Jeanne Heuving
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Reviews The transducer’s presence speaks as it moves through us, detects damage and defect within a particular system’s power to transform or withhold. In this great love poem, Heuving’s linguistic frequency partakes of intransigence, seduction and, finally, the undeniability of loss. Her music’s “struck tine” begins as tone poem but soon introduces the manifold probe of grand passion (Mary Magdalene’s as one)--its largesse and infinite regress, its compulsive claim on the body. Transducer poses a silence of longing, between love’s requited and unrequited dependencies, in which the spiritual agitation of our inability to be more than one soul in one body releases itself in an almost classic structure of perfect pitch. Yet some mysterious force leaks through. — Kathleen Fraser Jeanne Heuving’s new book Transducer is a trance inducer.
Watching its petals fall, I am hypnotized into hearing frequen-
cies audible only to the blind. Reawakened, I detect affinities
with the lyric spareness of H.D., wherein words become col-
liding clouds, abstract objects in a space that knows neither
night or day. –– Andrew Joron
In skin. Struck tine.
Reparative. Cut.
—Transducer
Heuving is unyieldingly ingenious in this immaculate seroon of light cubes; gorgeously dashing-in this piezoelectric, exotic periodic table; mercurial seraph upon slate.
—Lissa Wolsak
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