Posts Tagged ‘Pagel’

THERMOS 8: Caryl Pagel

Today we close out the first week of our two-week feature of Caryl Pagel and her poetry, with selections from “The Botched Bestiary,” included in Experiments I Should Like Tried At My Own Death. Please check back all next week for more, beginning with a public letter from Caryl on Monday, ending with new poems from her forthcoming second book, Twice Told, out with H_NGM_N this winter. — AS

Those That May Disappear

“The body [was] first described in 1843. It vanished from view after that and was presumed extinct until it was rediscovered in 1967. It is found only in Australia. The body is currently listed as endangered and a number of the populations are now considered extinct.” “The body from North America was considered…extinct in the 1980’s, but recently it has resurfaced. Little is known about the body, but what is known is very strange. It can grow up to three feet in length[,] and when handled gives off a smell like lilies. The body is believed to be able to spit in defense.” “A body has been seen often amid grim dregs and sediment.” “A body has been seen, at one time, lying on the ice. [There are] bodies of at least three different kinds: a long and shallow one, steel-colored, most like those caught in the river; a bright golden kind, with greenish reflections and remarkably deep, which is the most common here; and another, golden-colored, and shaped like the last, but peppered on the sides with small dark brown spots, intermixed with a few faint blood-red ones, very much like a body.” “There is no way of knowing the present location and conditions of these bodies.” “To be honest…if [one is] really convinced that a body is extinct, [they] don’t make a particularly strong effort to continue looking for it.” “But look. If [one] turns [their] eyes to the clouds they might be noticed.” “Bodies [are] dropping down [out of the navy,] blazing sky…” “They are no longer hidden.” “Will they come when one calls?” “Relegated for long eras to remote hiding places…[the bodies are] coming back to the light from the library’s basements…leaping from the capitals and drainpipes, perching at the sleepers’ bedside. Bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies [a]re resuming possession of their city.”

            COMMON NAMES: Basilisks, Chimeras, Dragons, Fish, Giant Palouse Earthworm,
                  Griffons, Harpies, Hirococervi, Hydras, I, New Holland Mouse, Pickerel, Sayers,
                  Species, Sphinxes, Trout, Unicorns, Vultures

Those That Require Warning

“Recall the bloated gray bodies pulled off [of] the bodies.” “Fat, half grown, with glossy dark backs.” “[Bodies are] looking to rid the area. Over a period of years, [bodies] developed obstacles, punishments, and a series of intricate studies. Blockades, barbs, barriers.” “[But,] the bodies [would] visually assess the height of the barrier and learn how to lower their bodies enough to crawl under without stopping.” “It was in the early 1970’s that the first of the horror stories about bodies appeared…In its various versions, the tale tended to tell of what natural…haters bodies are.” “The bodies’ massive onslaught spread terror down the forest aisles, and all mobile creatures [took] desperate flight. Bodies swarm[ed] into the air.” “Most bodies establish[ed] their initial nest in decayed wood, but once established, they extend[ed] their tunneling into sound wood…to do considerable damage to a structure.” “Bodies can have a wide variety of effects, with varying levels of inconvenience.” “Everyone says stay away from bodies. They have no lessons for us; they are crazy little instruments…incapable of controlling themselves, lacking manners, lacking souls. When they are massed together, all touching, exchanging bits of information held in their jaws like memoranda, they become a single body. Look out for that.”

            COMMON NAMES: Animals, Ants, Army Ants, Bugs, Carpenter Ants, Cockroaches,
                  Dogs, Insects, Pit Bulls

