Waiting in Memories

Now I’m waiting, what should I do ? Of course, I’ll work further. However, I don’t say that what I write now is just as well, as full of life as it was when I was in the blossom of power when my head was filled with ideas like the waters of a spring river.


Because I’m a creature that lives the thoughts – why do I say “creature” and not “man” ? – I’ll continue, while waiting, to do what I do. I’ll console myself with good wines and food, but not to drunkenness or saturation, make sure to keep my old friends, those who have stayed my friends.

Do you now think I told you the happenings of my life ? I just gave you news of events in my life as I did best.

Life is made up of passing events that touch our nerves and organs of perception, and which man, whatever he strives, cannot integrate them in his own evolution. The work of a painter may well be closer to the result of an intense creative hour. Jackson Pollock had the ability to show the ecstasy as it cannot be expressed in words. Van Gogh was able to capture the beautiful, indescribable moments of falling into madness…

Rimbaud is the only poet who has brought the word so high that he could catch, movingly, the meanings of the incandescent moments of existence. And there is also Hart Crane. The two poets lit a fire that burned during their lifetime. And perhaps we, the people who write, can truly mediate for you the whole truth of our ego, within the limits of our books, by sacrificing us.

from Tennesse Williams, Memories  – adaptation