My mother's books

My mother’s books

After my mother passed away, my stepfather said: you can take the English books away. I took them and have in the mean time read most of them. Some are by good authors like William Burroughs, Tennessee Williams, Irwin Shaw, James Michener, Pearl Buck, Truman Capote, Larry Mac Murthy and also Louisville Saturday by Margaret Long: soldiers and lonely women, love, ecstasy and heartbreak.

The rest: trash pure and unadulterated, rather sexualized trash. But then the other day I spotted a French book by Simone de Beauvoir. I could have that one too. My mother had had a good education, has been in a French speaking boarding school, so the language didn’t surprize me. The title: La femme rompue (The torn woman). It was the youngest book among the lot. I am reading it: it is a dark and troubled book, written very intelligent. The male/female relationships are dark and troubled dissecting also mothers and daughters. (In this case posthumously)

The book portrays the loneliness of relationships that once were vibrant and fulfilling, but leaves the main characters empty handed, empty hearted. The little noises of others being unpalatable and the loneliness unbearable. The main female character at the end can’t write as well as she could. There is lot of silence in the book, uncomfortable silence that is. Every relationship turns into a disappointment and thus loneliness settles deep in the soul. Silence in the conversations, which are not really an exchange, which leave one empty broken. I wonder how broken her spirit was, to the point of dementia. To the point of no return: terminal dementia.

High expectations of oneself do not come true in the book which kind of breaks, brings someone down. Why did she buy and read that book? She must have expected more from life, but with my stepfather she choose the safe road for her, although not for me. It is an intelligent book – what one would expect from Simone De Beauvoir. In nature once in while there is solace to be found and solitude. Yet in her life there is also too much solitude. My mother was a good-looking woman. And she could hold her drink. Men were drawn to her. She met Louis at the Century hotel where she worked as a telephone operator and he as an electrician.

Goldfish and Rose by Robert Hershon

Never did I receive a poetry book by a friend with such a dedication, so sweet and funny that I should not repeat it in public! Thank you for that Robert.

I am the proud owner of Calls from the outside world and The German Lunatic. All books by Hanging Loose Press. He is also, and has been co-editor since 1966 of the wonderful magazine by that name of which I have a small collection. Robert has always been a lover of films, a passion which engendered Freeze Frame by PRESSED WAFER. I particularly like "1948": Saturdays describing how he and his sister would always find a dollar on the dresser so they could go and watch a movie. It is quite an overview honoring some actors I am not familiar with, but also some names I know, having seen their movies. His latest book is Goldfish and Rose, again with an iconic cover. He is wise and funny. Some poems deal with art: among others the title poem Goldfish and Rose. Also Sidney says (do this): who the hell needs poems (just as my stepfather feels). There is also gentle reflection about aging: Will his readers know the names of baseball players he mentions? Does he need to provide footnotes? Identifying parentheses? I also love the Poems Frame of reference I and particularly II about D-day: Well I know about D-day. My father, an American soldier, survived that day...  and I am a consequence of it. It is a book following the stream of life and happenings in New York, a book with kindness and humor and here and there a touch of melancholy. Thank you Robert. Stay well.

Annmarie

Translation of poetry and of texts from a different culture

Having worked as an interpreter for the European Parliament I have wondered how a Romanian colleague would deal with a Finnish speaker or how a Portuguese interpreter would get the intention of the Hungarian speaker.

It is not about the words flipping them into the target language so that the words would be understandable. Rather in immersing oneself in a language one can grasp the strangeness of the other's circumstances and maybe understand the different cultural contexts, religious concepts and also every thing pertaining to daily and ceremonial life, to the daily hardships and joys. I have translated quite a lot of poetry by Modern Native Americans: Sherman Alexie's translation will be presented October 2nd in Antwerp. Sherman Alexie is Spokane/Coeur D'Alene Indian. His work is modern and deep, funny and ruthlessly honest. He uses irony and old cultural elements. He is a trickster who will confuse you and make you wonder and fill your heart with joy. He writes about pain in his unique way. He is a poet who challenges the translator, using among other techniques Fibonacci series in his rhymes, in another poem he has always the same end rhyme... Impossible in the target language. His world view, his translation of himself in his unique way is quite a gift. I hope the reader will enjoy his work 'On the backs of salmon' the metaphor I use for this translation. I hope you will be deeply touched by Sherman Alixie's poems I have chosen from his four first poetry books, published by Robert Hershon soul and body of Hanging Loose Press. A click on the image will enlarge it, so you can see the beauty of the books.