Those That Operate From Deep Space

“The waters of the brook lap and lap. They come in little ripples, over gray stones. They are rippling a song. It is a gentle song. It is a good-bye song to the body. The time now is when there is no body.” “Bodies spend a year in the river before migrating out to the ocean.” “There, the body does swim off in search of other bodies.” “But there are no bodies.” “But there are no bodies.” “[And yet…] goggles [are] curved to fit the body’s face, and ha[ve] a large groove cut in the back to allow for the nose. A long thin slit was cut through the goggles to allow in a small amount of light…The goggles [a]re held to the head by a cord made of body sinew.” “Whose body’s sinew no body knew.” “At this point, the body…entered an area of dead water, where the water remain[ed] rough, but the current…ineffectual.” “Bodies are found in all [of] the world’s oceans with the exception of the Arctic Ocean, and some…travel between oceans.” “Factors affecting a body’s speed through the water include: overall size and shape; the nature, size and shape of propulsive organs…the type of muscle powering these organs and the conditions under which they operate.” “One body will also…snorkel the surface and below, allowing that body to interact with the body who will accompany a body, all within a natural salt water environment.” “One body stood at the water’s edge and gazed out to…the [other] body…[It] imagined the body falling through the water, drifting until it lodged in slimy plants where bodies nosed its orange feet.” “The water was a dark blue unknown, so dark that it was almost purple. As the body looked down into it, [it] saw the red sifting of the bodies in the dark water and the strange light the sun made.” “Those who go in pursuit of bodies have always relied on their traditional knowledge, which draws upon legend, and is based on their own observation of facts such as the tendency of bodies, swimming in even, wedge-shaped formations, to reflect a pulsating glow skyward when the sunlight falls at a particular angle.” “Most bodies that live in the water make light.” “But what do they look for?” “What can just one body forgive?” “The way is dark so set [the body]/ on fire make [the body] a torch make/ of [the body] a torch in the distance.” “but how will the body see?” “The goggles are all fogged up. Every body burns lantern-bright, and one body can’t tell the living from the dead.”

            COMMON NAMES: Animals, Birds, Caribou, Dolphin, Fish, Ghosts, He, Hering, I,
                  Juveniles, Lars Porsena of Clusium (A Crow), Man, Organism, Orion, Plankton,
                  Rubber Chicken, Sea Turtles, User, You/Yourself

Those That Are Possessed by Nightmares

“The body did not dream of another body but instead of a vast school of bodies that stretched for eight or ten miles, and it was in the time of their mating and they would leap high into the air and return to the same hole they had made in the water when they leaped.” “The body dreamed that those bodies would resurface and follow the body.” “So close [would] the body come to the hull, that at first it seemed as if the body meant it malice; but suddenly going down in a maelstrom, within three rods of the planks, [the body would] wholly disappear from view, as if diving under the keel.” “As creatures who thrive in the deep waters of the ocean, bodies may represent deep emotions. They may also symbolize one’s own intuition.” “The body cannot choose its dreams. Nor does it choose terrifying visions.” “[In this case,] the body’s dreams couldn’t have been very pleasant. Not many pleasant things had happened to the body.” “And what separates the dreams of the body from a body’s dread–or its dead?” “The body will confess.” “One day…uplifting an axe and forgetting, in the body’s wrath, the…dread which had hitherto stayed the body’s hand…[it] aimed a blow at the body…At one point [it] thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them by fire.” “In disposing of the…body…the same preliminary proceedings commonly take place as in the case of a body; only, in the latter instance, the head is cut off the whole, but in the former the lips and tongue are separately removed and hoisted on the deck…But nothing like this, in the present case, had been done.” “The truth is more startling.” “The image of a wild body [became] the starting-point of a daydream.” “A flagrant body in flight.” “All bodies watching.” “The body [had] a dream of [its] own. [It was] one dream. [It was] a dream of dreams.”

            COMMON NAMES: Animal (Black Cat), He, Her, I, Lions, Monster, My, Porpoise,
                  Right Whale, Sperm Whale, Whale

Those That Are Not Immediately Ill

“At the fork of the road there was the dead tree where bodies were roosting, and through its boughs a body saw the last flare of the sunset. On either side the November woods were flung in broken masses against the sky.” “[A] vine had grown body-like up and around the trunk, and it had grown so large it…half-strangled the small tree, crawling over every branch and shoot, until the vine and the tree were almost indistinguishable.” “Bodies there [we]re few and wretched, for they [we]re fed with boiled meat and boiled rice.” “In the dark of [the] night…bodies search[ed] the air for bodies, bodies scan[ned] the ground for small[er] bodies…and large bodies prowl[ed] about.” “Each body had its own way of managing.” “Bodies mostly eat small flying fruit found in the rainforests.” “Even more will search out rotten vegetation native to the area and drink from ragged veins.” “If the body doesn’t throw up that first time, [it] will spend the rest of [its] life not knowing which are the safe bodies and which are the ones that will make [it] sick.” “There are only a few important rules for a body to remember.” “If a bad body gets a body, [it] will weep…or take away the body’s whiskey, or hurt the body’s daughter’s bones…If a bad body gets a body, [it] will scratch [its] white paint with awls and scarifiers. The good bodies skitter and dance.” “The better bodies laugh.”

