Toni Morrison Dispenses Sound Writing Advice: Tips You Can Apply to Your Own Work

Image by Angela Rad­ules­cu via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

It is some­times the case that a favorite writer isn’t ter­ri­bly inter­est­ing when it comes to talk­ing shop.  This has nev­er been so with the self-reveal­ing Toni Mor­ri­son, whose pub­lic appear­ances and inter­views often dupli­cate the expe­ri­ence of read­ing one of her novels—her voice draws you in, and before you know it, you’re part of a world all her own that she has giv­en you the priv­i­lege of join­ing for a short time.

This is the expe­ri­ence of read­ing her inter­view with Elis­sa Schap­pell in the Paris Review. Mor­ri­son dis­cours­es on sub­jects rang­ing from her per­son­al rou­tine and his­to­ry, to her iden­ti­ty as a writer and a woman, to the larg­er his­to­ry of slav­ery and the black lives she writes about. Woven through it all are obser­va­tions about her art that may or may not be of any use to bud­ding writ­ers, but which will cer­tain­ly make lovers of Mor­ri­son read her work a lit­tle dif­fer­ent­ly. Some of her obser­va­tions are below:

  • Write when you know you’re at your best. For her, this hap­pened to be the ear­ly morn­ing, pre-dawn hours, before her chil­dren woke up, since she worked full-time and feels she is “not very bright or very wit­ty or very inven­tive after the sun goes down.” Mor­ri­son describes her morn­ing rit­u­al this way:

I always get and make a cup of cof­fee while it is still dark—it must be dark—and then I drink the cof­fee and watch the light come.

  • “There’s a line between revis­ing and fret­ting” It’s impor­tant for a writer to know when they are “fret­ting,” because if some­thing isn’t work­ing, “it needs to be scrapped,” although in answer to whether she goes back over pub­lished work and wish­es she had fret­ted more, Mor­ri­son answers, “a lot. Every­thing.”
  • A good edi­tor is “like a priest or a psy­chi­a­trist.” Mor­ri­son worked as an edi­tor for Ran­dom House for 20 years before she pub­lished her first nov­el. She observes the rela­tion­ship between writer and edi­tor by say­ing that get­ting the wrong one means that “you are bet­ter off alone.” One of the marks of a good edi­tor? She doesn’t “love you or your work,” there­fore offers crit­i­cism, not com­pli­ments.
  • Don’t write with an audi­ence in mind, write for the char­ac­ters. Know­ing how to read your own work—with the crit­i­cal dis­tance of a good reader—makes you a “bet­ter writer and edi­tor.” For Mor­ri­son, this means writ­ing not with an audi­ence in mind, but with the char­ac­ters to go to for advice, to tell you “if the ren­di­tion of their lives is authen­tic or not.”
  • Con­trol your char­ac­ters. Despite the ever-present and clichĂ©d demand to “write what you know,” Mor­ri­son stu­dious­ly tries to avoid tak­ing char­ac­ter traits from peo­ple she knows. As she puts it: “mak­ing a lit­tle life for one­self by scav­eng­ing oth­er people’s lives is a big ques­tion, and it does have moral and eth­i­cal impli­ca­tions.” And as for keep­ing con­trol of her char­ac­ters, Mor­ri­son says “They have noth­ing on their minds but them­selves and aren’t inter­est­ed in any­thing but them­selves. So you can’t let them write your book for you.”
  • Plot is like melody; it does­n’t need to be com­pli­cat­ed. Mor­ri­son sums up her approach to plot in Jazz and The Bluest Eye by say­ing “I put the whole plot on the first page.” Rather than con­struct­ing intri­cate plots with hid­den twists, she prefers to think of the plot in musi­cal terms as a “melody,” where the sat­is­fac­tion lies in rec­og­niz­ing it and then hear­ing the “echoes and shades and turns and piv­ots” around it.
  • Style, like jazz, involves end­less prac­tice and restraint. Speak­ing of Jazz, Mor­ri­son tells she has always thought of her­self like a jazz musi­cian, “some­one who prac­tices and prac­tices and prac­tices in order to able to invent and to make his art look effort­less and grace­ful.” A large part of her “jazz” style, she says, is “an exer­cise in restraint, in hold­ing back.”
  • Be your­self, but be aware of tra­di­tion. Of the diver­si­ty of African-Amer­i­can jazz musi­cians and singers, Mor­ri­son says “I would like to write like that. I would like to write nov­els that were unmis­tak­ably mine, but nev­er­the­less fit first into African Amer­i­can tra­di­tions and sec­ond of all, this whole thing called lit­er­a­ture.”

