by Ron Padgett
Am finding Gertrude easier and easier to read but, the easier she becomes, the less I am impressed with her intelligence, which seems to me rather hit or miss. This, however, has nothing to do with that she is still very interesting.
Mail this morning was a telephone bill and a postcard from Anne in Albuquerque, New Mexico. (“Beautiful snow-splattered mountains, blue sky and puffy clouds. I’m drinking iced tea. It’s 3:45 P.M.”)
It’s 3:20 P.M. right now. Guess I’ll read until my 5:45 dentist appointment.
Dinner tonight with Kenward.
Before I Die
One thing I want to do before I die is to make it with Anne Waldman, without offending Michael Brownstein. The old have your cake and eat it too bit. The story of my life. And now that I think about it, making it with Michael Brownstein, without offending Anne Waldman wouldn’t be bad either.
Right Now
Out in the sun. “Coppertone” suntan oil on. Vermont. Calais. (1973.) With a yellow bathing suit on: one of three I got in Paris this spring, which, actually, are underwear. One brown. One red. And this yellow one.
A big white towel draped over a lounge chair is what I am on.
What I am writing on is a “National” clipboard under a tablet of such very thin blue lines resting on the arm of this chair with a black “Flair.”
(It is not my purpose to bore you. It is my purpose to—well, I want to throw everything out of my head as much as possible, so I can simply write from/about what “is,” at this very moment: Right Now!)
Right now, looking up from this page, I see much blurry green: (I haven’t got my glasses on.) How strange that in so doing, I completely overlooked my two feet (?) which I can see quite well even without my glasses on. They are a bit bigger than one (me) might wish. And the two little toes have obviously spent too much time inside not very good for them shoes. The new big toenail (right) is much nicer than the old one that got ripped off on a rock in the lake last summer.
Feet: looking real hard at feet right now I am wondering “why toes?”
Life
The life of a human being is——
That’s a very good question.
But let us begin again, on a slightly less ambitious scale.
The life of an ant is——full of danger.
The only difference (a very fine point here) is that the ant doesn’t know it.
And now here we are faced with an even finer point: why?
In humanistic terms, is it simply a matter of total stupidity?
With some hesitation, one must assume so.
But let us take time out now to delve a bit into the abstract.
If the life of an ant is full of danger . . .
The life of a closet is full of hangers.
Often we find the abstract not so much fruitful as interesting.
And usually not so much interesting as tempting.
Which is perhaps about as close as we can ever hope to come to the basic key of life.
But in conclusion, let me state as emphatically as possible that temptation is not a thing to be taken lightly.
It is from temptation that our cave dwelling ancestors ventured out of their caves.
It is from temptation that self-protective laws became necessary.
And it is from temptation that we reach out, and fall on our faces.
Which is the basic process of learning.
Which is the basic process of growing.
Which is the basic process of living.
Which is what the life of a human being is.
Stoned Again
Actually, you know, I do have a lot of confidence in myself. It’s simply that I haven’t quite enough confidence in my confidence. Which, if one can assume logically (bet your boots!) probably means that I don’t have enough confidence in my confidence in my confidence either. (Stoned again!)
A Depressing Thought
That a fantastic flower develops from just a little tiny seed—that knowing that doesn’t totally rip us out of our minds—that’s a depressing thought.
Thirty
When you get to be thirty—you begin to wonder—you begin to wonder if maybe it doesn’t just all boil down to “chicken.”
Ten Imaginary Still Lifes
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 1
I close my eyes. I see a light green vase. A very pale light green vase. Right beside it sits something black. Something small. It is a small black ashtray. Getting smaller by the moment. Until—really—it is hardly more than—now—a tiny speck.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 2
I close my eyes. I see white. Lots of white. And gray. Cool gray. Cool gray fabric shadows. (It is a painting!) With no yellow. By a very old man.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 3
I close my eyes. I see bright orange. Almost red. A touch of purple. A speck of black. And a thick blueish stem. An exotic flower of some sort. Driftwood. Bamboo. A figurine. Chartreuse. (1953!) This is a Polynesian still life.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 4
I close my eyes. I see a white statue (say 10” high) of David. Alabaster. And pink rose petals, sprinkled upon a black velvet drape. This is a sissy still life. Silly, but pretty. And in a certain way almost religious: “Eastern” religious. This still life is secretly smiling.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 5
I close my eyes. I see a charming nosegay of violets in an ordinary drinking glass. That’s all.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 6
I close my eyes. I see old fruit. Pots and pans. And various and scattered utensils. Brown. Art. Dutch. By nobody in particular. (Museum.) And so, on to the Frans Hals.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 7
I close my eyes. I see a lazy guitar. A little potted cactus plant. And the rainbow blendings of very bright colors woven into a poncho, slung across a hand-painted wooden chair. (1955!) This is a “tourista” postcard still life.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 8
I close my eyes. I see pink. And green. And gold. All mixed up together. But now slowly evolving into three distinctive shapes. (. . .) It is a pink kimono, gently discarded upon the corner of a green dressing table, which enters the picture frame at a very sharp angle. Behind it stands a gold screen of three panels. In this particular Japanese still life one gets the impression that something is going on that cannot be seen.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 9
I close my eyes. I see . . . upon the corner of a black lacquered end table I see a clear crystal ashtray, containing a long white cigarette butt, crushed up into the figure “Z.” Pink smears along the filter’s edge implicate a woman. And now I can smell blue smoke in the air, lingering from a most recent exit, perhaps in a huff. A dozen dark red roses in a very tall vase complete this elegant—if icy—still life. A still life with a story. And probably a sad one.
