Franz Wright reading
I just got home from listening to poet Franz Wright read and talk. A couple days ago I got his book God's Silence (2006) and read it straight through in two sittings. I started out loving it. There are precious tweaks of words and meaning in virtually every poem. But eventually I got tired of reading mostly about his own pain and depression, to the point that I almost didn't go tonight. I'm glad I did. He won me back, with the caveat that one shouldn't read too many of his poems in one sitting but just nibble there now and again. He is an odd-looking man who walks hunched over as if every step hurts. His face is puffy and his eyes squinty (until he widens them when making a strong point), like he doesn't go out much. His reading voice is strong and just slow enough, and he tells little side-stories behind the poems that enrich them for us. Definitely an odd duck who has never quite decided to live life and has almost stopped, probably more than once, and who has likely gone through some hells that I don't know about along the way.
Thanks for staying, Franz. You have a kind and honest soul, just warped enough to shed light into life's dark corners, from angles we mostly don't see from ourselves.
So, now I'll read the book that won him the Pulitzer, Walking to Martha's Vineyard (2004).
posted by Cranky Ol' Lady at 10:42 PM
3 Comments:
The scriptures say save me from presumptuous sins. You go very far beyond that. But never mind--you appear to be so severely mentally challenged, so unaware of the crudity, cruelty and stupidity of your own mind that it is pointless to go in that vein. Let's compare our lives instead. You imply that you have somehow succeeded in living while I have not. Would you like to compare lives? In spite of mental illness so severe that I was once unable to leave my apartment for two years, I have published over twenty books and received the Pulitzer Prize, as did my father--we will be remembered as the only father/son winners of that prize. Will you be remembered? You will go into absolute oblivion, with you staggering cruelty and near moron-level impudence, and it will be, very shortly, as though you had never existed at all. I remember you. I have some thoughts about your physical appearance, too--but it would never even occur to me to be that cruel, that crude or pathetic. You actually believe that you have lived more than I have. I just showed this to my wife, and we looked at your picture, and took another look at your prose style, and had to hold each other up to keep from falling down laughing. My God, what hole do cruel, subhuman morons like you come crawling out of? Goodbye, you moral and intellectual slob--and happy oblivion, you human piece of dog shit. You magnificently accomplished nonentity, who have taken it upon yourself to judge me. It really was funny for a moment, until we realized with a kind of terror that there really are people like you. I still think it is some kind of put on. What the fuck have you done with your life that gives you the right to speak of me this way. God help this country, there are so many people like you out there, I suppose. You soulless, obscenely cruel subhuman piece of garbage, God bless you, and protect you from the realization of your own nothingness. FW
By the way, my feet are deformed, so that each step I take IS painful--there is no "as if" about it.
And if you had written twenty books by your mid-fifties, even you might appear somewhat prematurely aged. But then that did not happen to you, was never going to happen to you.FW
I am shocked that my comments seemed to you so cruel. I am truly sorry they struck you that way. I ended up feeling a great respect for your poetry and for your survival and honesty despite a great deal of pain. I wrote of first impressions and of those impressions being changed by the experience of seeing and hearing you in person. I am well aware of your extensive publications and your Pulitzer Prize. Your reputation drew me to attend, and I am glad I did. It helped me understand you better. Your personal comments about me are vicious and grotesque. They show me another side of you that I'd rather not have seen, but they won't stop me reading and appreciating your work.
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