DID I REALLY WRITE THOSE WORDS? (Part One)

 Over the years that I was refining and proofing Letters to Men of Letters for the umpteenth time, I decided to maintain a list of my own favorite parts. Sometimes I had to ask myself, “Did I really write those words?” The answer is yes! I will be quoting some of them like these: 

One of my most dear Men of Letters, my Yale colleague, Jacques

I frequently walk by New Haven’s historic Grove Street Cemetery, and it looks like a nice place to be. Further, that it’s populated by so many honchos suggests that they are less likely ever to be disturbed. And I’ve always said that sooner or later everyone who is anyone comes to Yale, so chances are that this might be a good final resting place. I am going to look into it. To be there would also be in keeping with my life choice to enjoy being a small fish in a big pond. 

I once wrote,

It’s fall, and death is in the air. But then again, it always was. From Day One. Life is what we do to keep ourselves from noticing.

Perhaps what I should have said is “To write is what we do to keep ourselves from noticing”?

Even after 40 years, New Haven feels more like a transient place than like home. But as a lover of words, I like the sound of residing quite permanently in a new haven. I was raised in a place called Middletown. Is that why I’m so attracted to the idea of the liminal zone? After all, what is a letter, if not the attempt to bridge a gap between a certain “here” and elsewhere—a way of encapsulating and holding in one’s hand something that has been in both places? A way of marking and capturing lost time? Maybe the letter has always been my madeleine. 

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“Have you ever reread a letter you wrote a long time ago, and been surprised by what you saw? ‘That letter is definitely in my handwriting, but who IS that person?’ When I look at my old letters, I don’t always like what I see, but to quote myself, Letters bear witness to how one can have lived multiple lives within a lifetime. Letters hold a truth of their own. Maybe letters remind us that we are all a puzzle that may never actually reconnect to become whole. Some pieces will have gone missing. Others may have worn away here or there, and no longer seem to fit.” 

 

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“Why at certain points in our lives do we become ‘attached’ to certain authors? The process of attachment is mysterious.

As we age (and change) some things remain constant. Our attachment to a particular author may have begun in our youth, but evolved as we have.

To reconnect with a favorite author can put us in touch with our younger self in unexpected ways.” 

 

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“By standard measures of time, portrait artist Mirella and I may seem like relatively new friends. But in our case, that feels like an illusion. When it comes to literary soulmates, time follows an arc of its own. In fact, the previous observation is what drives my Letters to Men of Letters.”

 

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“Each letter is part memoir, part intellectual coming-of-age, part reaction to having read, loved, studied, and taught the work of these timeless writers. Libraries are full of essays and literary studies about these authors, but a letter is more personal and intimate. These letters reflect my own relationship with the authors—what they have taught me about myself, but also what they can offer the reader.”

 

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