Sherman Alexie's books in Chronological order:
The Business of Fancydancing, Hanging Loose Press, 1992
First Indian On the Moon, Hanging Loose Press, 1993
The Summer of Black Widows, Hanging Loose Press, 1996
One Stick Song, Hanging Loose Press, 2000

Weaving between two worlds...

Years ago I was asked about the Navajo Hopi land dispute. Since I had worked years before (I think in 1979) for free in a conference about returning the indigenous lands to the native people, I had very good documentation about several issues. It was a wonderful experience, and I thought it was high time to finally share the English text with you all. A few days ago fine combed the text, hopefully having left no mistakes or extra empty spaces behind.

Today's work was to get bibliography right. I am quite pleased with myself to have finished the job. Rereading  the long list with wonderful books a joy by itself. 

By the way I added a short list of some of my favorite Native American authors....

Alexie, Sherman, all his novels and poetry (He won the PEN-Faulkner award)

Bird, Gloria, prose and poetry

Boyne, Grace, poetry

Erdrich, Louise, her novels

Harjo, Joy her poetry and other work

Kingsolver, Barbara, her novels and High Tide in Tucson

Least Heat-Moon: Blue Highways and Prairy Erth

Marmon Silko, Leslie, Ceremony, her novels and poetry

Maurice, Kenny, his poetry

Momaday, Scott, everything

Moore, MariJo, her poetry

Rose, Wendy, her poetry: Lost Copper, Academic Squaw, Bone dance

Simon, J. Ortiz his poetry

Tapahonso, Lucy, her poetry

Tohe, Laura her poetry (No Parole today)

Welch, James, his novels

Of course my thoughts go out to Leonard Peltier, poet and political prisoner

David Foster Wallace

He died, no he committed suicide when he was 46. I am now 68 and stumbled upon his writing. I am an avid reader, read all kinds of things and thinner books usually find a place in my purse to read in any forlorn moment. Now I just bough two of his books (the bookshop in Antwerp only had two of his books) on offer and I went home with Infinite Jest, 1000 pages plus and 93 pages of annotations and the Pale King. No way to carry the book in a regular purse. When I started I was wondering about whether I could read it all without getting bored, uninterested or disgruntled... I soon discovered that this was writing like I had never read:rich, long winded, interesting all about the young peoples at a sports college. The language sings, the fumes of pot almost waft off  the page. The words will run away from you, will crowd you, will make you smile... Of course this is a book to be read as a young adult struggling with all that goes on in life. Yet the beauty will floor you at times:

That cockroaches can, up to a certain point, be lived with.
That "acceptance" is usually more a matter of fatigue than anything else.
That different people have radically different ideas of basic personal hygiene.
That it is permissible to want. That everybody is identical in their
secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else. That this isn't necessary perverse.
That there might not, but there are people who might as well be angels.

David Foster Wallace grew up in Illinois. He studied at Amherst, he suffered severe depressions. He wrote a short story about the 1983 episode. The Planet Trillaphon as It Stands in Relation to the Bad Thing." which was published in the Amherst review. Trillaphon is an anti-pychotic medication...

If it looks difficult, think of the education you'll get reading his work: the taste  and smell of a time of growing up as Generation X in the USA.

Praying for forbidden fruit by Bart Stouten

Bart forever kind and forever the professional organized a book presentation  unlike any other I have seen and especially heard. The Introduction by Luc Coorevits, was clear and to the point and he was right when he said it was a totally different approach to writing this real novel. In this picture Bart seems to be quietly relaxing, kind of knowing that everything would be fine. It was after all the master who was the master of ceremony. Publisher Friday (Vrijdag) brought another good book out. Once home I started reading and it is quite captivating. Working for Klara, the classical radio in Flanders Bart knows the field of music extremely well. He will find new young talent as Wout Goris and Wolfram Ghesquière, a truly intimate performance with Wofram's lyrics  brought to us in a fragile, husky voice by Wout. I preferred his English ballads over the Dutch ones although those  found a way to touch me.

 Here as a surprise for the evening Bart reading from the book and young Vlad Weverbergh on bas sax intoning, improvising along the reading. I had enjoyed Vlad's work a couple of times before, he seemed as playful yet even more mature as a musician. In other words. What a beautiful, rich evening.
Thanks to all  who made it happen.

