Tuesday, August 23, 2016

August 23, 2016

A student in playwriting looked Chinese and had a Chinese name, but I realized those things could obtain and he be born in Cleveland. But after class we talked, and he is a flat-out Chinese, a Ph.D. candidate here studying for a semester. He is a novelist (or something) in China, and showed me copies of quite beautiful books he had written. The covers and layouts were beautiful, and of course the (unreadable) script was beautiful on the page. He hadn’t understood a word I said, and so we had a mini-class after class where I assured him we would “get him through” I wish I knew what I meant by that. How he is going to write drama in English? Or, if he writes it in Chinese, how we are going to help him with it? One throws up one’s hands and gives it to the gods.
This is my Golden Anniversary. Fifty years ago at twilight tonight I wrote my first poem. Though the poem came out of sadness and confusion, I was so, so happy. It has been my whole life.

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