IMAGINARY STILL LIFE NO. 10
I close my eyes. I see something copper. (A tea pot with missing lid.) And dried cornflowers in an earthenware pot. Against a brown velvet drape. “Sniff”: I can smell last week’s clay still in the air. As Mrs. Black (my high school art teacher) leans over my shoulder, trying not to be too impressed with the dashing highlights I have no doubt overindulged in, to impress her with.
from 29 Mini-Essays
PEOPLE
People are the most interesting books in the world.
THE BEACH BOYS
“The Beach Boys” are worth feeling old about liking.
T.V. DINNERS
Sometimes progress takes too big a bite and ends up with indigestion.
VAN GOGH
He dared look the sun squarely in the face and steal its radiance.
OPTIMISM
Perhaps it is enough to know that nothing will ever be as it was before.
AMERICA
That a giant economy-size box of “Supreme-Three-Ply-Extra-Soft-Deluxe” cleansing tissues costs only 39¢ ought, it would seem, to restore one’s faith in something.
IMAGINATION
&
nbsp; Imagination is the mother of reality.
PRIDE
Pride creates its own banana peels.
RECIPE
When in doubt, sprinkle with cheese and bake.
GARDEN
When in doubt, mulch.
FREUD
From Freud we learn that when a wife smashes a vase to the floor it is really her husband’s head that lies there broken into many pieces.
THE ERA OF MIND
Geology, which is the story of rocks, finds its climax in history, which is the story of man . . . if you get my drift.
WOMEN’S LIB
A woman can do anything she puts her pants to.
GARBAGE
As I was saying to my garbage on the way out the door the other night—“Why should I carry you down three flights of stairs? I don’t even like you!”
EARLY ATHLETE’S FOOT
There is an old Indian saying not to judge a man until you have walked in his moccasins for two moons.
YOU CAN’T LOSE FOR WINNING
He who would give his right arm to be a free man is a free man with one arm.
REMEMBRANCE OF WOMAN PAST
The echo of an interesting woman can be an ordinary scarf.
MOTIVATION
“Some day my prince will come . . . ”
THE TRUTH
It may just be—you know—that “the truth” is far too obvious to risk the comprehension of.
SIGN OF THE TIMES
Would you believe a new Revlon fingernail polish color called “Burnt Toast”!
HISTORY
What with history piling up so fast, almost every day is the anniversary of something awful.
PEOPLE
If I’m as normal as I think I am, we’re all a bunch of weirdos.
The Outer Banks
Those silly seagulls up in the sky over there remind me of
a particular local postcard of many seagulls in the sky that could go on and on forever were it not for the edges
reminds me of a particular Southampton postcard of a seagull soaring high: the only Southampton postcard simplistic enough to be commanding enough to survive the horrors of photochrome technicolor
reminds me of you—Jimmy—out in Southampton in the big Porter house in your little room of many books it takes game strategy to relocate now, as then
until recovering the wildflowers on the wallpaper peeling off the long narrow corridor that leads up to your door
It is not closed
upon your window of green
“in” from the yard
of the sick tree
in so many paintings
by Fairfield Porter
That was the summer of . . . not knowing how many years ago is just how it ought to be remembered, and is.
Out trekking up South Main Street
you are:
a pair of thick white legs
sporting Bermuda shorts
(of a most unusual length)
and plain blue sneakers so “you”
they are.
That was the summer of Campari and sodas . . . remember?
Out trekking up South Main Street
in the pattern of the leaves
from the shade of the trees
that align South Main Street
most daily is us:
trekking up South Main Street
on our way to the drugstore
with all the sunglasses
on racks that whirl so fast
where you got your newspapers from
where I got my magazines from
where we both got our seagull postcards from
to send to each other, mostly
when in the future(s) apart.
And remember the store on the corner with all those plain—(the kind of plain you pay for)—English sweaters of every imaginable color, that—surely—any respectable movie star would have a whole walk-in closet full of, that we bought a few from too?
