Between cracks

To read until one no longer understands a single sentence. That alone is reading.
- Elias Canetti, "The Secret Heart of the Clock"

This came from Carolyn Forche's old site (which doesn't work as a link so here's her new site). What was Canetti's intention and does it matter? I am there - so inundated with reading and then with the filtering, that language is losing its meaning for me.

My writing stutters along. I'm stuck in this crack between imagism (which everyone calls minimalism) and my narrative voice, the one that wants detail.