Omheind - Fenced

Yesterday in Het Letterenhuis Omheind / Fenced, the second novel by Hilde Keteleer, published by the young publishing house 'Vrijdag', was presented. Leen van Dijck welcomed the substantial crowd and spoke, explained a bit about the task of Het letterenhuis and  spoke warmly about the new book of Hilde. Jos Gijsels spoke eloquently about her book. It was obvious they have known each other for a long time and he pointed out the importance of her book. The the desert came to us with the haunting music by AISHAM, a Palestinian-Syrian ensemble. Their music lets you feel the sand run between your fingers... and then Hilde read pieces by each of the four voices of her novel. The novel introduces us to a hybrid, checkered family with hankering for  the love of the mother and unknown fathers. Hilde is an accomplished writer and does good research so in reading the novel you glean a lot of information. She does, what I couldn't do weave reality into fiction, incorporate it as the spine of the story. Her description of what a desert can do with a person did hit home for me and the difficulties of  not so simple love between different cultures. She sparingly incorporates a few Arabic words underscoring the fact that you are 'elsewhere' in her interesting, mature novel.

Lucienne Stassaert and the translation of Emily Dickinsons poetry

Yesterday Lucienne Stassaert dropped in and after her visit I revisited some of her translations of Emily Dickinson. It is incredibly hard to translate Emily Dickinson's work since mostly she writes sparsely, just a few words - dashes - and deep thought. The difficulty in translating Dickinson's work is that the words she uses do double and often even triple duty. incorporating the resulting layers of meaning is sheer impossible. I admire Lucienne's reckless poetry and I see some of the traits of her own poetry showing up in her translations. Her double word formations really work as an enrichment of the language of her Dutch translation. Moreover Lucienne has created a free space of creativity and freedom yet still remains true to the great original texts.

Cormac Mc Carthy. The road- All the pretty horses, Child of God and Outer dark

I had given The Road, a post apocalyptic novel by Cormac Mc Carthy to a friend of mine. When he gave it it back he said : it is sooo dark... After climate change a father and son walk through scorched America. The only thing moving are the ashes and the people looking for food. Violence and unerring humanity. It is shocking yet beautiful. So off to the bookshop I went and got myself All the pretty horses the first book of the Border trilogy. I am floored by the language, the precise terms for types of soil, potholes and other standing water, but also life and death, love and notwithstanding pain some men live by their own rather masculine honor code. He tells a grand and epic story, expressed in even grander landscapes reflecting the mental states of some of the protagonists. Pain, love, loyalty. My love of language made me circle the words I had never read before... quiet a few gems are to be found on each page. And yes the story of young men, kids almost and the trials and tribulations of first love... In a way this is a unique coming of age novel. I had read before Child of God, for me this was the hardest to read: the degradation, the grotesque, killing and preying upon people in normal situations like chance encounters in the woods, in stores. The images of East Tennessee show the depressed area and the de-posessed... Yet I go on reading mesmerized by the dignity of some, the touch of humor and the strength and mesmerizing beauty of his language. Mc Carthy shows the worst of a human being yet elicits compassion.

Just one sentence: The lamp in the floor gutters in the wind and the wind moans in th flue.

Outer dark begins with the birth of a child from the incestuous union between a brother and a sister. The brother takes away the child and she won't stop looking for it in the wild Appalachian lands around the turn of the century. Moving and chilling is this wandering to find a child. three strangers turn it into an apocalypse... It is quiet a read bringing redemption n a strange way as a kind of parable.

Johan de Boose interviews Lucienne Stassaert

 This post is a little late, almost a week after the facts. As an interviewer of writers Johan de Boose is just great. He researches thoroughly and digs up interesting information. I remember it happened when he interviewed Marleen De Crée and now again with the interview with Lucienne Stassaert. I have known both authors for a very long time and yet he managed to surprise me. He reads thoroughly, and asks sometimes difficult questions. Of course the bio is dealt with: Lucienne started out as a musician, even participated in the Queen Elizabeth Competition. Yet it was her fathers dream, not her dream. She gave concerts till in the late sixties and then gave her piano to her daughter who is a singer accompanying herself on the piano. Lucienne now paints and writes prose, wrote radio plays, she translates and writes mainly poetry. 

As Dickinson would say:

I dwell in Possibility -                                                                                  
A fairer house than Prose -

Currently she is working on her memories...

