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       When my more educated acquaintance Michael mentioned: that: Mr. Egon Bondy: was
his spiritual father:         I also wanted to have such a resounding spiritual father
suddenly: and: in a few moments: I found him in my early youth: with pride:       it's
Buñuel: whose biography - My Last Sigh - it's the best:       what happened to me
during the lifelong reading. 
       For a while Rilke wanted be there: but this his elegies are a bit heavy already
- after the years. (I dreamed once:          when I fell asleep deeply to heavy sweaty
10-minutes sleep on the night shift: that we met  - he had a mustache and a bowler hat
- but we didn't understand each other.       After a while: he left in his tweed suit:
narrow and supercilious: by his heron steps:    through the tram rails deeper into the
Commercial street. I had a romantic understanding that morning:      that I will never
understand with anyone - I'm there everywhere in addition: just like him.)

       It happens: that the word: which has been imprinted in my memory:         has a
different meaning: than I'm giving to it - perhaps because of my self- education:  and
my occasional bird hastiness - often I rely on instinct       - I don't like to browse
through the dictionary: I'm ashamed to ask: I hear it differently:            I see it
differently: my mother spoke like this without a stretching:   or with "e" at the end:
so: it's possible: that Rilke in my dream: did not really leave in tweed suit: