringing any
> >> heat down on them.
> >>
> >> (11)  P479.14-22   Her look now—this deepening arrest—has already
> >> broken Slothrop’s seeing heart: has broken and broken, that same look
> >> swung as he drove by, thrust away into twilights of moss and crumbling
> >> colony, of skinny clouded-cylinder gas pumps, of tin Moxie signs
> >> gentian and bittersweet as the taste they were there to hustle on the
> >> weathered sides of barns, looked for how many Last Times up in the
> >> rearview mirror, all of them too far inside metal and combustion,
> >> allowing the days’ targets more reality than anything that might come
> >> up by surprise, by Murphy’s Law, where the salvation could be. . . .
> >>
> >> (12)  P570.39-P571.6   Takes him an hour to get out to the camp on
> >> foot across a wide meadow whose color is deepening now as if green dye
> >> flowed and seeped into its nap . . . he is aware of each single
> >> grassblade’s shadow reaching into the shadows east of it. . . pure
> >> milk-colored light sweeps up in a bell-curve above the sun nearly
> >> down, transparent white flesh, fading up through many blues, powdery
> >> to dark steel at the zenith . . . why is he out here, doing this? Is
> >> this Ursula the lemming’s idea too, getting mixed up in other people’s
> >> private feuds when he was supposed to be . . . whatever it was . . .
> >> uh. . . .
> >>
> >> (13)  P648.28-34  He’s looking into a room of incandescent lemon-lime
> >> subdued drastically, almost to the milky point of absinthe-and-water,
> >> a room warmer than this tableful of faces really deserves, but perhaps
> >> it’s Roger’s entrance that deepens the color a bit now as he runs and
> >> jumps up on the polished table, over the polished head of a director
> >> of a steel company, skidding 20 feet down the waxed surface to
> >> confront the man at the end, who sits with a debonair (well, snotty)
> >> smile on his face.
> >>
> >> (14)  P768.25-30   “The signs change, idiot,” snaps Edelman, reaching
> >> for his family-size jar of Thorazine. He has become such a habitual
> >> user of this tran-quilizing drug that his complexion has deepened to
> >> an alarming slate-purple. It makes him an oddity on the street here,
> >> where everybody else walks around suntanned, and red-eyed from one
> >> irritant or another.
>
>
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