In Lucienne a poem will usually come about because of a word she found, a word which opens the possibility of saying something new, or in a new way. Very often after the first poem a second poem will come and it might even turn into a cycle of poems, or even a whole book. She was part and parcel of several literary movements like Labris, yet she distanced herself from those, being too much of a rebel, of an individualist. With age comes more and more introspection and also loss. A poem in my translation from her last book: Nabloei 

I'll quarantine death
now the bleakness of a new season
robs the light of its overtones
when in the night a blackened child
closes off the crossroads where the past thrives.

So life, reckless as an endangered spring,
can shoot up in a wild bush
in all nerve knots
I give free passage to the word
raging in seas a self-lighting sea.

VAV-workingcongres

The VAV (Vlaamse Auteurs Vereniging) is a professional organization for authors in Flanders. Their yearly congress is really great: yet one can't follow all the workshops one would like to follow. The day started out with Patrick De Rynck introducing the plenary debate about the question "The book sector in transition?" The participants were Erik Vlaminck (author convinced that authors need to learn the business aspects of a writers life, sitting to the right, next to Koen Van Bockstal), Mark Pieters, publisher from the Netherlands speaking about the big corporations and the influence on the publishing process of the sales department of said corporations. It gave a disheartening image of the sector. Carlo Van Baelen (2nd left) spoke about the existential crisis of the publishing sector, the impoverishing of libraries and both of these factors leading to a leaner offer in books. 280.000 books per year are published in the Dutch speaking area, only 105.000 books are made available to the public. After three to six month, a book if it is not a bestseller, is taken off the shelves in the stores.

 We who read a lot keep the authors, publishers and bookshops alive.
A book was defined by him as an elitist product since it takes time, money and intelligence...
Koen Van Bockstal underlined that this crisis in the big concerns is an opportunity for the smaller and mid size publishers. The situation calls for stubborn publishers following their own mind. Also self-publishing is not necessarily a bad thing for authors. We need a new type of bookshop: professional and capable of taking the financial risk of the books ordered.
Natalie Ariën took the pictures and had organized the whole work-congres. Dimitri is one of our young and appreciated authors: here the link in dutch.

Then there was scientific research into writers processes... Interesting. Maybe when I have thought enough about what I heard there I'll blog about it later. And the last session was by Leen Van Dijck about the importance of archives and keeping different versions of a manuscript... Also correspondence about a translation and private letters to authors or friends and diaries... all that should be given to literary archives... The Letterenhuis (House of letters -as in literature) is working on their digital expertise so that all our digital document will be available online in a really safe place.

Shedding Skinns - Four Sioux Poets

My two friends from the Leonard Peltier chapter gave me ‘Shedding skins’ a poetry book by four Sioux poets. The book is introduced and edited by Adrian C. Louis. After reading their poetry a couple of times I know I am charmed by the authors different approaches whereas the subject matter of the four poets seems similar. Trevino L. Brings Plenty, Steve Pacheco, Joel Waters and Luke Warm Water deal with the realities of reservation life and of being an urban Indian. Notwithstanding the comparable experiences and circumstances on reservations of the northern Plains or the cities they roamed or lived in, they have each found their own voice. Their different life experiences, development and style, even when referring to the same external circumstances and situations lead to a common thread and attitude of ‘survival’. You’ll find classical elements of native American poetry like humor and raw honesty. The writing skills of these four poets are abundantly clear, some veer a bit more to the academic, others incorporate elements of slam poetry and performance art.

Trevinio L. Brings Plenty starts out with a fun poem about white prejudices: spirituality, beautiful hair, tell me a sacred story, connection to the earth... So the reader warned. He writes about too young alcoholic mothers, the destroyed hope of the new generation, living off of the city. He sees reality as it is, sees what it does to the people and is not judgmental when people can’t escape from their situation of poverty.

Steve Pacheco starts out with a return to the reservation of a soldier in his fatigues. Diabetes is another all too familiar subject. Discovering that it runs in the family because of the commodity cheese, and the rest of government issued fat, preservatives and salt. His description of prairie winters in the house has a wry humor. He knows the littered streets of cities with loners and bastards. Great stuff.

Joel Waters titles speak for them self: Devil’s Playground, The Outhouse, Wannabe. The poems that haunts me are Cherry and The Cigarette Burns... Beautiful in it’s horror of rape and ridicule and the aftermath of that.

