And the rest of them.
I was delighted to see Corey. He’s far too good for you.
Liked your chum Margaret too. You’re all so smiley and energetic — gawd.
I kept wondering, when I got home, why I was hungry. Aren’t they supposed to give you toast or some such with an egg order — or was it on the side where I didn’t notice it?
I also realized I short-changed you guys on the bill. My $20 would have covered my food and drink, but was shy on the tax and tip. DO NOT RETURN THE ENCLOSED!68 (Oops. Tested it against the light. Too visible. I owe you $5.00)
If it arrives. Pretty dumb to send cash in a letter, no?
Hey — I enjoyed it all. And am sorry I don’t shut up.
With love to you both—
David
P.S. I also found something to do with the pumpkin.69 I won’t tell. But nice. I even scored points with it.
67 We’d met for lunch (finally, lunch!) earlier that day. I was in town for my book launch.
68 There was nothing enclosed, as he explains in the parenthetical remark, which he’d scribbled on later.
69 We’d brought him a miniature pumpkin.
Oct 28 ’05
All right, don’t ask me what I did with the pumpkin.
You’ll never know, now.
[Accompanied by a drawing of a pumpkin, on the bottom of the card.]
Nov 13 ’05
Simso—
Down the corridor here, a youngster with fire-engine red hair. When he’s carried or wheeled past, he’s never done anything but stare and scowl at me. Roughly two weeks ago, near Halloween, he had his first birthday. I knocked — and gave him the pumpkin. Those things are dense, they’re heavy. I thought he was nowhere near strong enough, but he gripped it in both hands and wouldn’t let go. His mother said he held onto it for days. Ever since, whenever I’ve seen him, he grins and grins. He’s now my little red-headed buddy. And that’s the tale of your silly-arsed pumpkin!
Love, etc.—
David
Dec 20 ’05
Simso—
You’re the one who hasn’t written, kiddo. Ever since I told you about the pumpkin. I figured you were sore — a gift from Laura Sims and I’d had the chutzpah to pass it along to a little one-year-old red-headed neighbor, shame on me. No news, in any event. (I have, however, spent more odd moments struggling with your pomes.) Do you know what today’s date (above) is?70 This time, shame on you, then.
Hey, love to you both—
D.
70 His birthday. His 78th, to be exact.
Feb 1 ’06
Simso—
No, I ain’t a Capricorn, whatever comes before that — which I recall only because somebody once told me. Don’t tell me you believe in that shit?
Gawd, how can you teach as much as you say? The only time I did it full time—1964–66, at LIU — I was semi-suicidal.
Meantime, lissen, you might inquire at RCF yet again re your DM essay — telling them you saw a Dalkey Archive catalogue in a bookstore (I’m the one who saw one, but that means they are in distribution) and DM is not even listed for their spring issue. Otherwise, if you don’t peddle it before you go to Japan71 someplace, then what?
Why why why do you do all those readings? Who arranges them? Do you get paid?
Don’t leave flowers, telephone.72
Old tired sick broke73—but with love—
David
71 I’d received a writing grant from the Japan-U.S. Friendship Commission for a six-month residency in Tokyo — for fall of 2006.
72 I was going to be in NYC, for a reading again. We couldn’t meet but I’d told him I was going to leave flowers on his doorstep.
73 Which would become a primary refrain in his last novel, The Last Novel.
Feb 11 ’06
Simser—
So I’ll never see a Sims/Markson essay in print; ah, well.74
Then again, if you’d publish such things, sooner instead of later you’ll be Distinguished Prof of Poetry, U of Wisconsin — or wherever — with one class per semester — one semester per year!
And re readings, readings: someone just called me to share an evening (here) with Michel Butor.75 I said I simply don’t, thanx. Only later did I wonder: if they are bringing Butor from Paris, what are they paying him? And me? I never thought to ask. Old-Tired-Sick-Alone-Broke!
Love again—
David
74 I think I’d finally told him that I was too busy at the time (teaching 4–5 classes per semester while tending to my own creative work) to finish and send out an essay on his work (which would have entailed rewriting the earlier draft, or starting from scratch).
75 Michel Butor, French novelist, critic, and essayist.
Feb 17 ’06
Symsy, gal—
You think you’re a poet? Ha, get this. I’ve just received royalty statements on mine,76 for Jan ’05 through June ’05—the usual delay of six months, plus processing. In that earlier six months — a dozen years after publication — I sold SEVEN COPIES! Willie Yeats is turning over in his grave. Eddie Poe weeps where he lies. Johnny Keats whimpers.
SEVEN COPIES! IMMORTALITY.
Ha.
Thine—
David
P.S. You’re doomed if you tell a soul!
76 Collected Poems. David Markson (Dalkey Archive Press, 1993).
Feb 21 ’06
Dear Simsich—
A couple of hours after your call—
The total of sales to date77 (after 11 yrs) is indeed 540! (That’s thru June a year ago. Must be as many as 8 since!)
Whoinhell bought ’em?
Love again — and hello Corey—
Thine—
D.
77 Total number of copies sold of his Collected Poems.
March 22 ’06
Sims, lass—
So there’s Corey, in the new issue of Fence—and I learn that his poems are as difficult to solve as yours are. I’m glad. It means you were made for each other!
But I’m sore, too. How come he sez he’s reading Practice, Restraint, but not anything by Markson? Doesn’t he know you’re s’posed to?
Then again, somebody else in the back of the book is reading my Springer’s Progress. Who he, I wonder?
No, I don’t subscribe. Someone seems to send it, these last few years.
Nada aqui. Old, tired, sick, broke. But WORKING!78
With love to you both—
David
78 On what would be The Last Novel.
Apr 13 ’06
Simso—
Another periodical that sometimes gets sent to me, & that I merely skim through (DON’T TELL A SOUL!)—Rain Taxi. And who’s reviewed this month? — my gal Laura! I’m thrilled for you. I mean it. I’m hopping around on one foot as if I have water in my ear. (I also have just had walking pneumonia — but never mind that.) May you have uncountable numbers more!
Why go back to Japan when Minneapolis is welcoming you?79
Thine—
D.
79 I was about to go there for a reading organized by Rain Taxi.