Most read­ers of Morrison’s work would argue that’s exact­ly what she’s done her whole career. Read the entire inter­view here and be sure to vis­it the com­plete archive of Paris Review inter­views online.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Writ­ing Tips by Hen­ry Miller, Elmore Leonard, Mar­garet Atwood, Neil Gaiman & George Orwell

Ray Brad­bury Offers 12 Essen­tial Writ­ing Tips and Explains Why Lit­er­a­ture Saves Civ­i­liza­tion

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Nate Silver (Sporting a Cookie Monster T‑Shirt) Talks Serious Stats with Conan O’Brien

Even if you hate or fear sta­tis­tics, you’ve sure­ly become more than aware in recent months of one par­tic­u­lar sta­tis­ti­cian: Nate Sil­ver. The young pro­fes­sion­al num­ber-crunch­er has made the news in a big way for a legit­i­mate­ly impres­sive sta­tis­ti­cal feat: pre­dict­ing the win­ner of all fifty states and the Dis­trict of Colum­bia in this year’s Unit­ed States pres­i­den­tial elec­tion. He came near­ly as close back in 2008’s elec­tion, pre­dict­ing the win­ner in 49 states. In between those coups, Time named Sil­ver one of the world’s hun­dred most influ­en­tial peo­ple, and the New York Times has giv­en their offi­cial impri­matur by host­ing his blog FiveThir­tyEight. Now he’s received what some would con­sid­er an even high­er hon­or: an invi­ta­tion to sit down with Conan O’Brien for the bet­ter part of an hour on Seri­ous Jib­ber-Jab­ber.

“Elec­tions are prob­a­bly the most dra­mat­ic moments in the his­to­ry of our coun­try,” O’Brien says to Sil­ver. “The­se’s a dan­ger,” he then dead­pans, “that you’re tak­ing the fun out of it.” We jumped on O’Brien’s new long-form inter­view web series last month, fea­tur­ing his con­ver­sa­tions with pres­i­den­tial his­to­ri­an Edmund Mor­ris and “com­e­dy mas­ter­mind” Judd Apa­tow. Sil­ver, the pro­gram’s third guest, per­fect­ly con­tin­ues its short but strong tra­di­tion of per­son­al­i­ties who bring both zeit­geist rel­e­vance and intel­lec­tu­al sub­stance. The choice also taps into a well of pub­lic curios­i­ty — a great many of us know of Nate Sil­ver with­out quite under­stand­ing why we do — and finds a reserve of goofi­ness to match O’Brien’s own. (If you doubt this, behold Sil­ver’s Cook­ie Mon­ster t‑shirt.) So think hard when you watch this con­ver­sa­tion about polit­i­cal echo cham­bers, media frag­men­ta­tion, data’s rela­tion­ship to instinct, and math­e­mat­i­cal mod­el­ing. But do feel free to laugh at the jokes.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Conan O’Brien Plays Char­lie Rose, Talks Pres­i­den­tial His­to­ry with Edmund Mor­ris

Celebri­ty Sta­tis­ti­cian Nate Sil­ver Fields Ques­tions from Data Wiz­ards at Google

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

A Crash Course in English Literature: A New Video Series by Best-Selling Author John Green

There’s no doubt that a sin­gle inspir­ing teacher can have a pro­found impact on a stu­den­t’s life, but what about the duds? The apoplec­tic nun, the tapped out fos­sil, the bit­ter young man? If there’s dead­wood in your edu­ca­tion­al his­to­ry, you owe it to your­self to spend some time with John Green. The charis­mat­ic author and nerd­fight­er is fol­low­ing up his online video series Crash Course World His­to­ry, with the new mini series, Crash Course Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture.

