A Little Stanford

McQuiston's Tale

I went down the road to have supper with Shing. My feet were so pale and warm from the dust when I got there that I pumped water on them, I pumped water over myself, letting it run down over my bare chest and under the belt of my shorts. I stood in the ditch like a wheel. Wearing no drawers, the water went freely down my legs, and the evening wind crawled up under the loose fitting hand-me-down cut-down pants. I had just come from the Greek's tugboat, and the swarthy and enchanted music he played was still with me, and not even the low wind could make me listen to another thing.
"Did you hear that?" Shing asked me.
"What was it that you heard?"
"Those womens whispering in the kitchen."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the tree with the cat. He chased the snake up here."
"I'll help you down; I came to eat with you."
"Yes, it's good that a young man today can remember an old man of yesterday. And how are your teeth? Don't let them go bad like mine. Your mouth is pretty and white, I suppose. You better watch that one dark tooth. Everything rots."
"Did I. . ."
"Did I get a letter?"
"Did I leave my book here? No, there wasn't anything up at the store."

(Frank Stanford, Conditions Uncertain & Likely to Pass Away, Lost Roads series No. 37, 1990.)

*

A little excerpt from the beginning of the book. I think there's this in between place for poet/fiction writers. Stanford is absolutely compelling to me. If I read nothing but Stanford all summer I would be greatly pleased and probably a much better writer after it was all over. No, you can't borrow this book. I need it. Go get your own.