I remain not optimistic but hopeful, in the sense of the word as defined by Vaclav Havel: convinced that it is important to perform certain actions regardless of unfavorable conditions and even in the face of evidence that they may prove ultimately unsuccessful. For me, that’s the motive for continuing to bear public witness, via the written and spoken word, to the experience of life in my time as I’ve lived it. […]
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@adcoleman@hcommons.social
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I think any communication to the polity constitutes, by definition, a political act, whether that’s publishing an essay or performing a poem out loud for an audience, regardless of its content. So I think there’s a politics inherent in, and visible in, all of my writing, regardless of what form it takes. That’s true of my father’s work as well. But not all of his writing or mine is specifically issue-oriented. […] Even as a critic writing closely reasoned and sometimes scholarly pieces, or when producing what some now call “cultural journalism,” or as an occasional polemicist, I write for the ear as much as for the eye. Always. I hear all my writing as speech. If it doesn’t sound right when spoken aloud, I revise until it does. […] [T]though I keenly appreciated the honor of finding myself among the select few admitted to the SF State program [in creative writing], I didn’t really enjoy the experience, or thrive in that hothouse environment. I hated feeling those other people’s fingerprints all over my work in progress. … [E]ven today I rarely show work in progress, in any form, to anyone — not even my editors. […] |
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Four Score: A Chronology
My mother Frances gave birth to me at Brooklyn Jewish Hospital in New York City on December 19, 1943, and brought me home to our rented house on West 11th Street in Greenwich Village. […]