Luke Warm Water is maybe the most critical of the four poets. In his poetry we hear and feel the kids in ‘the backseat of a rusted nest one-eyed Chevy’ He must have felt the pain of the loss of many people whatever the reasons: sickness, alcoholism, suicide. This all thanks to 'Welfare Bliss’

The book is an important and good read.

Sequenza - Marleen de Crée

Marleen de Crée needs no introduction in Belgium. She is one of our well known poets and has quite an oeuvre to her name. Next Friday, March 15, in den Hopsack in Antwerp her bilingual book Sequenza will be presented. It will be an interesting and varied evening. Expect video poems, reading in two languages: the Dutch original and the English translation. There will be music. The title of this book of poetry refers to composer Luciano Berio and for those who don't know technically what a Sequenza is, Vlad Weverbergh will perform that evening Sequenza IXa on the clarinet. Frank De Vos will be the troubadour with two songs and will read one poem in Dutch. Intro by Annmarie Sauer.

The presentation starts at 8.30 in Den Hopsack is in the old part of town: Grote Pieter Pot straat 24, Antwerp 2000.
It will be a worthwhile, even a memorable evening.

Sequenza ISBN 9783842341449
world internet books

  

November salon 12b

A small but select group of poets participated in last nights salon 12b. From the former poet laureate of Antwerp, Peter Holvoet-Hanssen, to poet Rudy Witsy who with Tony Rombouts presented their latest book 'Duo', from  German poet, Fred Schywek to American busker, singer songwriter Ken Post performing with Ingeborg a surprising dialog between Anaïs Nin and Jack Kerouac. Beautiful anti war texts were read by Willem Persoon. A video by swoon was also much enjoyed. Poetry by Rose Vandewalle was read from a current translation project. Roger Nupie opened the night with some thought provoking poems. Great stuff all of it. The audience was attentive, enjoyed the cake by Rose, the cheese pie by Hakata and the goulash soup by Fred. Uncyia from the Leonard Peltier chapter brought some postcards to be signed for his release. Thus beauty and commitment went hand in hand during the whole evening.

Rose's

(Kleine Nachtmusik)

The room

suddenly tilts and turns        

caches me

in its grabby arms

its hands ablaze with longing

arouse me

with each of its fiery tongues

envelops me transports me

the room

scorching breath

whirlpool and spiral

the room

oh it spins and stalls

soon in higher gear

drags me down in its fall

ends in a plunge

a prodigious shivering plunge

Johan de Boose interviews Marleen de Crée

A chill, a touch of blue and two days gone by. Thursday noon in the Permeke library in Antwerp, a captivating author in his own right Johan de Boose and Marleen de Crée held a very interesting conversation. I have known Marleen's work since over 30 years and the talent of the interviewer dug out some interesting information and insights new to me. It must be challenging and wonderful to be interviewed by someone who knows "the metier", the necessary skills as well as the interviewee. Then the answers can open new perspectives. When one listens to Marleen it all seems so logical and as it is supposed to be. This isn't quite the right formulation since she is also strong willed and has an original mind of her own. All this packed in the beauty of her sonnets and rondeau's. She perverts, changes these traditional forms: strange punctuation, no rhymes, no open lines... You name it, she has done it. I now also know how the musicality of her verses came about. She went to a good boarding school where they had a choir. She had a very high soprano voice and so she sang in the choir. Their school won most contest because of this soprano voice. At home too there was a lot of singing, and many books. She started reading the books on the top shelf and worked her way through all the books. One could say that was her classical period. She adores Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu and all the poetry by Rainer Marie Rilke. She would joyfully reread them, but so little time, so many books to read and write. Here you find 3 wonderful video-poems made with Marleen's poems, a happy collaboration with Swoon Bildos who is invited to many Video festivals to showcase his work.

Happy Birthday Den Hopsack

The theme of the day was Coffee and Cinnamon. You have to realize that in Dutch this is a nice alliteration 'Koffie en Kaneel' It was a nice brunch and the eight poets reading got it as a reward. Of course Ericson Accosta, an author in prison in the Philippines, without even a charge as a Pen Writers in Prison action.

I don't have good pictures of the poets reading, but there was a nice mix of subjects and styles.

Per usual there is music to relax in between the readings or performances. This time it was Scarabee on violin and cello, two young performers learning to perform for an audience. Of course it is also about the written word and here you see a few of the books on offer. As always a warm and kind mix of people, known and totally unknown poets performed and all were listened to. A nice morning and I am lucky enough to have performed several times in the course of their 40 years of poetry readings. Thanks Den Hopsack! Thanks to the invisible workers!