Think Shake­speare is bor­ing? It’s a posi­tion you’ll be hard pressed to main­tain after hear­ing Green’s take on Romeo and Juli­et, a ver­i­ta­ble luge of facts, triv­ia, cute graph­ics, frank-ish sex talk, corny jokes and iambic low­down. Extra cred­it for ref­er­enc­ing Harley Granville-Bark­er, the turn of the cen­tu­ry quin­tu­ple-threat who sum­ma­rized the play as “a tragedy of youth as youth sees it”.

Hav­ing laid down a few ground rules in episode one, Green is prepar­ing to take on Fitzger­ald, Salinger, and Emi­ly Dick­in­son. If any of these names dredge up unpleas­ant mem­o­ries, relax. Green is not going to make you parse sym­bols and autho­r­i­al intent. His schtick is proud­ly pop­ulist, a Pee­Wee’s Play­house open to those who seek knowl­edge, as well as those whom expe­ri­ence has taught to resist.

Crash Course Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture will be added to our new col­lec­tion, 200 Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More.

More advanced cours­es can be found in the Lit­er­a­ture sec­tion of our col­lec­tion of 575 Free Cours­es Online.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author whose lat­est con­tri­bu­tion to the canon of Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture is spec­tac­u­lar­ly sched­uled for a day after Christ­mas release.

Neil Gaiman Gives Sage Advice to Aspiring Artists

“I want to be a direc­tor, and I’ve been told that there are enough artists in the world, and that’s not some­thing I should pur­sue. Do you [agree with that]?”

A young woman put that ques­tion to sci-fi and fan­ta­sy writer Neil Gaiman at The Con­necti­cut Youth Forum last week. And he respond­ed with an answer that might sound famil­iar, espe­cial­ly if you viewed the thought­ful com­mence­ment speech he gave at The Uni­ver­si­ty of the Arts in Philadel­phia last spring. There, he gave 10 Essen­tial Tips for Work­ing in the Arts, and, if you have a real­ly sharp mem­o­ry, you’ll recall sug­ges­tions #6 and #10.

  • Make your own art, mean­ing the art that reflects your indi­vid­u­al­i­ty and per­son­al vision.
  • Leave the world more inter­est­ing than it was before.

They’re wise tips, but they’re bet­ter tak­en in con­junc­tion with sug­ges­tions 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, and 9. Watch them all here. And don’t miss our col­lec­tion of Free Neil Gaiman Sto­ries, avail­able in text, audio and video.

Gary Larson’s The Far Side Comes Alive in Series of Animated Cartoons

It used to be that you could­n’t go into a book­store this time of year with­out being lit­er­al­ly sur­round­ed by Gary Lar­son­’s The Far Side. His cal­en­dars and books were mas­sive best sell­ers and his sin­gle-pan­el comics seemed to be every­where, taped to cubi­cle walls and pinned to bul­letin boards. Lar­son­’s hilar­i­ous­ly sub­ver­sive sense of empathy–his way of ren­der­ing peo­ple with the detach­ment of an ento­mol­o­gist while invest­ing his ani­mal char­ac­ters with the most sym­pa­thet­ic of human traits–endeared him to mil­lions.

But in 1995, after 15 years of strug­gle against grind­ing dead­lines, Lar­son called it quits. Since then he’s been about as reclu­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo or J.D. Salinger. And while Lar­son­’s cal­en­dars and books con­tin­ued to appear for some years after his retire­ment, The Far Side is not much in evi­dence these days. Which is sad. You can’t buy your friends a 2013 Far Side desk cal­en­dar this hol­i­day sea­son, but per­haps you can share this: a few twist­ed scenes from Lar­son­’s 1994 ani­mat­ed film, Tales From the Far Side. The film was orig­i­nal­ly aired as a Hal­loween spe­cial on CBS. The clip above begins on a fit­ting­ly nos­tal­gic note.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Jazz Toons: Allen Mezquida’s Jour­ney from Bebop to Smigly

Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Classic, The Foundation Trilogy, Dramatized for Radio (1973)

Tire­less New York Times colum­nist and Nobel-prize win­ning Prince­ton econ­o­mist Paul Krug­man has long played the role of Cas­san­dra, warn­ing of dis­as­ters while the archi­tects of pol­i­cy look on, shake their heads, and ignore him. I’ve some­times won­dered how he stands it. Well, it turns out that, like many peo­ple, Krugman’s long view is informed by epic nar­ra­tive. Only in his case, it’s nei­ther ancient scrip­ture nor Ayn Rand. It’s the Isaac Asi­mov-penned Foun­da­tion Tril­o­gy, which Krug­man, in a recent Guardian piece, dis­sects in detail as a series that informed his views as a teenag­er, and has stayed with him for four and a half decades.