            COMMON NAMES: Bats, Blue Jay, Bugs, Butterflies, Buzzards, Cats, Horses, I,
                  Insects, Mammals, Megabats, Microbats, Mosquitos, Moths, Owls, Snake, You/
                  Your, Zombies

Those That Wish Closer Than

“If a body want[s] to know more about the body: bury the body in the desert so that [it has] a commanding view of the high basalt cliffs where [it] lives. Let only the body’s eyes protrude. Do not blink–the movement will alert the body to your continued presence.” “The body must learn what to look for.” “Three and a half inches in length, including the tail, the body is slightly more plump than most bodies…it spends a great amount of time on the ground hunting for seeds and small bodies. In an aviary it is steady and tame, more than reasonably hardy, and seldom fails to attract attention.” “A question: does the body whimper and pulse?” “[A question:] Could [a] body but ride indefinite/ As doth the Meadow body/ And visit only where body liked/ And No one visit Body [?]” “The body’s songs consist of a series of short trills mixed with rich warbles and occasionally high-pitched chip-like notes. Common calls include a strong pseet and a high, thin, tsii.” “[It was] discovered that th[e] body performs…choruses because of the peculiar conditions of ambient light at twilight, which allows the best contrast between the white badge and the surrounding background.” “Every body must discover the laws between foreground and background.” “To find the correct body, a body must learn to distinguish between sounds, as well.” “Vibrant sounds and vagrant sounds.” “[When] the sky [is] serene, the air perfumed, and thousands of melodious notes from bodies unknown…urge the body to arise and go in pursuit, [then, one must imitate the noise].” “A very loud, raucous, growling kowrrr-kowrrr-kowrrr.” “A rattling kerrrrr-eek, a nasal eehr, eehr ki-di-rrik, and one that sounds like quee-zika quee-zika.”

            COMMON NAMES: African Fire Finch, Artist, Bee, Birder, Birds, Cuban Melodious,
                  I, Insect, Me, Raven, Red Warbler, Species (Owl), Waxbill, Yourself

The Botched Bestiary Guide

The Botched Bestiary experiments are tethered to Steve Baker’s discussion of “botching,” hybridity, the pack, and assemblage in The Postmodern Animal, as well as to Jorge Luis Borges’ The Book of Imaginary Beings, and Gilles DeLeuze and Felix Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus. Other sources are listed below.

“Those That May Disappear”: “Top 10 Extinct Creatures That Aren’t Extinct,” Wonderful World Of Animals Blog, July 2008; Henry David Thoreau’s Walden; Chris Hayhurst’s “Life After Death: Some Species Thought To Be Extinct Are Being Rediscovered,” E: The Environmental Magazine, Nov 1999; Ray Bradbury’s “The Veldt”; and Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities.

“Those That Require Warning”: Annie Proulx’s “The Half-Skinned Steer”; Lydia Davis’ “Cockroaches In Autumn”; “How Low Can You Go? Ants Learn To Limbo,” Science Daily, May 2006; Vicki Herne’s “Consider The Pit Bull”; “Fierce Onslaught By Day,” The Wonders Of Life On Earth (Time Life Books, 1960); “Getting Rid Of Carpenter Ants,” Pest Control Canada; Wikipedia, “Software Bugs,” 2008; and Lewis Thomas’ “The Tuscan Zoo.”

“Those That Operate From Deep Space”: Opal Whiteley’s The Singing Creek Where The Willows Grow; Wikipedia, “Goggles”; Aidan R. Martin, “Biology of Sharks and Rays”; W.G. Sebald’s Rings of Saturn; “How Do Animals Make Light?” ^^

“Those That Are Possessed By Nightmare”: Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man And The Sea; Herman Melville’s Moby Dick; “Whale Dreams,” Bella Online; Sherwood Anderson’s “Death In The Woods”; Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat”; John Berger’s “Why Look At Animals?”; and Sylvia Plath’s “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams.”