Or if but two
baby blue, I see for you
and raspberry sherbert, for me
(easier to buy than to wear)
especially when thrown over the shoulders
like “they” did
with no socks on
in Italian loafers
(If money can buy such nice ankles: where?)
with sunglasses up in their hair!
“Ah, the good old days!”
If gobbled then—digested now.
(clarified by time—romanticized by mind)
for today’s re-past remembered.
Out along these outer banks
of North Carolina
for no reason whatsoever
except “ocean.”
Towards a Better Life (Eleven Exercises)
EXERCISE NO. ONE
From your head pick out the one person you would most like to make out with. Now call this person up for a date. He or she will probably say “No,” but at least you will have tried. Will have the satisfaction of having tried. And then you can blame “life” for your frustrations, instead of yourself.
Conclusion: When you have nothing to lose, gamble.
EXERCISE NO. TWO
Once a month poke your finger down your throat until you vomit.
Conclusion: The symbolic gesture is a practical tool.
EXERCISE NO. THREE
Bake a cake, and eat it.
Conclusion: From work cometh reward. From reward cometh “No promises.”
EXERCISE NO. FOUR
Before going to bed one night, drink lots of beer, eat lots of ice cream and pickles, and smoke a joint. You will have fantastic dreams, which you must concentrate upon remembering. First thing in the morning, write these dreams down as accurately as possible. Then tear them up and throw them away.
Conclusion: Mental masturbation, to be of any intrinsic value, must know who’s boss.
EXERCISE NO. FIVE
The next time you are making out with someone, try casually suggesting that perhaps it might be fun to adjourn into the closet.
Conclusion (for straights): New areas break down old fences.
Conclusion (for gays): Everything is a full circle.
EXERCISE NO. SIX
If you drink black coffee switch to regular (or vice versa) until you find yourself enjoying your new way of coffee just as much as your old way. Or, if you simply cannot make the adjustment, you will find yourself drinking less coffee, which is O.K. too, because, you know, it’s not very good for you.
Conclusion: Sometimes to lose is to win.
EXERCISE NO. SEVEN
The next morning you don’t feel like getting up, don’t get up.
Conclusion: Conclusions cannot always be drawn.
EXERCISE NO. EIGHT
On a piece of paper with a pencil, close your eyes, and do a drawing of a conclusion.
Conclusion: He who delves into the abstract is asking for it.
EXERCISE NO. NINE
This exercise is especially for painters. If you are a painter, stop painting for one year. At the end of this year, have an exhibition.
Conclusion: Art is not always in the eye of the beholder.
EXERCISE NO. TEN
Pick up the current issue of Time magazine and circle with a pen every “t” throughout the entire issue.
Conclusion: To take time is to understand time for only the time it takes you to do it in.
EXERCISE NO. ELEVEN
Sit down and write your mother a long letter revealing all your deepest and darkest and most perverse secrets.
Conclusion: Behind every horrified mother is an honest son.
Twenty-three Mini-Essays
CHOCOLATE
The story of chocolate is sweet and bitter and sometimes nutty.
GRASS
That which appears greener on the other side of the fence is usually grass.
LOSER
He was at the airport when his ship came in.
TOKEN GESTURE
> One step is but a tiny ladder.
ARTISTIC SURRENDER
Perhaps the ripples upon a body of water can best be understood when stooped to squinting.
HUMOR
The man who slips on a banana peel may not think it’s very funny, but it is.
DANCE
Dance, according to the United States Post Office, is “Poetry in motion.”
POETRY
Poetry is that certain something we so often find missing.
PHOTOGRAPHY
A child on the beach may be important.
THE UNITED STATES POST OFFICE
Some of the best things in life come in a plain white envelope through all kinds of weather—eventually—except on major and minor holidays, if there isn’t a strike on, except on Sundays, if it doesn’t get lost.
PICNIC
A picnic is a moveable feast, with paper napkins, ants, and—if you’re lucky—deviled eggs.
HOW TO KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE
With a large stone, a bit of luck, and no membership card to the Audubon Bird Society, you’ll stand a much better chance.
CHERRY PIE À LA “707”
That old expression “pie in the sky” finally hits home.
INSTANT DIVORCE
The marriage was so brief they had nothing to fight over but cake.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT DURING THE HUNTING SEASON
For all we human beings know, a reindeer may go through life believing he is of absolutely no use to anything or anybody, except a few other reindeer maybe.
ETHNIC ETIQUETTE
Picking your nose with chopsticks in a Chinese restaurant won’t win you any “majority group” friends either.
ORAL FIXATION
The proof of the pudding is in the mouth.
BLOND
Being blond is more than hair.
PEOPLE
They seem to get younger every year.
MUSIC
There’s an old story about a music professor in Vienna who once told his students that music should be seen and not heard who lived on to a ripe old age in total poverty.