The hero of the tril­o­gy, Hari Sel­don, is a math­e­mati­cian, whose par­tic­u­lar branch of math­e­mat­ics, called psy­chohis­to­ry, allows him to make mas­sive, large-scale pre­dic­tions of the future. This sci­ence informs “The Sel­don Plan” that silent­ly guides the com­ing of a new Galac­tic Empire thou­sands of years into the future. If it sounds a bit arid in para­phrase, it isn’t, even though Asimov’s char­ac­ters tend to be thin and his descrip­tions lack in poet­ry. “Tol­stoy this isn’t,” Krug­man tells us.

But the nov­els work as bril­liant spec­u­la­tive fic­tion, teth­ered to the famil­iar his­to­ry of West­ern civ­i­liza­tion by res­o­nances with ancient Rome, mer­can­tile Europe, and old New York. Instead of space opera or fan­ta­sy, Krug­man describes Asimov’s fic­tion as anti-action, anti-prophe­cy. The protagonist’s “pre­science comes from his math­e­mat­ics.” And this, believe it or not, is fas­ci­nat­ing, at least for Krug­man. Because for him they func­tion as reminders that “it’s pos­si­ble to have social sci­ence with the pow­er to pre­dict events and, maybe, to lead to a bet­ter future.” Krug­man writes:

They remain, unique­ly, a thrilling tale about how self-knowl­edge – an under­stand­ing of how our own soci­ety works – can change his­to­ry for the bet­ter. And they’re every bit as inspi­ra­tional now as they were when I first read them, three-quar­ters of my life ago.

He admits that the sen­ti­ments of Asimov’s fic­tion present us with a “very bour­geois ver­sion of prophe­cy,” but then, eco­nom­ics is a very bour­geois sci­ence, most­ly con­cerned with one emo­tion, “greed.” Nonethe­less, Krug­man believes in the pow­er of “good eco­nom­ics to make cor­rect pre­dic­tions that are very much at odds with pop­u­lar prej­u­dices.” And we could all do with few­er of those.

Asimov’s Hugo-win­ning tril­o­gy was adapt­ed for eight, one-hour radio-dra­ma episodes in 1973. Lis­ten to the first install­ment above, and down­load or stream the remain­ing episodes at the links below:

Part 1 |MP3| Part 2 |MP3| Part 3 |MP3| Part 4 |MP3| Part 5 |MP3| Part 6 |MP3| Part 7 |MP3| Part 8 |MP3|

Or lis­ten to the Spo­ti­fy ver­sion up top.

You can find this audio list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free Audio Books.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

The Power of “Outrospection” — A Way of Life, A Force for Social Change — Explained with Animation

Here at Open Cul­ture, we can’t resist the RSA Ani­mate video series, cre­at­ed by the Roy­al Soci­ety for the Encour­age­ment of Arts, Man­u­fac­tures, and Com­merce. Its twitchy but super­nat­u­ral­ly pre­cise hand has illus­trat­ed talks by Daniel Pink, Sir Ken Robin­son, Bar­bara Ehren­re­ichSlavoj Ĺ˝iĹľek, Steven Pinker, and Dan Ariely. This newest RSA Ani­mate pro­duc­tion may pro­vide you an intro­duc­tion not just to a ris­ing thinker, but to a new con­cept. “Writer on the art of liv­ing” Roman Krz­nar­ic, accom­pa­nied by the quick draw­ing of Andrew Park, wants to tell you about some­thing called “out­ro­spec­tion.” Con­sid­er it less an entire­ly new prac­tice than a fresh way of think­ing about how to devel­op an old human capac­i­ty: empa­thy. He finds empa­thy not a “nice, soft, fluffy social con­cept,” but some­thing pow­er­ful and poten­tial­ly dan­ger­ous, a fuel for rev­o­lu­tions of all kinds.