Messages from Newtopia

 Last night was wonderful, was poweerful: authors living in Belgium and abroad shared their thoughts and writings on human rights and how the universal declaration of human rights could be improved. First there was music, spoken word, rapped with African instruments. They also had the last word. One author, journalist Fatena Al-Ghorra was not present since the terrible events in Gaza unfolded she went home to witness the situation.

Here from left to right Chris De Stoop, reading a fictional letter to Amnesty international about emotional rights. Isn't the family the most dangerous place on earth? Isn't emotional coldness by parents something that kills one souls and maims for life? Next is Dejan Anastaijevic who picked up on one of my pet peeves: Freedom of speech, as used by a finish mobil phone producer, perverting the idea of content to profit. Free movement as picked up by an American Car maker... Naema Tahir read in Dutch from her book Bruid van de dood. The choice of the girl not to accept an arranged, read forced marriage, and instead joining the army in Pakistan...

Here you see David Van Reybrouck interviewing, talking with Tahar Ben Jelloun: a wise man, thoughtful and clear. With his book L'étincelle he is a Moroccan voice about the Arab Spring and its evolution. There was a beautiful, very slow Videopoem about a wall by Moroccan  Hamza Alloubi one just sees the light change and hears the text. A great evening with many Pen colleagues present, as always ready to defend freedom of speech and to help the authors who are in danger because of using this fundamental right. Standing in the blackest night on a forlorn platform of a train station, a bittersweet melancholy lingered and ended up strengthening my commitment.

Poetry in the park in Hoboken

 It was a wonderful afternoon: Easy talk among like minded friends, good poetry read. The choice of musicians grand. Left, poets listening to poets reading. Right Roger Nupie and Vera Alexander Beerten. Roger read naughty homo erotic poetry, lighthearted and fun. Vera read a cycle of poems about 34 children drowning on a Friday night during the war. Chilling to the bone. The words smuggled in all had to do with caring for one or other issue or being moved by something. The audience was wonderful participating in the exchange with poets: looking up at the leaves in the dappled light, repeating words when a poet asked them to...

 

It was all great stuff. The extra appearance of Iron Maiden lead singer Blaze Bayley was a pleasant surprise. Many reasons to be grateful.

Around the kiosk

Frank De Vos organizes next Sunday, September 9, a beautiful gathering of eight poets who will smuggle in their words around the kiosk in Hoboken. It starts at three, be there!

Smuggle ware from Croatia:

Birds whisper softly

don’t drown out

what was thought

Bells clang

-       it is six o’clock-

invite

to the day

the good life

in submission

to a normal life

of singing women in black

Thereafter

the heart  full of fire

the soul in the wind

and the distance that calls

Birds whisper softly

don’t drown out

what you think at all

Louise Erdrich: The Plague of Doves

Having read several of Louise Erdrich’s books I was thrilled at the airport in Washington to find her latest book: The Plague of Doves. The circumstances not being quite right I had a hard time getting into it. Yet at a certain point I got involved in the different narrators pushing on the novel which has a marvelous layered complexity. Events are described with their own momentum and at the end there is a kind of closure by the search for and discovery of the truth. In the interwoven settings of the reservation and the small town of Pluto, the weight of historical injustice comes to light through the conjunction of many different elements, as well in an historical setting as a contemporary. Themes are: religion, the unsolved murder of a family, a stamp collection, a violin, burning love, racism, family, the reservation and an untold past.

Read it, take your time over this intricate tapestry and achievement of Louise Erdrich.

Quotes:

Unable to sleep, he lighted a candle stub and paged through the Meditations until he found the one he needed, the one that told him no longer to wander at hazard or wait to read the books he was reserving for old age, but to throw away idle hopes (Louisa!) and come to his own aid, if he cared for himself and while it was in his power.

As I look at the town now, dwindling without grace (....) (Yet there is something to the love and knowledge of the land and its relationship to dreams – that’s what the old people had. That’s why as a tribe we exist to the present.)

The Indian women I knew were shy and very studious, although a couple of them swaggered around furious in ribbon shirts with AIM-looking boyfriends. I didn’t really fit in with anybody.

Like Anaïs, I reviewed every thought, all visual trivia became momentous, my faintest desire a raving hunger.

My consciousness is fragile ground, shaky as forming ice. Every morning, when I open my eyes and experience my first thought, I am flooded with relief. The I is still here.