One of my favorite books is Autobiography of Red. The sequel, Red Doc > , continues the modern-day, fragmented telling of the relationship between mythological characters Geryon and Herakles in a different format and with changed names, yet maintains in its narrow columns of prose poetry a bittersweet love story.
As older men, Geryon, now known as the musk oxen herder G., and Herakles, the war veteran Sad But Great, meet again accidentally after an artist named Ida takes G.’s favorite ox for a precarious ride through the city. Like Autobiography, Red Doc>‘s narrative is beautifully disjointed and sparse, the details of past and present revealed mostly in essence:
happened to your
autobiography says Sad
you were always fiddling
with it in the old days. I
gave it up says G.
Nothing happening in
my life. They look at one
another and start to laugh.
Arguably less accessible than Autobiography, Red Doc > is a masterful work of prose poetry, an often polarizing, seemingly contradictory form. In a recent The Guardian interview, the author, Anne Carson, replied with a line from Red Doc > when asked of her definition of poetry: “If prose is a house, poetry is a man on fire running quite fast through it,” which doesn’t make immediate sense given her writing style, yet I get the essence. Maybe that’s the point.
I saw Anne at my Alma mater on April 10, 2013 for all of 180 seconds between the backs of necks and earlobes of other attendees. I knew she was soft-spoken, given what I’d read of her introverted nature, but even with a microphone, I had trouble hearing her through the sound system; I went to a closer entry point only to be told by the graduate programs director the way was shut. Luckily, we live in the age of streaming video, so I was able to catch Anne’s UC Berkeley reading some weeks later, sans backs of necks and earlobes.