ACE OF CUPS(1983/86?) |
|
I Fame, Greek: Speak A I thought being a famous author would mean associating with poeple the way I do with books: I read a book, love it, I do not need to talk to it. I have no desire to meet its author. Of course, I might entertain the slightest daydream, but in actuality I have met enough authors -- and had nothing to say to them. Embarrassed I stand, tongued tied. I do not care about their frustrations or frugality. What they have to say to me they said in their book. My only curiosity: to read their next book. B Now I realize, to be a famous author you're expected to meet others, to be fascinating, fascinated, curious, to have questions, give answers. I have none of these. What I have to say I said in my book. For the rest, I am mute, inconsequential, alone, silent. If I have more to say, I'll say it in another book. To meet and talk particularly with famous people or rich or fanciful is supposed the gist of life. I find it boring. Reality fascinating, People boring. If I can watch people from a distance or, at a party, from someplace alone, unpreceived, as long as I don't have to talk, to pretend, to be interested, to listen, I can love. All I learn from other people I learn in silence, what I learn from myself I learn in solitude. But I keep on writing. I keep on reading. But not being fascinated or fascinating, there is little opening in the literary ranks. My books are nonexistent on the scene. II Anonymity, Greek: Without name seems to be a channel into love. When I speak to no one but strangers: about the price of peapods, fish in the ladder, the growth of the pine, the lilacs' early bloom, the bus's lateness or whereabouts or doom, advise the night photographer on the freeway bridge to wait for fog -- it is then my heart sings, it is then my smile radiates from the thousand petalled lotus in my breast, it is then I am contained and human. |
Jan Haag may be reached via e-mail: jhaag@u.washington.edu
The Woman Who Had No Necklaces