Sometimes the fear of the unknown is not as great as the fear of things staying the way they are.
Author: zdunno03
Jorge Luis Borges on fantasy writing
Interviewer: There is an element of fantasy in your work, then–which leads me to ask you about the fantastic. You use the word a great deal in your writing, and I remember that you call Green Mansions, for example, a fantastic novel.
Borges: Well, it is.
Interviewer: How would you define fantastic, then?
Borges: I wonder if you can define it. I think it’s rather an intention in a writer. I remember a very deep remark of Joseph Conrad–he is one of my favorite authors–I think it is in the foreword to something like The Dark Line, but it’s not that. . .
Interviewer: The Shadow Line?
Borges: The Shadow Line. In that foreword he said that some people have thought that the story was a fantastic story because of the captain’s ghost stopping the ship. He wrote–and that struck me because I write fantastic stories myself–that to deliberately write a fantastic story was not to feel that the whole universe is fantastic and mysterious; nor that it meant a lack of sensibility for a person to sit down and write something deliberately fantastic. Conrad thought that when one wrote, even in a realistic way, about the world, one was writing a fantastic story because the world itself is fantastic and unfathomable and mysterious.
Interviewer: You share that belief?
Borges: Yes. I found that he was right. I talked to Bioy Casares, who also writes fantastic stories–very, very fine stories–and he said, I think Conrad is right; really, nobody knows whether the world is realistic or fantastic, that is to say, whether the world is a natural process or whether it is a kind of dream, a dream that we may or may not share with others.
looking at pictures
you’re there
in front of me
one dimensional, of course
but I remember more dimensions
the sound of your laugh
a kid’s laugh, really
but can we be held
accountable
for what we inherit
that smile
that always just happened
without planning
or thinking
a natural reaction
to life
around you
and your eyes
open, clear
looking at the world
from a distance
and yet full of mischief
whenever you laughed
the tilt of your head
the length of your neck
the way your left shoulder
dips to the side
there’s a sea behind you
on a coast
a faraway coast
a lifetime ago
your lifetime
and mine
in a world long gone
that I won’t be returning to
any time soon
Richard Price on writing
The books that made me want to be a writer were books like Hubert Selby’s Last Exit to Brooklyn, where I recognized people who were somewhat meaner and more desperate than the people I grew up with, but who were much closer to my experience than anything I’d ever read before. I mean, I didn’t have a red pony. I didn’t grow up in nineteenth-century London. With Last Exit to Brooklyn, I realized that my own life and world were valid grounds for literature, and that if I wrote about the things that I knew it was honorable–that old corny thing: I searched the world over for treasures, not realizing there were diamonds in my own backyard.
Conversation Among Mountains by Li Po (Li Bai)
You ask why I live
in these green mountains
I smile
can’t answer
I am completely at peace
a peach blossom
sails past
on the current
there are worlds
beyond this one
translated by David Young
3 am on Friday night: a tanka
voices sing upstairs
a sad melancholy tune
hands slap on drum skins
beat to underscore singing
softly below I too chant
from Untitled Love Poem 1 by Li Shang-yin
love is a total waste of time
you and I know that
but there’s something about its madness
that opens the eyes and clears the mind
translated by David Young
Written at Chulin Temple by Chu Fang
The months and years compel our lives
here the mist and clouds abound
how many times will I again know
the welcome of Chulin Temple
translated by Red Pine
from Fighting South of the Ramparts by Li Po (Li Bai)
What have the generals accomplished?
what they know
is less than what we’ve learned–
a sword’s a stinking thing
a wise man will use
as seldom as he can.
translated by David Young
Billy Wilder on actors learning their lines
“As someone who directed scripts that I myself had cowritten, what I demanded from actors was very simple: learn your lines.
That reminds me. George Bernard Shaw was directing a production of his play Pygmalion, with a very well-known illustrious actor, Sir Something. The fellow came to rehearsal, a little bit drunk, and he began to invent a little. Shaw listened for a while and then yelled, Stop! For Christ’s sake, why the hell didn’t you learn the script?
Sir Something said, What on earth are you talking about? I know my lines.
Shaw screamed back at him, Yes, you know your lines, but you don’t know my lines.