Fare Forward: Letters from David Markson
Page 2
Meantime I turn 76 on 12/20. About eighteen months ago I was 27.
Thine—
David
20 I had, in my very first letter.
21 Vanishing Point.
Jan 8 ’04
Dear Symso—
Your cards numbered 1 and 2 actually arrived on consecutive days—in proper order. Occult activity at the PO.
I love it when galleys turn up in bookstores.22 The SOBs are supposed to be reviewing the books, not peddling them! But I’m pleased you got an early look—and hope you approve.
De Chirico is gone, however.23 At the very last minute they couldn’t get permission. Now a Ross Bleckner that looks like a seersucker jacket that ran in the wash, alas.24 But some folks seem to admire it, quien sabe?
I hope you had a well-celebrated birthday out there (I’m assuming you’re back—or surely en route). Thirty’s nice, all good things still ahead. (Would you believe Eisenhower was only halfway through his presidency when I hit 30 myself?)
Anyhow, all belated cheers—and my very best to you both.
Thine—
David
22 I told him I’d just stumbled on a galley of Vanishing Point at Green Apple Books in San Francisco. I was thrilled—he, less so.
23 The copy of Vanishing Point I’d found had a de Chirico painting on the cover.
24 The piece is called “The Arrangement of Things (1982).”
Jan 14 ’04
Syms-o—
Book en route to you from publisher.25 Indeed, it may get to you before this card, since with the wind-chill here well below zero, God knows when I’ll mail it. Ain’t goin’ out no matter what.
I’m pleased for you that Review26 is interested. Write nice. Spell good. Punctuate proper, etc.
And don’t comment on the damned misplaced modifier I let go by right at the beginning of the novel—which two beloved chums have already pointed out.
Onward—
Thine—
David
25 An official copy of Vanishing Point.
26 He means Chicago Review, which initially expressed interest in my essay on Markson. I used this early version as a template for the essay that would ultimately appear in The New England Review in 2008.
Mar 14 ’04
Simsy—
NO, I’ve no idea what a Blog is.27 BLOG? Do I want to see printouts or not? Nothing that will upset/annoy/distress me, pls., eh? Only if they truly make nice.
Hey, forgive the brevity, eh?
Thine,
David
27 I’d found a lot of interest in Markson on various blogs and had offered to send printouts.
Mar 25 ’04
Dear Symsy—
Hey, thank you for all that blog stuff but forgive me if after a nine-minute glance I have torn it all up. I bless your furry little heart, but please don’t send any more. In spite of the lost conveniences, I am all the more glad I don’t have a computer.
HOW CAN PEOPLE LIVE IN THAT FIRST-DRAFT WORLD?
They make a statement about my background, there’s an error in it. They quote from a book, and they leave out a key line. They repudiate a statement of fact I’ve made, without checking, ergo announcing I’m a fake when the statement is 100% correct. Etc., etc., etc. Gawd.
I have just taken the sheets out of the trash basket & torn them into even smaller pieces.
Last week two several-hour-long hospital medical tests. Plus more MD visits to come. But I am also WORKING. I would rather spend an hour and a half trying to solve the roughest first draft of a note for the new book—that will eventually be endlessly rewritten—than ever ever ever read another word of the Internet.
Don’t be sore.28
Thine—
David
28 In my response to this letter, I wrote: “I’m so sorry to have tortured you that way—I had second thoughts but went ahead and sent the blog printouts. I have to say it was worth it to get your wittily enraged letter. Those ‘semi-literate’ bloggers were praising you, you know. They did get something right—the most important thing, in fact. Be well and light those toxic shreds of paper on fire if need be!”
Apr 8 ’04
Dear Symsy—
Spectacular!29 You can even take the tour,30 up the rickety stairway to the shabby flat where Raskolnikov did in the old pawnbroker lady and her sister with the ax—and even though there never was a Raskolnikov, or an old lady, or her sister (named Lizaveta), they will tell you, that’s the place!