“Those That Are Not Immediately Ill”: Ellen Glasgow’s “Jordan’s End”; Brigit Pegeen Kelly’ “The Garden of the Trumpet Tree”; Eliot Weinberger’s “The Dream of India”; “Spying On the Secrets of the Night,” The Great Themes: Life Library of Photography; “Bats! What Do Bats Eat?” ^^; Pam Houston’s “Three Lessons In Amazonian Biology”; and Donald Barthelme’s “The Zombies.”

“Those That Wish Closer Than”: Barry Lopez’s “The Raven”; Hank Bates and Bob Busenbark’s Introduction to Finches and Softbills; Emily Dickinson, poem #661; “Red Warbler,” Bird Songs From Around the World; “Owls,” Science Daily; “John James Audubon,” The Great Naturalists. Ed. Robert Huxley; and “Wattled Ibis,” “Boat-Billed Flycatcher,” from Bird Songs From Around The World.

On Caryl Pagel’s “The Sick Bed”

Even as my own editor, I consider myself honored and lucky to have the opportunity to write about one of my favorite poems. I wish I could say everything about this poem; but then, there’s the poem, for that. — AS

On Caryl Pagel’s “The Sick Bed”

To whom does a ghost most dearly mean, and when? Is it more intensely known when encountered, or when anticipated but not yet encountered? Are there ghosts of the ill as there are ghosts of the dead? May one sit, in more than a metaphorical manner, with the ghost of a living person, if that person is ill or dying? What about with the ghost of oneself?

For all the countless times I’ve read this poem, quickly or closely, I confess that I can’t yet claim to comprehend with clarity the relationships between the speaker and illness, the speaker and death, illness and death, the speaker and the patient, the patient and death, all these things and ghostliness. Is the speaker ill? Dying? Is she rather attending a patient fallen ill? Is that person dying? I feel the room of the sick bed haunted by all these possibilities, by conditions not yet settled.

The image that best defines the physical space:

            May your light strum from
            a dust torn window

The room itself is spectral. It tenuously admits something ghostly. In this matter at least, my inability to clearly define relationships among things feels like an asset.


A poem of magisterial stillness. Though the narrative circumstance for the speaker at times seems to border on shame, and is always lined entirely with tension, the poem itself evokes a stillness so remote that it might be etched into a different century altogether (and maybe this sentence is falsely opposed: after all, what is more full of tension, more full of deniable potential, than a stillness?).

One source of that stillness is entrapment. Muted, perhaps largely voluntary, the speaker as nurse or vigil-keeper, or the speaker as beset by illness, anyhow in a state of entrapment brought about by illness — that state which obliterates all other concern by force of simple need. For comfort, for relief. Prostrate condition in which one may promise anything at all but may not act.

Words in this poem often are caught between meanings in much the same manner as the vigil-keeper at a death is caught between life and death (as surely as the dying). The poem’s second section evokes this most succinctly: “Gone uncaught / un-lit or flown” contains an almost total negation of motion or its possibility, but in no sense a negation of the conditions of entrapment or stillness. The word “left” in the section’s penultimate line seems to me to occupy such a space between meanings.


There is an aspect of reading in contemporary poetry that I’ve struggled to articulate: I don’t know how to explain the satisfaction I take in sitting with a line, or a pattern of line break, that suggests, but doesn’t force, ambiguities. Consider this line, from the first section of “The Sick Bed”:

            What made me mean body

Although the line seems in most readings to pick up on something unfinished in the lines that precede it, and there is a certain ambiguity therefore already in the line as a physical and rhetorical space, I’m most concerned with the ambiguity in the sentence itself, located in the word “mean.”

If taken literally as it seems to be meant, that is, as a probing reconsideration of something the speaker said (or anyhow felt or thought) in a past moment, the line ends the poem’s first section on a rich note of consternation — one is as moving sparingly through a room, pausing at the window but not really looking out, astonished by the capability of the self for error.

On the other hand, there’s no keeping entirely out the connotation of lowliness or basicness in the word “mean.” The implications of a full acceptance of that connotation are striking, as the “you” and “he” that have dominated the section (I take it someone has died, though it isn’t certain) then serve a purpose additional to what they already have, as a prod for the speaker to consider her own bodily meanness. Which taking Ammons into account, I might then consider either as a reflection on mortality and smallness, or as the root of a sort of awe forthcoming in the particularity of the lowly — a sort of awe that might easily be seen as arising from a death or the depths of an illness.

