What I found interesting about _Lolita_ is that I'm pretty sure that most of the critics/commentators missed the point. People talk a lot about how shocking the book is (the protagonist is a pedophile, in case you're not familiar with it), how daring. And I just didn't get the sense that Nabokov was at all concerned with that. The book was mostly funny, and the protagonist wasn't shocking or scary -- just rather sad. The author did a wonderful job of making you (or me, anyway) feel for a charaacter that isn't likable on a personal or ethical level. Fascinating. What a challenge! A little of me resents that he's done it already...but that's just pettiness talking, and lack of current inspiration.
Lots of weird semi-job opportunities coming my way these days, some more serious-sounding than others. Will see how that goes. Will keep you posted. Could you see me as an assistant editor at Salon?
Anyway, back to sorting through e-mail. Very backlogged. A few more 'first time' poems to share with you, though...I'm so pleased to have received such wonderful responses to my request. I'd love to have this be more interactive. Maybe I should start looking into that CGI stuff seriously...
There's something I find really lovely about this one:
I had loved her since forever.
she was five years older
and vastly experienced - a mother even.
One autumn night, after months of kissing
we lay together on the bench seat of my dad's truck
in a field
and she cried
"I love you."
for the first time
- James
And from 'b'...
Practical Life
**************
Listen, about the unicorns,
I'm not sure I believe anyway.
Because my concerns are too abstract,
even for the unicorns.
I've grown too old
for my earth to be shattered,
for my mind to be blown,
for time to stand still.
I too can understand
the impatience with arbitrary social convention.
Ragtag emotions commingle like fluid,
miscible as love and hate,
but curiosity rises to the top,
like a drug that addicts without harm,
You can drive me crazy
with your teasing finger, comethering to me,
your eyes dancing with the memory you know I want,
your warm embrace, licking your hidden lips in desire.
You--or any possible other, but
let us take you, out of convenience
or love--have been painted
as a siren, the abyss,
the loss of faith and morality,
but this I refuse to accept.
After all, I won't manage to save myself--
the magic has charmed itself from me--
but there is still time for you
to save us both.