Author Archive
Havel: An Authentic Life

Havel: An Authentic Life

Best of In The Fray 2012. Long before he was a dissident or president, Václav Havel was a playwright. His plays offer the fullest picture of the late Czech writer’s moral vision, which cast aside ideology in favor of a more authentic, more personal “truth and love.”

I Went to the Woods

I Went to the Woods

See you all at the end of May.

Game Clock

On the altar of the skies / A star ignites / And with our yearning flares.

Ememies, Ememies!

Ememies, Ememies!

A word defective in accent or phoneme is a sound used incorrectly; it does not convey its purpose. Speech is like a thunderbolt, striking at the sacrificer who mistakes “who is slayer” for “whose slayer.”

Dregs of Dead Men

Dregs of Dead Men

Books are no better than talking. In talking there is something precious: the intention.

Silentium

She has not yet been born, / she is both the music and the words, / and thereby the unbreakable bond / between all the living.

You Are Busted

Now I see you, damned house builder! / You ain’t building no house no more! / All your rafters busted, / the roof has collapsed.

Wakes in the Sea

Sing with me: “Knowing we understand nothing, / from an eerie ocean we come, to an inscrutable sea we go.”

Sound of Ripeness

A sound, alert and dull, / of a fruit, ripping itself from the tree …

Life Happens by Chance

Why, every night, do I only dream / of my lucky and dazzling star? / Why, every night, do I only dream / that this star will bring me the happiness / of which, during the day, / I never dream?

Awakening of Language

Wavering, barely discernible, language awakens. She seems never able to find her bearing in the human space that is taking hold of the creature who wakes slowly, or at once. When her awakening is sudden, space strikes at man as if it had been waiting to overwhelm him, to make him know he is only a human being and nothing more.

My Dear Pattern

I was given a body—what should I do with it, / So unique and so mine? / For the quiet happiness to breathe and to live, / Whom, say, should I thank?