Mythologies: Three Conversations

New Mythologies: Three Conversations
What He's Really Like
What We Really Know
Who We Really Are

What He’s Really Like
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So tell me what this guy’s like.
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Her Sister laughed on the other end of the phone.
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Well, he’s an ENTP.
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An ENTP? But you’re an ENFJ! Don’t you think that might cause some problems?
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No one is perfect. I guess I thought I might just as well deal with a P as try to figure out an I.
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Hey…don’t be getting down on I’s. They like intimacy, you know. And I know you really want that in a man. I mean, it might be a little harder for them at parties, but they will really care about you.
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He will really care about me. I really like him.
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Oh, come on. You're just letting that charismatic EN thing get to you.
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Hmm…, maybe a little. Sometimes when he goes off on these self-assured tangents about what

he knows I think, I am really fascinated.
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Just don’t start thinking that what he says is really what you think.
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Hey, I might be an F, but I am a J, too. I have a lot more control than you know.
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Just because you like things to be arranged in a scheduled and orderly fashion doesn’t mean you can overcome your NF tendencies to change your mind based on the people around you.
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Like you?
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Hey, at least you know I have your best interest at heart. And you know that as an INFJ I’m not likely to lie to you.
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Are you saying he’s a liar now, too?
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No! I think you need to be careful that’s all. I’d really like to see you with another NF instead of an NT. I mean, what kind of a person has intuition but relies more on their logic than on their feelings? They might as well just post a sign that says “close minded”!
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He’s totally not closed minded…but he does think that if something can’t be proven it’s probably not true.
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See what I mean? You are really spiritual. You need an NF. And what about that P? Have you thought about that?
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I try not to. It gets a little annoying.
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Yeah, like he’s always late? And he doesn’t ever want to make plans with you?
…we do end up spending a lot of time just hanging out at his house.
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You see? You can’t argue with this stuff. You really need to get away from him.
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But I really do like him. His Eness makes him really fun. He makes all my friends laugh and they all like him.
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But he’s got to be YOUR boyfriend! Not theirs. Plus, how do you know he’s not spending time with them on the side?
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I don’t think he would do that.
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Why? Because your N tells you he won’t, or because you just believe him when he says where he’s been?
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I believe him.
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You are such an NF. You want to believe everyone is what they say they are. You’ll be sorry if you stay with this guy.
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You really think so?
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Yeah.
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Oh.
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What We Really Know
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Did you hear about Bush’s speech last night?
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Her father stood on the other side of the kitchen.
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Yes. I listened to it on my way home from the Valley yesterday.
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What did you think? The papers are all over him!
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I know. The liberal press is really misrepresenting what he said.
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You really think so? I mean, saying that we're not using torture but refusing to get behind a bill that says that the CIA can’t use torture seems like double speak to me, Dad.
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That’s because you’ve been brainwashed by the liberal university. You’re trained to think a certain way. It’s not entirely your fault, but that’s the problem. You’re trained to think that anything a conservative does has to have bad motives.
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That’s not true. Any rational person can listen to Bush and know he’s using rhetoric to make it sound like he’s just doing the work of ending terrorism but he really means that he’s doing the work of annexing the middle east for the US’s needs.
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Oh yeah, and he’s not fighting terrorism either, right?
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Oh, I think he’s fighting terrorism alright, it’s just the terrorism that he defines as terrorism, which seems to be anyone with a lot of oil, a developing nuclear program and anti-US sentiment.
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There you go again. These people are plotting to destroy our country and you want to defend them. Bush is out there helping our troops make a dent in terror and you want us to lay down and say OK terrorists, just come right in and kill us.
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That’s ridiculous, Dad! I want us to stop killing people and forcing our systems on radically different cultures, and bring our military home so they’ll stop getting killed by suicide missions.
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And just leave those people over there at the will of the mercenary army that will kill its own people for a little money?
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I don’t think it’s any of our business what they do with their government.
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Well, it’s a good thing FDR didn’t feel that way. We might be living in a Nazi state right now if he did.
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Sometimes I think that we might as well be. Look at the manipulation and lies of this administration. They dumb down the issues so much that the common person can’t have any way of knowing if they are lying or not…because their dumbed down version is a lie! Things aren’t as easy as, “we’re doing work to stop the terrorists and we need to be able to do that.”
So you really think that we need a bill that says that our CIA won’t torture people even though we aren’t torturing them?
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I think we don’t know what our secret prison camps have going on! I don’t see why a law that says that we won’t torture people would have any effect at all unless we really are torturing people.
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It’s the principle. There are already international laws about the treatment of prisoners.
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Yeah, but our camps are secret. If no one even knows where the camps are, how can anyone know that people aren’t getting tortured?
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Because the laws say we won’t torture people.
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But how do we know that what we think of as torture is what the people at those prison camps think of as torture?
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Because the treaties say what can and can’t be done.
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But keeping prisoners in the dark with bags over their heads, or only giving them food that their religion won’t allow them to eat, or making them touch each other in immodest ways, or beating them, that’s not torture? You think that’s OK?