Hey, seriously, I think it’s wonderful, a great break from the Amerikansky routine, an experience to feed off for years—even later, when you’ll think you’ve mostly forgotten it. Lotsa pomes31 too, betcha.
But in the meantime, I demand more and more work on your Markson paper, hear? Every minute, until!
Hey, all cheers, mazel tov, congrats, etc.
Thine—
David
29 His reaction to news that I’d be spending a month in St. Petersburg (Russia) as a participant in the Summer Literary Seminars.
30 The Crime & Punishment Tour.
31 This is not a typo; he explains the spelling in a later letter.
May 13 ’04
Dear Simsy—
Someone just sent me a 90-page densely written Master’s essay on This Is Not a Novel. Someone else, a Lit Seminar MFA final paper on Wittgenstein’s Mistress. Yet one more, a chapter on Going Down, for a book being done in France.
WORK HARDER! (To strive, to seek, to find—etc. Who’m I quoting?32)
I don’t have any idea whatever became of that essay supposedly being written for RCF, by the way. The guy called me with a few questions 15 months ago, but there’s been not a word since. I’ve no idea if it’s been written, scheduled—or for that matter abandoned?
When you get to Russia, I want a postcard with a picture of Raskolnikov and the ax on it!
Hey, as always, take care, stay well, and my best to Corey.
Thine—
David
32 Ulysses, from “Ulysses,” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson: “To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
May 21 ’04
Dear Simsy—
Hey, marvelous—that you’re essentially finished.33 I just called James Joyce to inform him, & he said to tell you “Mazel Tov”—which is Irish for “Zowie.” Seriously, I’m pleased and honored both—and do hope you place it somewhere prestigious.
Meantime, quote me what it says about Catherine the Great’s death34—sort of chapter & verse—and I may rewrite & steal it. (I always fuss over sources.)
Again—cheers & congrats—and thanks.
As always—
David
33 With my essay on Markson’s work.
34 I think this quote about Catherine the Great dying on the toilet came from a Russian travel guide.
May 22 ’04
Dear Simso—
Just this a.m., out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a Kate the Great bio on a bookstore shelf—Erickson, was it?35 Anyhow, I skimmed the necessary pages. Forever on, the line in my next book, if I use the line—and if there is a next book—will be known as the Laura Sims Memorial Water Closet Line!
Thine—
D.
35 Great Catherine: The Life of Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia. Carolly Erickson (St. Martin’s Griffin, 1995).
July 20 ’04
Dear Simsy—
Forgive the yeller-paper scrawl. Your cheery, enthusiastic—nay, even bubbly letter—deserves better. And sure does indicate you had a smashing time.36 Travel’s good—says he who once had three years in Mexico, and more than a year and a half in Europe, but lately hasn’t been farther away from the Village than Jim Edmonds37 can throw a baseball. (Then again I’ve taken the Weehawken ferry a few times, en route to where my son lives in NJ—right past where Aaron Burr shot that guy on the $10 bill.)
Where was I? About to say thanx for the photos,38 too, making you less than the wraith you’ve been up ’til now
. Corey likewise. I do find it Bishop Berkeley-ish39 that you visited the houses where two people (three) who never lived, lived. (I say three because Lizaveta was of course the old panwbroker lady’s sister; though, hmm, there’s RRR’s40 landlady too, no? Tons of people who never lived, lived there.)
A couple of years ago I paused to look at a building on an obscure street not far from here that I’d had in mind, all those decades ago, as the home of my man Chance in Going Down; the gal Fern sees him through a window, goes into the building, raps at an apartment door to her left. All these years (earliest drafts, ca. 1960) she’s gone into a door at her left. Only in 2003 or so do I discover that everything to the left is another building altogether. To get into the apartment I’ve visualized her looking into, she’d have to step around the corner! So much for fictional reality!
Golly, what a profoundly metaphysical moment in the creative history of David M—and nobody knows it but Simsy.
Hey, again, pardon the scrawl. Already more’n I’d anticipated.
I’m delighted that you had such a great time. Pomes that you’ve never given a thought to will be lurking because of it, who knows when?
