Skip to main content

Say Your Name

 


"Those who see giants are still looking at the world through the eyes of a child."

                                                                                                       -Anais Nin


I love this quote by Anais Nin.  The reasons for my admiration will be forthcoming, but for now, let's consider Ms. Nin, herself.  There was a time back in the early 1970s when it seemed as if there was hardly a young woman who wasn't reading one or more books of The Diary of Anais Nin.  Her personal journals were both fascinating and informative.  he was known as a writer and friend and confidant of some fairly famous folks in the literary circles of her time.  But, it took years of writing erotica under an assumed name or two just to pay the rent and eat.  



Anais Nin's perceptions and musings are riveting at times but her wisdom is what shines through.  When your literary friends include Henry Miller and Kenneth Patchen, it makes for a very unpredictable and stimulating life.  These folks often wrote letters to one another.  Real letters.  I don't really see the "collected emails" of some of today's most popular writers as being a possibility someday.  Perhaps I'm wrong, but in the day and age of Anais Nin, that was the way writers communicated.

In the early 1970s I was working at a residential treatment center for kids who were classified as "emotionally disturbed." The facility had a Jungian foundation and the young staff of couples and conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War formed a kind of literary community. Most of the women there, both counseling staff and office workers carried a copy of Ms. Nin's diary.  Discussion groups formed and Nin became a "giant" in their eyes.  Her admirers seemed to look to her for everything.  That's why when she came to speak on the UC Berkeley campus, the agency bought a block of tickets right in front, center aisle.  Her presentation was gentle and thoughtful.  She appeared more like someone's still wrapped, grandmother.  Her smile was soft and sincere.   At one point she was asked about the pronunciation of her name.  Most people I knew said A ni is.  But she quickly corrected that and said it is Anna eis.

After her presentation, she graciously agreed to sign her books that were available for purchase.  I'd bought a small volume of her poetry, so I stood in line.  When my turn came, I quietly walked the few steps to where she stood.  

"And what is your name and what do you do?" she asked. I told her my name and said that I was a poet too.  "To Bruce the poet," she wrote.  It was all very peaceful and satisfying.  She seemed genuine. 

I'm not sure I still have that book.  In the 50 years since that night, somebody perusing my bookshelf must have been attracted to the erotica.  Perhaps I lent it to someone, I really can't remember. What does stay with me is how revered she was and probably still is.  Definitely a giant in the mind of so many.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...
3 comments
Read more

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...
Post a Comment
Read more