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Yeah.
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Wow.
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Let’s not talk about this anymore.
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Yeah.
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Who We Really Are
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I don't mean to hurt you.
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He stood behind her in the bedroom.
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Why won't you just make me happy?
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I do make you happy, and you know it. That's why we're having this conversation.
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I need more.
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No you don't. You have everything. You're just not seeing it.
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I don't have everything. You won't marry me.
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You don't need me to marry you. You have me.
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I want to marry you. I want you to be my husband.
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What would you have if I married you that you don't have now?
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I would have the husband I have always thought I would have. I would be legit. I would have what my friends have. I could look my grandmother in the eye and say, yes, I'm married.
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But what would all that change? We're still the same people. Living the same way. I don't think it really has anything to do with me at all.
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Of course it has to do with you. You're the one I want to be my husband
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I don't want to be a husband. I just want to be me, and I love being with you. Why can't that be enough for you?
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It's not just me that makes up how I feel. I have parents and sisters and a grandmother. I have friends and colleagues. I want them to see how we are committed to each other. They don't see that now.
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Well, they will when we've been together for ten years.
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I don't want to wait ten years. Plus, I want my father to walk me down the isle and my family to see us make a commitment in front of everyone.
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So what you really want is a show, and other people's approval.
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That's not how I see it. It's not a show. It's me telling the whole world that I will promise to love you forever and you telling me that too.
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But I do love you and I am committed to being with you forever, why does this need to be a public spectacle?
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It's not a spectacle. It's a ceremony.
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Whatever. It won't change the way we feel about each other. Besides, everyone knows that most marriages these days end in divorce. For all you know getting married might be what breaks us up.
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But it will change the way other people feel about us.
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Why does that matter to you so much?
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It just does. And it'll also will change the way I feel about me, about my life.
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What are you talking about? I'm not going to do anything differently than I have been doing for three years.
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I know, but I'll feel different. Don't you see? I can't see you, I can't touch you, or feel you near me without imagining you being my husband. It's just too ingrained. I know it won't change the way our lives work out, but it will fulfill the picture I've always had of my life. I feel sort of empty without it.
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That just doesn't make sense! You aren't empty, and you won't be any more full if we get a contract that says we have a legal union—and it probably won't even be like the picture in your head, anyway.
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I think it will!
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Why do you need to feel al this approval so much? That's what this really comes down to. You don't need me to marry you, it might as well be someone else—it's like you just need a husband, like an object or a gift or something. You want me to say, OK, I'll be your thing.
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No, It's not like that. I don't want to possess you.
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Exactly. The problem here isn't that you don't have me, it's that you don't have this thing that your grandmother thinks you should have!
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It's more that!
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No, it really isn't!
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Stop it!
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Stop what?
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Stop making me feel so petty! Look, This is real for me. I'm tied to this need, and I can't get rid of it.
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I don't understand. You aren't tied to anything.
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Yes, I am, you just aren't seeing it. If I get a rope and physically tie myself up will you try harder to get it?
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You're crazy. You aren't tied up.
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Wait…..here, now I'm tied to this bedpost. Look. My wrist is tied. The knot is tight, just like I feel. Here…tie this one up, too.
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No! What are you doing?
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Just do it! Tie me up! That's what you're doing anyway!
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Alright…here…now both your arms are tied up.
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Good! Now you can see exactly how I feel. How I've felt for the last two years!
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You've been feeling like this for two years?
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Yes!
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But you never even mentioned it until last week!
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Well, I thought it was too soon, and I thought you'd change your mind.
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Change my mind about getting married? But you never even said that you wanted to get married.
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Of course not! You're the man. You're supposed to ask me. Now I'm afraid you never will and it makes my world feel cold.
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But you know I love you and I'm not going to leave you.
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Then marry me.
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…I don't want to do this.
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Then just tie yourself to the post, too, because you are really in a bind as well. You want to not marry me and I want to be married and you want to be with me. So just tie yourself right up here next to me and then you will look like yourself, too.
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I can only get one hand done. The other can't tie itself.
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Yeah.
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There, now I'm tied here too.
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Good. Don't leave.
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I wasn't going to.
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Stay with me.
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I don't want to be tied up.
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You are anyway.
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Yeah.
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Yeah.