For an exam­ple of empa­thy that looks to him pro­to-out­ro­spec­tive, Krz­nar­ic cites George Orwell, author of 1984 and Ani­mal Farm. His plunge into the world of urban pover­ty — the deep­est kind of first-hand research — to write Down and Out in Paris and Lon­don, com­ing to know, befriend, and work along­side the down-and-out them­selves, makes him “one of the great empath­ic adven­tur­ers of the 20th cen­tu­ry.” This line of thought con­nects Orwell’s active social curios­i­ty to empa­thy as a poten­tial­ly col­lec­tive force; we even hear a call for new, empa­thy-ori­ent­ed social insti­tu­tions like a “human library” with actu­al peo­ple avail­able for illu­mi­nat­ing con­ver­sa­tions. Empa­thy, to Krz­nar­ic’s mind, will only become more impor­tant in the 21st cen­tu­ry, and those of us who can mas­ter out­ro­spec­tion, the skill of “dis­cov­er­ing who we are by step­ping out­side our­selves and explor­ing the lives of oth­er peo­ple and cul­tures,” will fare best there. If after the video you still find your­self con­fused about how best to engage in out­ro­spec­tion, don’t wor­ry: Krz­nar­ic writes an entire blog on the sub­ject.

via Sci­ence Dump

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The “Priest” They Called Him: A Dark Collaboration Between Kurt Cobain & William S. Burroughs

It was a dark col­lab­o­ra­tion folks. There’s no deny­ing it. In Sep­tem­ber of 1992, the Beat writer William S. Bur­roughs entered a stu­dio in Lawrence, Kansas and record­ed a nar­ra­tion of “The “Priest” They Called Him,” a short sto­ry orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in his 1973 col­lec­tion The Exter­mi­na­tor. It’s a grim tale about hero­in, addic­tion, with­draw­al, and the “immac­u­late fix.” Two months lat­er, the read­ing was giv­en a sound­track when Kurt Cobain, then the front­man for Nir­vana, stepped into a Seat­tle stu­dio and gave Bur­rough’s read­ing a sound­track full of harsh, dis­so­nant gui­tar riffs that cap­tured the spir­it of the sto­ry. Mixed togeth­er  by E. J. Rose and James Grauer­holz, the col­lab­o­ra­tive record­ing was released as a lim­it­ed edi­tion vinyl pic­ture disc in 1993, and then again on CD and 10-inch vinyl.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nirvana’s Home Videos: An Inti­mate Look at the Band’s Life Away From the Spot­light (1988)

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His First Nov­el, Junky

William S. Bur­roughs on Sat­ur­day Night Live, 1981

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Hilarious Video Proof: Your Ability to Make Realistic Sound Effects Is Gender-Based

Like the num­ber of fem­i­nists need­ed to screw in a light bulb, gen­der-based assump­tions are NOT FUNNY!

Gen­der-based sound effects prove to be the excep­tion in Bleep Blap Bloop, a very fun­ny short film fea­tur­ing real peo­ple attempt­ing to imper­son­ate var­i­ous machines, pri­mar­i­ly vehi­cles and weapons of the sort one rarely encoun­ters in every day use. They’re not the most diverse bunch with regard to age or eth­nic­i­ty, but as far as white peo­ple in their 20’s go, Bleep Blap Bloop’s find­ings are pret­ty air­tight. The Y chro­mo­somes are the clear win­ners.

“Could­n’t you have done, like, a duck?” one of the female con­tes­tants asks as the cred­its roll.

What about you? Is this a case where you fit the mold? Please share your most tri­umphal (or least humi­lat­ing) sound effect below. Trans­peo­ple hearti­ly encour­aged to expand the con­ver­sa­tion!

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is a proud fem­i­nist who changes light­bulbs solo and could­n’t make a machine gun noise even if she had an actu­al machine gun.

