Things I Miss / Ça manque November 22, 2008
Posted by eternalwriter in English, Français, Missing in action/Le Manque, blurb.6 comments
- Eating in a restaurant in winter: it is warm, there is laughter and dimmed lights and maybe a band playing… and I am smoking a cigarette inside — NOT outside in minus temperatures –, with my red wine and my friends and then with my coffee.
- Being seduced. Being seductive.
- Sex with a woman. Sweet drowning for long, long sleepless hours. Endless nights.
- Writing real letters, made of ink and paper and tears and anticipation. Waiting for the postman.
- Missing class. (Obviously, you can’t do that if you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching…)
- Having a theme-song for everything.
——————
En français:
Fumer dans un restaurant; faire l’amour avec une femme; foxer des cours; être séduite; écrire des lettres (des vraies); avoir des chansons-thèmes.
Je reviens d’un souper de banlieue chic (mais qu’est-ce que c’est loin de Montréal…). Je reviens de nulle part, je reviens seule, je suis seule, il n’y a rien qui explose et rien qui implose et c’est le stable plat. Je n’ai pas d’after- rendez-vous. Mon mec est à un party, où il n’était pas question que je le rejoigne.
Et j’ai soupé avec des vieux — pas des vieux physiques, non, des vieux mentaux, des vieux déformés par leurs amertumes et leurs amerrissages au lendemain de la supposée Révolution qu’ils ont vécue, je reviens de là d’où… là d’où je suis franchement heureuse de ne pas être issue.
Je vais continuer à écrire en anglais, les amis — non pas pour m’exporter (bon, ok, un peu tout de même), non pas parce que ça fait chic-Plateau, mais bien parce que c’est le seul langage dans lequel j’ai déjà fait l’amour à une femme. Et que c’est le langage dans lequel j’écrivais ce que je ne pouvais pas dire, à 14 ans, c’est la langue de tous mes oublis et de toutes mes histoires les plus décalées (donc les plus vraies).
————
“And here I go again on my own“…
Did you know, dear all of you, that the brackets to be used in English and in French are not the same? «French» brackets, and “English“ brackets, yes. Whole cultures are contained within these punctuation marks.
And I am one, contained in no brackets — nothing to hold me down, nothing to tone me down –, in between lives, in between languages, in between gender roles, in between being old and being nothing.
Damned suburbs. I hate you. I left you.
Trying not to get poetic November 9, 2008
Posted by eternalwriter in English, Fall, new life, professional procrastinating.3 comments
Of course this is a blank page day, with me in it — a Sunday –, desperately trying not to write about the messy mushy stuff inside.
I quit. I will write.
My poetry is always about somewhere else — and it always refers
to another of you
Something I cannot afford
And silence, like ten thousand deleted files the only reward
Not knowing if this is
clodded dirty memory or some kind of
okay, nice and shiny souvenir
Unpublished, yet too public
Never got a hold of it — that — you
You thing, you body, you fleeing creature
And why now, why the void kiss
and all your words about Fall
I have been meaning to tell you to go away
You thing, you, creature,
Go away you almost killed me once (so good, so good)
All this
undeleted happiness
Getting the better of me.
Leaving Chicago November 4, 2008
Posted by eternalwriter in Academic conferences are it, English, overflow.2 comments
I could have chosen a number of other titles for this post: “The End of the Conference“, “Being Tired and Having Grading To Do“, but… but the fact of the matter is, I was leaving Chicago this morning at the end of a three-day conference, and this is what will stick with me.
My hotel was right in front of THE park, i.e., the park where Obama will be appearing tonight and where they are waiting for what could be up to a million people (or so they say). Streets had been closed since yesterday and, afraid that I never would be able to get out of town, I took my cab at six in the morning to get to the airport.
I wish I could have stayed, though: the excitement was palpable everywhere.
I had never been to Chicago and, except for its mad drivers, I must say I enjoyed it. In fact, my taxi driver from the hotel to the airport drove so fast that, for a brief moment — all the while trying not to have a heart attack from the fright — I considered that it would be faster that he drive me all the way back to Canada rather than take the plane. Hehe.
I do not really know what happened, over these three days. Just your usual academic conference, I guess: great papers, nice people, and, of course… way too much booze. 
My head is still spinning from the numerous conversations, some clear-headed, some delirious, and once again, I can’t help but feel extremely lucky to be doing what I do.
Here’s to leaving Chicago!
______________
* Next-day edit: I went to sleep too early to see Obama’s speech last night, but now that I’ve seen it, I have only one thing to say: Whoa! Congratulations, America.
