Today we moved in another large amount of stuff (only J’s remains) and I perpetuated my love affair with bells-and-whistles cable, which we just signed up for because J likes it and I have never had it, went to the public library where the Junot Diaz book I reserved two weeks ago is still not in, and I booked my plane ticket for Tin House. Because flights to Portland are TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS more expensive than flights to Seattle, I chose the latter city, where I will have a two-day slumber party with Rabbit, then take the train right into Portland for eleven days of twentysomething girl-on-her-own solipsist traipsing around our country’s great Northwest.
<a href=”http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/16/us/15cnd-marriage.html?hp”>California says, “It’s okay to be gay.” </a>
The girl’s got pluck.
I am now a smidge obsessed with Margaret Mitchell. My train of thought went like this: my instincts are telling me the person who wrote this book had strongly held convictions about the integrity of the south. Wait, who exactly IS the person who wrote this book?
And down the rabbit hole I went.
Newspaperwoman, suffragist, flapper, Smith College dropout. Came home at 20 to care for her father and older brother after her mother died in the influenza pandemic of 1918. Found both of her great loves simultaneously. Married the swarthy bootlegger and divorced a few years later; married the slight shy newspaperman who was her other great love and intellectual mentor less than a year later. Wrote GWTW on a Remington typewriter while incapacitated by a broken ankle. Struck by an off-duty cab driver in 1949 on Peachtree Street, the selfsame avenue where the central characters of her epic lived and loved and fought, and convalesced for five long days before expiring and being laid to rest in the
cemetery where her characters–and her family–were buried.
My favorite stories about Mme. Mitchell:
When, on one memorable day, she announced to her mother that she could not understand mathematics and would not return to school, Maybelle dragged her daughter to a rural road where plantation houses had fallen into ruin. “It’s happened before and it will happen again,” Maybelle sternly lectured the girl. “And when it does happen, everyone loses everything and everyone is equal. They all start again with nothing at all except the cunning of their brain and the strength of their hands.”
Mitchell lived as a modest Atlanta newspaperwoman until a visit from MacMillan editor Harold Latham, who visited Atlanta in 1935. Latham was scouring the South for promising writers, and Mitchell agreed to escort him around Atlanta at the request of her friend, Lois Cole, who worked for Latham. Latham was enchanted with Mitchell, and asked her if she had ever written a book. Mitchell demurred. “Well, if you ever do write a book, please show it to me first!” Latham implored. Later that day, a friend of Mitchell, having heard this conversation laughed. “Imagine, anyone as silly as Peggy writing a book!” she said. Mitchell stewed over this comment, went home, and found most of the old, crumbling envelopes containing her disjointed manuscript. She arrived at The Georgian Terrace Hotel, just as Latham prepared to depart Atlanta. “Here,” she said, “take this before I change my mind!”
An added bonus: the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta has a book burning club and their slogan is GET LIT!
Well I never.
Talking to Patrizia
Patrizia doesn't want to Talk about love she Says she just Wants to make Love but she talks About it almost endlessly to me. It is horrible it Is the worst thing in life Says Patrizia Nothing Not death not sickness Is as bad as love I am always In love I am always Suffering from love Says Patrizia. Now I am used to it But I am suffering all the same Do you know what I did to her Once?--speaking Of her girlfriend--I kicked her out I literally kicked her she was down on the floor and I Gave her the colpi di piedi the Kicks of my foot. She slided out. She did this To me promised to go on a trip I am all waiting prepared Suitcases and tickets She comes and says her other friend finds out she Can't go she guessed about it. I KICKED her out Oh we are still together Sometimes. But love is horrible. I thought You might be the best Person to talk to Patrizia since you Love women and are a woman Yourself. You may be right Patrizia Said. But this woman who abandons You I think you should Disappear. Though maybe with this woman Disappearing won't work. I think not disappear. It's too bad I don't know her If I knew her if I could see her Just for ten minutes--I'm afraid If you saw her you might take Her away from me. Patrizia Laughs. No it hasn't happened to me Thank God to like such young women yet Why? When you are my Age--still young--she Is thirty . . . nine? you are close enough To people very young to Know how horrible they are And you don't love them You don't want to have anything To do with them! Oh Uh huh, I said putting My hands down on the table and then off Look at you excuse me but I have to laugh At you sitting in this horrible Restaurant at one o'clock In the morning in a City you don't want to be In and why? For this woman. It is horrible I know but Also funny I know I said. Listen I have An idea. Do you know her address? You know where She lives? You should go there Go and hide there Outside her house In the bushes Then when she comes out You jump out You confront her. You will see If there is love In her eyes or not. It can't Be hidden. You will know It can't be mistaken This works This has always worked For me. It won't work for me. I can't Go and hide there It is true Patrizia says when there is love everything Works when there isn't nothing does. Love Is a god These Freudian things I don't believe at all This god you have to do what He wants you to you are Angry but all you really want Is to get her back. Then--revenge! If This woman did something like this to me I would simply dislike her in fact I would hate her You may want to consider Patrizia said that this woman is Doing this test to you. No, I Said. I know she's not. I know something. I feel A hundred years old. Yet You don't look so bad, Patrizia said. Find another woman. I can't. I Know Patrizia said. But one always thinks it Is a good idea. But If you can't you can't. I Can't even eat This food Patrizia I said. I'm sorry I said Patrizia to be so Boring I can't stop talking Forgive Me. It doesn't bore me at all Patrizia says It's my favorite subject It isn't every day one sees somebody In such a state you can help him by talking to stay alive You know, Patrizia says if she Does this thing to you now She will do it again And again so you'd better be ready Maybe you can get the advantage By saying she is right you Don't love her Good bye You leave However if you want her You should go into the bushes And surprise her when they see you It always makes a difference I can't go hide there Patrizia That's insane. I went but not Hiding and not confronting. Patrizia: What did she say? I said The same things. Patrizia said Did you see love in her eyes? I said No. I didn't. I saw Something else. In Florence it's rainy Her (relatively) short hair and Her eyes along the Arno The last time I'll ever see her again As the one I am seeing again When seeing again still has some meaning. It's finished Patrizia's saying For now but don't worry I think you will get her back But it will be too late. Oh Patrizia I Let my back and head fall against The chair Late isn't anything!
-Kenneth Koch