Thine—
David
P.S. “If there is no God, how can I be a captain, then?” says somebody in The Possessed. If there was no landlady on the floor below, who did Raskolnikov owe the rent on his garret to—and what was the exchange rate on the make-believe roubles?
36 In St. Petersburg.
37 Jim Edmonds, retired center fielder.
38 In one photo, I’m standing next to the door of Raskolnikov’s supposed apartment; another shows the graffiti scrawled on the wall outside the door of the apartment, including the phrase, “Don’t do it, Rodya!” (in French and English).
39 George Berkeley, a.k.a. Bishop Berkeley, a proponent of idealism, the belief that reality consists exclusively of minds and their ideas.
40 Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov.
July 25 ’04
Simsy—
I have just written nine different drafts—nine—of a roughly 25-word paragraph ending with Don’t do it, Rodya!41 Still not right, but now a tentative index card in my shoebox tops.42 What with Catherine the Great’s commode in there already, you may write my entire next novel!
Thine—
D.
41 The phrase from the graffiti I’d found outside Raskolnikov’s apartment.
42 David composed his last four novels by writing notes on index cards, then filing the cards in shoebox tops, editing the individual notes until he was satisfied, and finally, rearranging the cards until finding the right order. He speaks of this in greater detail during the interview we did for Rain Taxi, page 123.
Aug 26 ’04
Dear Laura
Thank you
I am pleased to have it43
But the poems are so
Difficult
I will try
Some more
Times
Thine
David
(But probably will need more times than that.)
43 A copy of Bank Book, my first chapbook of poems, published by Answer Tag Press.
Aug 27 ’04
Dear Simso—
Of course you can dedicate that pome to me.44 I’ll be honored.
EVEN IF I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT!!!
Marco Antonio Montes de Oca45 has a poem entitled “David Markson ha salido a comprar una botella.”46
By the way, the titles “Bank One,” “Bank Two,” etc., etc., etc., work well enough—but I assume you’re aware there actually is a Bank One? I write them a check every time I pay my Visa card.
Listen, meantime. Eighteen months ago, the guy who was supposedly doing the essay on me for RCF got in touch, and we had one phone conversation. Last November, a minor coincidence occurred, involving him—not worth outlining here—but I scribbled him a postcard noting same, also asking what was up with the essay. Silence. Four weeks ago, obliquely triggered by a thought of your work, maybe, I sent another card (this being after another nine months). Again silence. I have no idea what it means—rejected, project canceled, the guy’s moved to Katmandu, whatever? But it may be worth your while to inquire at RCF again, if you want. After this latest silence, I thought I’d let you know—with, as I say, no idea what it means or what it’s worth.47
My old (and in many ways favorite) novel Going Down is scheduled to be reissued next spring. Correct that: is being scheduled for then. I exercise caution because it was planned a few times before and always fell into a screw-up.
Otherwise, forgive the scrawl, cheesy paper, etc. For some reason I haven’t been able to confront taking the cover off the typewriter for months. Long hours daily here making notes for a new book—but so many damned aches and pains simultaneously that I feel as if I’m 107 years old. Which is pretty grim when you’re only 103.
Have you and Corey registered to vote in Wisconsin? (For Kerry, I assume?!)
Thine—
David
P.S. Or re: that other writer, maybe, A., he’s just inordinately slow, and B., doesn’t answer mail? What I’ve said is all I know.
44 In a letter dated August 24, I’d told him, “When (I won’t say if) my manuscript is published in honest-to-goodness book form, I will dedicate ‘Bank Four’ to you outright. Unless you don’t want it!” The poem appeared in Bank Book, the chapbook I’d sent him, first, so he had seen it.
45 Marco Antonio Montes de Oca, Mexican poet, 1932-2009.
46 “David Markson Has Gone Out to Buy a Bottle.”
47 I did check in with RCF. At the time, they said that as far as they knew, the essay was still in progress—though it never did appear.
