O’Sullivan heads west with a head full of death,
A wet-plate photographer fresh from civil war.
Years among mountains, in desert starknesses,
He hopes will serve as an optic purge. He needs
Beauty badly, without the cruel counterpoints
Served up at dawn on misty battlefields.
O’Sullivan harbors secret germs. TB.
He fights them, though, with wild joy,
Dragging boats against the Colorado, long days of
Labor, careful with the fragile plates, and
At the end of every grueling day hikes alone up
Canyon walls with all his gear, prepares the plates,
Staggers a tripod in shifting rocks, and lays
The groundwork for the scene-smiths to come after him.
O’Sullivan never sees the bald rocks crazed with snow,
Or alkali flats smelting under blazing Utah sun,
Or empty Anasazi caverns, ruined homes like honeycombs,
Without facing what lies under every vision
He has pinned to paper, with albumen plate and silver salts,
Hung on walls for all to view, though none but he can see
The ghosts that cloud his mindful eye;
They find only beauty unsullied. He’s done his job.
Tuberculosis catches him on Staten Isle, years and
Miles from fields of war or granite peaks.
Still, he was a civil servant. He lives on.
In the National Archives, O’Sullivan’s Antietam and his
Gettysburg, his Devil’s Den strewn with soldiers,
Allow us through his eyes. It’s tricky, though.
Two precious negatives, superimposed: One of rocks
Peppered with bodies, blasted limbs,
Grey rags we know are bloodied;
One of rocks sifted with snow, a rugged slope,
Twisted pines and white water whipped in a froth
And frozen like snow by long exposure.
Print the pair, or merely hold them to the light,
And you will see a gorgeous battlefield,
Mountain cataracts aswirl with corpses.
We’re in through his eyes. We’re heading west.
Who is Timothy O’Sullivan? What does this mean?
Oh, photographer of the civil-war era. I still don’t get it. It caught my eye because I have TB and I lived in Colorado. Cool little scribble.
O’Sullivan is, as you discovered, one of the great civil war photographers who was also a pioneering photographer of the American West. This dates way back from a time when I was obsessed with the history of photography. Interesting that you found those personal links in it yourself.
OFF TOPIC:
So they’re working on Portal 2… Just replayed the whole game to hear the “Thank You Partygoer for making the correct escort submissive position choice…” or something similar, and it reminded me a lot of “I have no mouth and I must scream” and some good o’ orwell. You’re really one of the best story tellers, and I’m going to purchase part 2 when it comes out….
I’m still chasing that gatekeeper and maybe you know a Merovingian…
I wonder, does the Vortigaunts take after any past human mythology or something? I hope I get to hear more about how they view the universe in future sequels, and don’t you go dying on us like Mr. Culp, that would be a great double cross if you left us without the finale, and I want to follow… My number is 9 … I want to study Vorts 101, and I’d love to see some more of their culture and their interpretations of the 10, possibly 11 dimensions of string theory that Eli was so convinced is the model for the combine portal tech, minus the dark energy equations. I wish I was so good at math to understand the myth in that language.
And what do you think about the Membrane theories sir? I think it’s a modern myth, but it’s the one I like. I’d be fascinated to hear what those awesome Vorts think about 10 or 11 dimensions and it’s significance regarding human and possible other sentient entities deities, myth and culture. It is interesting that the species is asexual, kinda like a hermaphrodite but not quite, or like those cool extraterrestrials in the District 9 film. I wonder how the stargate / rift / portal works in your view, but I have not read much of the fiction you have. However, I did play Rifts as a teen
haha good o’ pen and paper gaming.
Brane theory is fascinating.
I did not write a single word of Portal. That was all Erik Wolpaw.