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Nonetheless, Karl was not entirely on my side. He said I was wrong to consider the
nulletter a letter: it was a punctuation mark. He didn't mind its being part of the alphabet,
but felt that if it was, the comma, colon, period and all the rest of their family deserved to
be there, too.
Another friend in the trade, Paul Collier, was more receptive to my idea--too receptive, I'm afraid.
"Bob," said he, "you say there are 27 letters. Why not 52? Or more? The space between
letters has a certain quality determined by the letters it lies between. I'm no numbers
expert, so I couldn't tell you the exact possible combinations, but my uneducated guess is
26 times 26, or 676. If you add 26, you get 702 'letters' in the alphabet." Clearly my
suggestion wasn't the cut&dry proposition it had at first seemed to be. I had some work
to do if I expected to make it at all viable.
I knew at once, of course, that I couldn't have a 702-letter alphabet. But what could I say
against Paul's line of reasoning? One thing would be that 676 is too high a figure for the
number of nulletters since a nulletter inserted between an "m" and an "n," for instance,
would look the same as one between an "m" and an "r." But that wouldn't help much
since from another point of view 676 is too *low* inasmuch as different font styles could
make the shape of inter-alphabetic spaces infinitely variable to the sensitive observer.
For quite a while I didn't know what to do. Eventually, though, I came up with what I
think is a masterful solution: I defined the nulletter as a square that is always about the
height and width of an "o," which I took to be the most average-sized of the letters. An
upper-case nulletter would, of course, be rectangular, and taller. My alphabetical space
would thus not include the emptinesses that every conventional letter contains, and my
expanded alphabet could stay just 27 characters in length.
As for Karl's point, it seemed to me correct that nulletters are used to indicate pauses in
the same way that commas and periods are. Certainly "all" they do in Karl's fission
is tell readers to stop a moment and see what has been said--don't, that is, read
"guidance" in one Evelyn-Wood-Gulp but pause to hear the "gee" that's in it, and then
three times more for its "I," "you" and "dance."
But what about the nulletters in Eugen Gomringer's "Silence?" In this work, which has
long been admired by connoisseurs of visual poetry, the word, "silence," is printed eight
times to form a box around an unoccupied zone into which a ninth rendering of "silence,"
with nulletters fore and aft, would exactly fit. Hence, for me, the zone contains nine
nulletters, and--aside from the ones fore and aft--they are not special symbols telling a
reader to pause; they are an absence of letters and as such express a silence beyond the
silence of printed words. And those nulletters, I should add for the sake of completeness,
do not represent absent letters the way apostrophes would; they are absent letters.
In a related poem, a haiku by Cor van der Heuvel, nulletters surround rather than are
surrounded by, a text. The text is the single word, "tundra," and the rest of the page it is
on is not truly blank but teems with a metaphorically-significant absence of additional
words.
Similarly by itself on a page is John Byrum's one-word poem, "utter," arrestingly
surrounded by the utterly unuttered. . . . A fourth relevant specimen is Ladislav Novak's
"Gloria," which consists of the text, "GL RIA"--and, soaring above it like a high note out
of Handel's Messiah--an "O." Here, again, we have not just a place to pause but the
concrete absence of a letter. As final evidence for my position I submit the following,
which is by Michael Basinski:
I
H r th sl dg s w th th b lls--
S lv r b lls!
Wh t w rld f m rr m nt th r m l dy f r t lls!
H w th y t nkl , t nkl , t nkl ,
n th cy r f n ght!
Wh l th st rs th t v rspr nkl
ll th h v ns, s m t tw nkl
W th cryst ll n d l ght;
K p ng t m , t m , t m ,
n s rt f r n c rhym ,
T th t nt nn b l t n th t s m s c lly w lls
Fr m th b lls, b lls, b lls, b lls,
B lls, b lls, b lls--
Fr m th j ngl ng nd th t nkl ng f th b lls.
II
H r th m ll w w dd ng b lls--
G ld n b lls!
Wh t w rld f h pp n ss th r h rm ny f r t lls!
Thr gh th b lmy r f n ght
H w th y r ng t th r d l ght!--
Fr m th m lt n-g ld n n t s,
nd ll n t n ,
Wh t l q d d tty fl ts
T th t rtl d v th t l st ns, wh l sh gl ts
n th m n!
h, fr m t th s nd ng c lls,
Wh t g sh f ph ny v l m n sly w lls!
H w t sw lls!
H w t dw lls
n th f t r !--h w t t lls
f th r pt r th t mp ls
T th sw ng ng nd th r ng ng
f th b lls, b lls, b lls--
f th b lls, b lls, b lls, b lls,
B lls, b lls, b lls--
T th rhym ng nd th ch m ng f th b lls!
Surely this use of the nulletter in an amazingly loud de-tintinnabulation of the first two stanzas of Poe's famous poem confirms its meta-
punctuational aesthetic value. Surely, in fact, no one will contest my rating it with the
zero for the representation of significant absences, or claiming that its addition to the
alphabet will do as much for literature as the acceptance of the zero did for mathematics.
We therefore must dawdle no longer: the sooner the 27-letter alphabet is enacted into law,
the better!
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