Nathan Hawke

It's not just the fact that Nathan Hawke is a brilliant poet or that his wife is a glorious person, or that he is a beautiful, soft but well spoken man, or that he either really cares or does the best impression of caring I have ever seen a man do that makes me want to post some of his poetry. It's that his poetry moves me. I love the way he never types his name on his poetry. He always signs it with a pen--like he puts part of himself on the page. I believe he will one day be famous. If I'm ever rich and he's not famous yet, I'll just publish a book of his poetry.

I can't find the piece of his I wanted to post, so I'll just post parts of two other pieces I have gotten a hold of. I should point out that these are unauthorized and I could probably be sued for posting these. Maybe when they are published I will have a problem. Note that the underscores below should be spaces but this HTML converter doesn't seem to understand spaces--also I had to add a line break after "include:" in "Deerfield (5)." Enjoy.

From "Deerfield (5)" by Nathan Hawke

Uses for quack grass include:

diuretic for 'gravel' (kidney stones); worm expellent;

wash for______swollen limbs, etc. Spaces of still water

along the bank are mucky-brown, littered___with brown stones a few feet across

and smoothed, brown glass from a broken beer bottle.

Half clamshell shine up, gold______under surface. Psalm 63: I sing___in the

shadow of your wings.



From "Six Variations for Glen Gould" by Nathan Hawke

_____But let's not--


_____Traces of the original tenderness sould, or do--or my reading

or yours--well up inder hte imitation. In my reading you remember the asphalt

curves down into shadows--street in--at--front of the market, the man who

walks out of his house--across the tight yeard at--towards--the car with

all three collar buttons buttoned; sparrow's sparrow-flight wrapping

through fence spokes. You slow down, raise patterns in grass all

the way home until--reaching for the door--start

_____pounding again, but let off as I step inside glitering

_____in the dissonance.

My Photos

From March

From March

3-8-5

Grand Canyon

A condor circling spotted me
trail thinned to guesswork
red rock and weed
glancing up, canyon edge wavers
holes funnel sunlight
and water
millions of years and tunnels so smooth

my hand running over
concave earth
striations
in curved caverns
so hallo inside

the call of a hawk cawed far
space to hunt
a snake under boulder
and purple bud withering in
heat

animalian, stone cold
and water walking downstream
away from here
measures the weight on my back
and the ground I will sleep on
with
in.
3-11-5

Every detail of dinner was perfect
Lemon complemented heat
Crabmeat cooled oniony sweetness
A flute of champagne
Belgian endive with figs
Candles and flames
Four friends and new moon

And I couldn't help noticing the hole
Gaping in our evening
Amorphous, subtle
I'm not sure they felt it but I think they did
We were incomplete

Missing that final spice
Fullness without food
The longing life pulls on its strings
Dragging behind
Racing ahead
Never here, now.

