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claimed to have been thrown in
Wednesday, April 30 2003
I went with Gretchen to a literature reading this evening at Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville (in the northern suburbs of New York City). The reading was for contributors to the second-annual edition of a literary journal which had accepted one of Gretchen's poems. Listening to random people reading their stuff wasn't exactly my preferred way to spend an evening, but at least there was plenty of wine to drink. This put me in a reasonably receptive mood for the readings.
At first I preferred the poetry because it moved so quickly. The prose, by contrast, seemed to putter along in a painfully low gear. Later, though, I found myself relating better to the prose, simply because it is most similar to the things I write. I found myself focusing on individual words and phrases and wondering what I would do to change them if I had just written them.
Towards the end of the reading, my interest had shifted back to the poetry, or more to the point, its economy of words and the ease with which it cut to the chase. I found myself wishing I could write more like that, with greater brevity and honesty. With a little dash of fiction thrown in (or at least claimed to have been thrown in), I could also avoid tiresome conversations with people asking me to elaborate on the things I claimed to have experienced. Wouldn't it be great, for example, to write in a straight-forward way the thoughts I had about one plump poet who read tonight? What were these? I don't remember anything about her poem but I do remember wondering what it would be like to fuck her doggy-style, to flip up the parachute-like tresses of her skirt, knot her straight shiny hair around my hand and then bang-bang-bang away. She would be free to continue holding her manuscript in her hands as I did so.
Interestingly, when Gretchen introduced me to other people at the reading, she always stressed that I am a "visual artist," something that is barely true, especially these days. She must have felt the need to stress my artistic credentials in this crowd, because she never mentions my artistry when introducing me to people in other places - indeed, it seems she's disturbed (and not in a good way) by most of my work.
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