Which double root is the point, to an extent: attempts to settle ambiguity in one direction or another lead to other ambiguities. The syntax of this poem — of many poems, but of this — is wonderfully full of decisions that can’t be made definitively. When considered against the stanza (for instance, the many ways words might organize into sentence in the passage “may your head fall empty / illness find / approaching graveness” — the line breaks guide choice to an extent, but they don’t entirely close off the possibility of reading syntax as “empty illness” and “find approaching”) or section or poem as a whole, however, what I find I encounter is not a poem, but a poem and several ghosts of a poem, each of them whole.

Does it go at all beyond the pride of recognition to consider questions of this sort? Is it ultimately academic? Egotistical? I think it isn’t, though clearly I have enough doubts that I’m willing to list them.

Tell me, though — does this sort of pausing, considering, though it ultimately leave one uncertain, feel worthwhile to you, valuable? It’s nothing new I’m describing: if you’ve read much poetry, you’ve considered this yourself much as I have here. Ambiguity (of one sort or another) is a defining characteristic of most contemporary poetry worth reading. But in and of itself, does it make a given poem one worth reading? Can it carry poems, for you, like it carries this poem, for me?


Or maybe what carries this poem, for me, is not ambiguity at all. Maybe it’s the moments of absolute clarity that punctuate the poem’s later sections:

            That day became
            a broken ear

for instance, or:

            Prayer shuts one from page


            Exception: unseen

            Please let me leave unseen

These statements are as perilously balanced, as artfully constructed, as the moments of ambiguity I’ve found such richness in; but they have a character of desperation to them that even the stillness of ambiguity can’t quite attain. What’s released from a state of betweenness must emerge with the urgency that drove it forth still somehow attendant upon it? I can’t commit to something like that.

But then again, what’s more urgent than a ghost?

THERMOS 5: Caryl Pagel

Today’s second of three Caryl Pagel poems we’ll re-publish from our print issues this week remains one of my personal favorites — not just of poems we’ve published in THERMOS, but of poems I’ve read in first books, current books, all books these past few years. Happy to have the chance — again — to place it in your attention. — AS

The Sick Bed

When last to mutter
may your head fall empty
illness find
approaching graveness

May your light strum from
a dust torn window
to where you watch
still body part

We none do see each I fall out

For example: I held his hand
I did not
know when it was over

What made me mean body

Gone uncaught
un-lit or flown
it’s strange

of that mine
I can tell you nothing left

but what formed

Now–to hold on
to new space
Frame tremor can you
frame heady loss

with a morning canceled
I think no

morning can go canceled

That day became

a broken ear

a constant ringing

take care of this
beware of

Not any inner thought

Straight became
a monster

I mean master
of my own clean loss

See this version
this image

waits not to grow cold if you ask
I will go by
my second self’s hand

no sneak up from behind
bright shade
tranquil dose
to catch me ill
staring at far off clouds unraveled thin

My lord
the closest killer

hides my enemies too

Open only
unhinged in plea

hands hollowed

Prayer shuts one from page

Like dim reflections
each end sigh
goes fiddle out the window
to play for ghosts

Don’t worry you don’t know them

When it comes
I’ll tell

it sounds like
deathswish or hushwish

Never bell

When last to muster
some tune through
loud gales

You keep it short as I will
ask no more
this way

Exception: unseen

Please let me leave unseen

Hilary Plum on Caryl Pagel

We’re delighted this morning to have Hilary Plum’s thoughts on Caryl Pagel. You can find Hilary’s first novel, They Dragged Them Through the Streets, here, and Caryl’s book of poems, Experiments I Should Like Tried At My Own Death, here. — AS


I do not believe in biography, though I always believe in life.

The first or second or third night I met Caryl we went to a bar called George’s. You may have been there. It was the night of the seventh game of the NBA playoffs, Lakers vs. Celtics. Some nights a basketball game may suffice but this night life was greater. Caryl and I huddled to talk, heads close, drinks close. A man approached, terribly. He said: I noticed you two were pointed at the game. We two blinked. Do you follow basketball? he said. Not really, we said, meaning, dear God. Well, he said, do you know why they’re wearing different colors? and pointed at the screen. Reader, he was about to tell us what a team was. I wish I could report how perfectly I dismissed him. But I couldn’t even speak. As usual Caryl took care of everything.