Quentin Tarantino’s 75 Minute Interview with Howard Stern

Quentin Taran­ti­no sat down this week for an inter­view that cov­ered a lot of ter­rain — his strained his rela­tion­ship with his father, his ninth-grade edu­ca­tion and how it shapes his film­mak­ing, his path from work­ing in a video rental store to writ­ing scripts and even­tu­al­ly direct­ing films, his approach to film­ing vio­lence, his new West­ern film Djan­go Unchained, his plans to retire before he gets old and lots moreThe inter­view­er? Yup, it’s Howard Stern on Sir­ius and the hearty chuck­les you hear in the back­ground belong to the Star Trek icon George Takei. Need­less to say the inter­view enters some Not-Safe-for-Work ter­ri­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists His Favorite Films Since 1992

My Best Friend’s Birth­day, Quentin Tarantino’s 1987 Debut Film

Film­mak­ing Advice from Quentin Taran­ti­no and Sam Rai­mi (NSFW)

Quentin Taran­ti­no Gives Sneak Peek of Pulp Fic­tion to Jon Stew­art (1994)

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Charles Bukowski’s Poem “Nirvana” Presented in Three Creative Videos

I’ve rid­den a lot of busses–back and forth from city to city, tak­ing the cheap­est tick­ets, which meant trav­el­ing overnight, and eat­ing cheap and greasy food at hur­ried stops along the way. I remem­ber think­ing some­times that I might nev­er come back, that I might lose myself in some small south­ern town and dis­ap­pear. I remem­ber those times now as I read Charles Bukowski’s poem “Nir­vana,” a poem about a lost young man who finds in the quaint strange­ness of a din­er in North Car­oli­na a respite from the con­fu­sion of his life.

Then he boards his bus again, and the moment is gone, the moment of the poem, that is, which is all there is, since we don’t know where he came from or where he’s bound. We’re only told he’s “on the way to some­where,” and the omis­sion means it doesn’t real­ly mat­ter. The poem is “about” its details: the snow, the lit­tle café in the hills, the unaf­fect­ed wait­ress with her “nat­ur­al humor.” The way these famil­iar things are made strange by the pres­ence of a stranger. While I may relate to the aim­less young man in the poem, it real­ly isn’t about him so much as about that estrange­ment, which for him becomes a tem­po­rary home. Then before he gets too com­fort­able, he’s out again and on the road to “some­where.”

Bukows­ki had a way with these small scenes, a way of estrang­ing the ordi­nary. The short film above, from Lights Down Low pro­duc­tions, offers one inter­pre­ta­tion of what the moment of Bukowski’s poem might look like. The film has the slow, med­i­ta­tive pac­ing of a Ter­rence Mal­ick film, the same kind of obses­sive dwelling on the details of a lost mid-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca. An apple pie, the slow-motion sway of the leg­gy wait­ress’ sky-blue dress as she walks toward a snow-cov­ered window—none of these details bear the slight­est trace of kitsch. Instead they are objects of wabi sabi, the Japan­ese term for imper­ma­nence. Nir­vana is for­ev­er, life is tem­po­rary.

While the film above draws on Malick’s Amer­i­cana, Tom Waits’ read­ing of “Nir­vana” (below) comes clos­est, per­haps, to the world-weary Bukowski’s voice, and the images and music that accom­pa­ny Waits’ griz­zled sigh con­vey the drea­ry grit of the real world of bus trav­el, not as it looks in the movies, but as it looks from the road: the bleak same­ness of high­ways and the way the snow is oily and speck­led with black min­utes after it falls.

http://youtu.be/gArkJVq7IMo

A third inter­pre­ta­tion of Bukowski’s poem (below) is read by a man who calls him­self Tom O’Bedlam, and who sounds a bit like Richard Bur­ton. How­ev­er, his read­ing is the least dra­mat­ic of the three; his lack of affect draws atten­tion to the words, which appear in stark black and white text on the screen as he intones them like a mass. This one comes cour­tesy of Roger Ebert, who rec­om­mends O’Bedlam’s Spo­ken Verse YouTube page as one of his favorite places on the web.

It’s hard for me to choose a favorite of the three. Each one draws atten­tion to the poem in dif­fer­ent ways, some­times, per­haps, turn­ing it into a script, and some­times get­ting out of its way and let­ting it do all the work. Nei­ther approach strikes me as a bad one; each one has its mer­its. But tell me, read­ers, what do you think?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Charles Bukows­ki: Depres­sion and Three Days in Bed Can Restore Your Cre­ative Juices (NSFW)

The Last Faxed Poem of Charles Bukows­ki

Charles Bukows­ki Tells the Sto­ry of His Worst Hang­over Ever

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.


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