And when we unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let linger on our tongue:
Unicorns become possible again.
- John Tobias, Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle
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This evening, after writing a good 2000 words today, as I was putting away my reference books on the shelf, I pulled out a yellowed pamphlet. An essay on imitation written by a very German Schlegel in the 1700s. I read these words, I smile, because the sentance structure and logic sounds so familiar to me. I wonder, can these things be passed down in one's DNA? Never mind the small likelihood that I'm really blood related to a minor German philosopher family. But the essay is about poetry, and I did go to college to become a Poet.
I smile because the essay is about imitation, metaphors, similes, ratios - all things I love love love. And to think, my poor Johann didn't live past 30. Here I am, almost 300 years later, living, reading his (translated) words. I wonder, did he consider the longevity of his prose? I consider the longevity of my prose (these blog posts) and the ability to talk to relatives far into the future. In this moment, these words, I am timeless, alive in your thoughts.
I'm going out into the misty Hollywood night to ponder these things. To use the magic of Los Angeles to cut through time and speak with dear dead Johann. To tell him of the Internet, modern things and to listen to the beauty of past poems of a time long gone. Speak to me through your words, through the time. I hear your pen on the parchment, the candle flickering. Do you hear my fingers typing, dull blue illumination?
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