I first read William James’ The Varieties of Religious Experience in college. I decided that semester that I shouldn’t have to buy books and every morning before class I’d go to the library to read that day’s assignment, and came to class with pages of handwritten notes, which I’d refer to throughout discussion. This was inefficient but intense. So when I met Caryl and perceived how deeply James had lived in and through her, I felt communion. If books are a means to commune both with the dead and one another. That is the hypothesis that we are endeavoring to prove. Or, to experience.

I say we because soon after I met Caryl I heard her read some of the beautiful the body poems that in her book comprise “The Botched Bestiary.” Afterward she was discussing the Society for Psychical Research, the organization founded in the 1880s in Boston of which William James was the first president. She mentioned forming such a group today, but not like that; rather she said that to her such a group was made up of all those who were thinking about these ideas and all those—like you two, she said, gesturing across the table to where we sat—with whom she discussed them. The unexplained, the presence of the dead: apparitions, patterns of grief, clairvoyance, collaborative research, testimony as proof. I don’t exaggerate to say a thrill went through me. That I might already be conducting (a conductor for?) this research; that I might be included in the labors and inquiries of a stranger’s rigorous and glorious mind.

What I mean is, knowing Caryl is comforting and thrilling.

I don’t know if it’s coincidence that this is how I imagine, how I might describe, what it would be to see a ghost. Profound thrill, radical comfort.

I took careful notes while reading Caryl’s first book, Experiments I Should Like Tried at My Own Death, but lost them. I like to think that someone found them and from them imagined a book, specter of Caryl’s.

From all this you’ll comprehend how I felt when Caryl invited me to work more with her at Rescue Press.

There are certain events (you are pointed at the game) that women live and witness, that women writers and teachers and editors and ______ live and witness, that we may come to refer to with the shorthand M v. W. It is important to discuss these events; it is important to be in contact with some formidable Ws for when one’s own spirit starts to flag.

James writes: Nevertheless, if we look on man’s whole mental life as it exists, on the life of men that lies in them apart from their learning and science, and that they inwardly and privately follow, we have to confess that the part of it of which rationalism can given an account is relatively superficial. It is the part that has the prestige undoubtedly, for it has the loquacity, it can challenge you for proofs, and chop logic, and put you down with words. But it will fail to convince or convert you all the same, if your dumb intuitions are opposed to its conclusions.

I quote this mostly to note how often Caryl may use that word dumb. It’s a joke, but a serious one: if the part of life for which the rational intelligence may account is relatively superficial. How do we know the rest? How do we live?

We investigate, we commune. Expand or dismiss or mourn or unname the self. Put your head close to Caryl’s.

THERMOS 1: Caryl Pagel

Today we begin a two-week feature of Caryl Pagel’s poetry. One of the poets we started the journal for, we’ve returned to Caryl’s work more than to any other poet’s. It’s been wonderful to watch as Rescue Press has flourished and her first book, Experiments I Should Like Tried At My Own Death has gained widespread recognition. We’re all proud to call her a friend and to continue our project of publishing more of/about her poetry this month. She’s an inspiring presence, we’re sure you (will) agree. This poem is from our first issue. Check back throughout the week for poems from our 5th and 8th issues, as well as writing about Caryl and her poetry by me and by Hilary Plum. Then, check back next week for even more! — AS

[Hear One Cry Out]

Hear one cry out
as if threatened–

Sheep act scattering

You emerge from the wings

The town in tow
puts call to trial

Then grumbles back


Under gold light
performance continues

A costumed herd accustomed
to my silence resumes
their place–

gathered upstage
against the back-drop

Back-drop an open field

All day long I keep track of this collection

in spite of lies
that lie

beneath my one line


Watched on watch
I can tell

one grows lonely

hears a whisper through the trees cut-
out along the wall

The scene escapes

Again I cry

You plead
I wait for right cue

Held up
by attention
by terror

by rave

a chance to star

it kills my wonder when
wide interest wanes

I turn
shock-monster growing bold

Told to keep

for damage

real risk appears in shadow now