I Don't Feel I Have To Struggle

The Style Developed Over Decades, Really, But I Started Out Writing Pretty Traditional Stories, Then Became Impatient. It Was A Writer Named Russell Edson Who Showed Me That One Could Write In Any Way At All.

The Moment When A Limit Is Reached, When There Is Nothing Ahead But Darkness: Something Comes In To Help That Is Not Real. Another Way All This Is Like Madness: A Mad Person Not Helped Out Of His Trouble By Anything Real Begins To Trust What Is Not Real Because It Helps Him And He Needs It Because Real Things Continue Not To Help Him.

If I Was Writing About An Academic Or A More Difficult Person, I Would Use The Latinate Vocabulary More, But I Do Think Anglo-saxon Is The Language Of Emotion.

Nearly Every Morning, A Certain Woman In Our Community Comes Running Out Of Her House With Her Face White And Her Overcoat Flapping Wildly. She Cries Out, "emergency, Emergency," And One Of Us Runs To Her And Holds Her Until Her Fears Are Calmed. We Know She Is Making It Up; Nothing Is Has Really Happened To Her. But We Understand, Because There Is Hardly One Of Us Who Has No Been Moved At Some Time To Do Just What She Has Done, And Every Time, It Has Taken All Our Strength, And Even The Strength Of Our Friends And Families, Too, To Keep Us Quiet.

In Some Sense The Text And The Translator Are Locked In Struggle - 'i Attacked That Sentence, It Resisted Me, I Attacked Another, It Eluded Me' - A Struggle In Which, Curiously, When The Translator Wins, The Text Wins Too.