Paterson, Book Three, The Library, Part II
Fire burns; that is the first law.
When a wind fans it the flames
are carried abroad. Talk
fans the flames. They have
manoeuvred it so that to write
is a fire and not only of the blood.
The writing is nothing, the being
in a position to write (that;s
where they get you) is nine tenths
of the difficulty: seduction
or strong arm stuff. The writing
should be a relief,
relief from the conditions
which as we advance become--a fire,
a destroying fire. For the writing
is also an attack and means must be
found to scotch it--at the root
if possible. So that
to write, nine tenths of the problem
is to live. They see
to it, not by intellection but
by sub-intellection (to want to be
blind as a pretext for
saying, We're so proud of you!
A wonderful gift! How do
you find time for it in
your busy life? It must be a great
thing to have such a pastime.
But you were always a strange
boy. How's your mother?)
--the cyclonic fury, the fire,
the leaden flood and finally
the cost--
Your father was such a nice man.
I remember him well .
Or, Geeze, Doc, I guess it's all right
but what the hell does it mean?
--William Carlos Williams
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