We looked into each other's eyes
As mirrors
Pushing in and pulling out
Our mouths empty
Stomachs full

The candles waned and I wanted more
Of nothing that had been
There
But of what lingers in that darkness
Between courses
Between us
Between these moments
We live.
3-14-05

The barrage of
this and that
of to do and to get
in bundles and tasks
here and there

I cover points on the map
great Z's and X's
marking my spots
at furious speeds

it's only in my car
the space of the lines
take shape
the seconds between here and there
fill with me
with life
and you

I think
this is it.
I could die now,
nowhere on the map
above the relief
and keep going

Sometimes it seems
the only stillness comes
when I'm moving,
when here is nowhere
and there hasn't come yet.

It's then I'm most alive—
when you are alive
to me
so much more than when we are
here
when we touch with words
on bodies

I know you best in my car
suspended somewhere
between
3-9-5

Today smelled like Spring
Of sun and wood
And wet bark

Today sounded of whistles
And breezes
Of growing and
Green

I trod the impenetrable silence between people
I trod the crumbling causeway
I looked into faces looking in
Looking back
Looking on
Themselves without notice

I opened my palm for a beetle bug to crawl
With all its legs and eyes,
Seeing, smelling, feeling me.

So much more human
So much more knowing than
multitudes of inward eyed faces
Looking away

Into a still winter day
The sun shone,
sparsely seen.

3-12-05

I see red
and snowflakes and memory falling
city lights
burning
creased-skin touches
hands and trees
blackening before red skies
blanketing eternity this moment,
again.

and people
the pavement feet
worn down around
one living thing
one song

earth drenched in us
the movers
time takers
feeling here
one eternity

once
we walk under its wings.

A Gulf Between

A Gulf Between

I.

It was six days after your death
I opened the drawer,
wept in dirty cloth I'd meant to clean—
dug there in you and memories of
Saturday afternoons
Shreds of fall leaves clinging,
Raking the heaps
And all around

dug down to dark wood
your ebony bed
Buried in sand so far
As I see the black of your eyes and oil wells
On fire, blackening my sky and
My skin with your soot
So sandy and gray

And I harbor a secret shame—
a need to slam your drawer
and land under that banner, "mission accomplished,"
to move on from the steel I know still moors
in my familiar bay
In sand so sticky
Like the soot
Stuck to me, unwashable
--unendable

I await the seventh day
In a mourning my mother doesn't know,
And grandmothers do—
The morning eclipse,
a darkness promising rest
And rain.

A Gulf Between

II.

It was six months after your death I hiked Mauna Loa
And they told me not to go

Not to bring the pick I'd carried since the ticking stopped
Waiting after waiting, to see you again
And they told me not to dig up there
In smoke and sky, for fear of misplaced generals
In rocky holes

Their uniforms buried deep
Where I ploughed to find you
Through Lethen waters gone hard
Deep past oasis leaves, unfound,
Frozen mid-bloom
I was a rookie going farther than I should
Farther

Until the blue sea filled my trench
and its waters of forgetting washed me clean

A Gulf Between

III.

It was six weeks after your death
I arrived in Calcutta, needing
a place where death was not new
And water was not clean,
Where my dirt matched theirs
Falling apart under white veils
And a wimple to cover me up—
those parts that poked
and pinched their way
back to you, and the guns,
straying out to evening air
where no eyes followed
and I knew you in the black
of desert nights,
a white dwarf gone dark.

My Photo