Sept 30 ’04
Dear Simsy—
I am getting so antiquated I cannot remember whether or not I answered your last. Not long ago I spent at least 10 minutes looking for the shirt I’d taken off an hour before—how many hangers and hooks and closets can there be in a one-bedroom apartment?—and then finally discovered I was wearing it!
Who are you again? Who am I writing to?
Lissen, that’s lovely news about a NY reading, and I will, will, will try to see you—lunch or something—will, will, will, will, will. Both of you. Will, will, will, will, will.
Rodya, don’t do it!
Will, will, will, will, will, will, will.
Thine—
David
Nov 10 ’04
Dear Simsy—
Lissen. Re my postcards. See RCF, Barth/Markson issue, Volume X No. 2, Summer 1990, Page 158—sixteen lines up from the bottom, the four-word sentence in the middle of the line.48
Otherwise, I hope neither of you slashed your wrists after the election.49 I was gonna jump off the roof here, but my sciatica hurt too much for me to get over the railing.
Thine—
D.
48 “He writes only postcards.” Beside which I had written in the margin: “Not entirely true!” From the essay, “Markson’s New Way,” by Burton Feldman, in RCF, Summer 1990, Vol. 10 No. 2.
49 George W. Bush was the victor, again.
Dec 28 ’04
Dear Simso—
What cozy holiday plans? Reclusive David? Don’tcha read my books?
Betcha didn’t know Garrison Keillor mentioned my birthday on the 20th neither! My editor expects an extra sale of at least two copies because of same. Biggest event since my bar mitzvah.
Meantime I hope all your 2005 dreams come true. And I will will will see you when you’re here. Will will will will will will will will will will will will.
Hey, be well, both of you.
Thine—
David
Feb 3 ’05
Simsy, you’re a pisser—
You tell me you’ll be in town about 45 minutes, you’ve got sixteen readings, nine maybe-readings, eleven tentative dinner plans—and I should pick any time that’s fine with me!
OK, OK, here’s the deal. Sunday, March 6. Noon. Sharp. Pl
ace called Rafaella. On Seventh Avenue (maybe it’s called Seventh Av. South), just two doors above 10th Street, west side of the street. Name Rafaella on a blue awning (maybe some stripes). Noon gives us comfortable time in which without rush you can leave for that later reading, no? Big, campy joint, two rooms—if you’re ahead of me pick whatever location you want—lots with armchairs, even.
But, but, but—do call and confirm when you’re here, eh? Sat., or even an hour or two beforehand on Sun. There’s one remote (I hope) possible difficulty—and who knows what else, when you’re dealing with a 103-year-old wreck?
Done? Done.
Until—
David
P.S. I just may, may still be the guy with the three-month experimental beard—when we are peering around to spot each other.
Feb 14 ’05
Simsy, Simsy—
Re “difficulties”—don’t forget that I’m probably older than your grandparents! Not to add that I’m beset by 3,724 sundry maladies, likewise. But here, now, two weeks and five days off, looks OK. Fret not.50
Meantime, what are all these first-person singulars? Corey is coming, no? (Anyhow, I’ve got to see how he manages to tolerate you!)
Hey—until—
David
P.S. Yes, dingbat, I know who Jorie Graham51 is. But I’ve only known for about 25 years.
50 I continued to fret; sure enough, David eventually cancelled.
51 I had a reading with Graham scheduled for the day David and I were supposed to meet.
Mar 22 ’0552
Simso—
Your card, dated March 12, and postmarked March 14, arrived today—March 21! I’d thought, ah, me, one more lost love!
Hey, thank you for asking about the damnable medical stuff. I’ve now learned that there is a special seminar in third-year med school, entitled, “How to Scare the Shit Out of Patients,” in which my most recent referral MD got an A-plus. But, biopsy or no, I am again given a reprieve. To galumph onward toward senility. Next week: Drooling into my custard.
Meantime I hope I expressed enough delight in the acceptance of your book.53 It’s really spectacular news, and I’m pleased as hell for you. Also glad NY went well, even without grumpy DM.