Dan Watson

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I know almost nothing about these important matters and care even less.

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Was it really Hell or did Cummings just want to be Dante? Both, I guess. And while I liked the Enormous Room, better Dante than John Bunyan, most definitely.

May 12

Why do you wish to go to Russia?
because I’ve never been there.
(He slumps,recovers). You are interested in economic and sociological problems?
no.
Perhaps you are aware that there has been a change of government in recent years?
yes(I say without being able to suppress a smile).
And your sympathies are not with socialism?
may I be perfectly frank?
Please!
I know almost nothing about these important matters and care even less.
(His eyes appreciate my answer). For what do you care?
my work.
Which is writing?
and painting.
What kind of writing?
chiefly verse;some prose.
Then you wish to go to Russia as a writer and painter? Is that it?
no;I wish to go as myself.

A singularly unbanklike bank:outside,mildly imposing mansion; inside,hugely promiscuous hideousness—not the impeccable sanitary ordered and efficient hideousness of American or imitation-American banks,but a strictly ubiquitous whenwhere of casual filth and aimless commotion and profound hoping inefficiency.

But I always feel that we haven’t any right to criticise:the point is,you are now in a workers’ republic which is bound to make mistakes like anything else;but the mistakes are being rectified as quickly as possible—and after all,the ideal is what counts,isn’t it!” “I shouldn’t wonder if life is what—”(plucking him from a careening upholsteryless Daimler)”counts”(and shoving him past a leaping recent Ford)”—was that a taxicab?” I ask. “Thank you,I didn’t see the Jehu: yes,that was a taxicab,and we’re going to have a great many of them soon. My dear fellow,let me beg you most earnestly not to make the ridiculous mistake of judging by appearances;the thing to realize is,that here people run themselves:they are truly—for the first time in human history—free . . . now where am I going:yes.

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Written by Dan

May 17, 2011 at 11:41 pm

Posted in Literature

In Soviet Russia, Cummings reads you!

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The trip happened 80 years ago. I’m four days behind to the day. Let’s get it rolling, I suppose.

Day 2: May 11, 1931

Windmills! Reeling up–&-over-behind villages or standing soishly among sunful skies. An everywhere of fields,spattered with animals,pricked with beings. Big holes of air & crude blocks of land(I can almost smell this world). When the savage beings wear colours,the colours are hard red and tight blue. The gruesome faces of the tiny beings come at me immediately, genuinely,through Shutness. And(look)pinetrees are,whose here Thelike together creates an Aful leaning;and(there)specks(and look)browse all forming one direction. Rhythm:organic Is–neither fillable nor emptyable;actually(how clumsily)alive.

Written by Dan

May 16, 2011 at 8:06 pm

Posted in Literature