No Need To Fear Death. There Will

I Was More Worn Out With The "odyssey" Than It Was With The "iliad." I Mean, Just Comparing Those Two - You Can See How It's Changing, How The Language Of The "iliad" Is Somehow Monstrously New - And That Language Of The "odyssey" Is More Comfortable, Even For Us.

Eros Is An Issue Of Boundaries. He Exists Because Certain Boundaries Do. In The Interval Between Reach And Grasp, Between Glance And Counterglance, Between ‘i Love You’ And ‘i Love You Too,’ The Absent Presence Of Desire Comes Alive. But The Boundaries Of Time And Glance And I Love You Are Only Aftershocks Of The Main, Inevitable Boundary That Creates Eros: The Boundary Of Flesh And Self Between You And Me. And It Is Only, Suddenly, At The Moment When I Would Dissolve That Boundary, I Realize I Never Can.

Prowling The Meanings Of A Word, Prowling The History Of A Person, No Use Expecting A Flood Of Light. Human Words Have No Main Switch. But All Those Little Kidnaps In The Dark. And Then The Luminous, Big, Shivering, Discandied, Unrepentant, Barking Web Of Them That Hangs In Your Mind When You Turn Back To The Page You Were Trying To Translate.

[short Talk On Sylvia Plath] Did You See Her Mother On Television? She Said Plain, Burned Things. She Said I Thought It An Excellent Poem But It Hurt Me. She Did Not Say Jungle Fear. She Did Not Say Jungle Hatred Wild Jungle Weeping Chop It Back Chop It. She Said Self-government She Said End Of The Road. She Did Not Say Humming In The Middle Of The Air What You Came For Chop.

As Sokrates Tells It, Your Story Begins The Moment Eros Enters You. That Incursion Is The Biggest Risk Of Your Life. How You Handle It Is An Index Of The Quality, Wisdom, And Decorum Of The Things Inside You. As You Handle It You Come Into Contact With What Is Inside You, In A Sudden And Startling Way. You Perceive What You Are, What You Lack, What You Could Be.