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Paterson goes to sit solemnly by the roaring Great Falls. Maybe in his head are
histhat is, Ron Padgettsace verses about jealous love or human bodies in
space, as in The Run:
I go through
trillions of molecules
that move aside
to make way for me
while on both sides
trillions more
stay where they are.
Or maybe, as happens to so many of us who have lost data to busted silicon or
the family dog, Paterson cant remember a damned thing. But paper is cheap,
and hes given some by a Japanese pilgrim to Williamss mecca. As writers
discover, the next pass, once the first is a ghost, is sometimes better. Say it,
no ideas but in things Williams wrote:
nothing but the blank faces of the houses
and cylindrical trees
bent, forked by preconception and accident
split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained
secretinto the body of the light!
Paterson still has his pen. In view of those loud waters, that kid is truly
unleashed and starts to write again.
Source:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/91864