Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Personae
- I: Early Days
- One. Control
- Two. Doubt
- Three. Fate
- Four. Same
- Five. Fine Arts
- Six. In Loco Parentis
- Seven. Settling
- Eight. Neighbors
- Nine. Prospects
- Ten. The Lucky
- Eleven. Instruction
- Twelve. Same
- Thirteen. This Is a Pipe
- Fourteen. This Is Not a Pipe
- Fifteen. The Reason
- Sixteen. That Person
- Seventeen. Predictably
- II: Writing Teacher
- Eighteen. Early Poems
- Nineteen. Motivation
- Twenty. Allegory
- Twenty-One. Grief
- Twenty-Two. A Portrait
- Twenty-Three. Veils
- Twenty-Four. Soft Power
- Twenty-Five. Lists
- Twenty-Six. A Break
- Twenty-Seven. Elsewhere
- Twenty-Eight. Custom
- Twenty-Nine. Parity
- Thirty. Fortune
- III: Volta
- Thirty-One. Images
- Thirty-Two. A Very Interesting Young Man
- Thirty-Three. Letters
- Thirty-Four. We Prefer to See Ourselves Living
- Thirty-Five. Love
- Thirty-Six. The Iceberg
- IV: Your Best Reader
- Thirty-Seven. A Novelist
- Thirty-Eight. In Advance of the Broken Arm
- Thirty-Nine. Their Penultimate Encounter
- Forty. Détente
- Forty-One. Worlds
- Forty-Two. Recognition
- Forty-Three. Persistence
- Forty-Four. And Then
- Forty-Five. Mingling
- Forty-Six. You
- Forty-Seven. Persona
- Forty-Eight. Est et Non
- Forty-Nine. The Author
- Epilogue
- Afterword: The Libertine
- Acknowledgments
- About the Authors
Harry is home, planning his day. His notebook is open and he has drawn the face of a watch, a wristwatch. Maybe it’s a little crude but it helps him to see. He puts in hours, 1 through 12. It is approximately 10:00 a.m. now, and he circles the 10. He draws a line from the 10 and writes, Focus in on time, lists. Then he goes around the watch and adds activities for the day’s remaining hours. For 11 he appends, More lists. For 12, Lists again but turn on radio. For 1, Radio transcription. For 2, I’ll read the newspaper. For 3, New thoughts. For 4 and 5 he writes, Composing a poem and Composing a poem more. For 6, Beer. For 7, Books/reading. For 8, Look at poem again. And 9, Contemplate sleep.
Harry glances at 10. He crosses it out and feels ready. He begins a list:
Questions
• Do I want something to eat?
• Yes or no?
• Can I just sit here?
• Yes or no?
• Does it matter what I do?
• Yes or no?
• Can I avoid easy questions?
• Do I know what I am doing?
• Do I know what I will do?
• If I know what I will do, will I do it?
• Yes or no?
• How to act?
• How can I act?
• Am I writing?
• Yes or no?
• Am I writing now?
• Who is writing?
• Who are all the people?
• What is the origin of the world?
Harry pauses. It’s early but he’s thinking about turning on the radio.
He decides, with a small ache, that he will attempt to maintain the schedule for now. He turns to a fresh page:
New Questions
• Am I the one who is writing these words?
• Can I be sure of this?
• Who is the one who is writing?
• Who’s he?
• Does he sound like this?
• Do I sound like this?
• Does he like this?
• What is behind what he is doing?
• What inspires his poems?
• Does he do this for me?
• Does he exist for me?
• How does he exist?
• Why does he exist?
• Why do I know him?
• Why do I know he is here?
• Will he always be here?
• Yes or no?
• Will he always be with me?
• How will I know he is writing a poem?
Harry can still hear street noises, the vague natural sounds of what’s left of an area woodland, formerly prairie; insects sawing the cool-ish air, cars.
Harry tries to think about it. Also, he tries not to think about it. He has to write. There is something flickering in him, but maybe flickering is not the right word. Maybe it shifts, twitches, yes or no. Natural things, Harry writes. It could be the title of a new list. But a poem, Harry thinks, is not a list.