#wrong norma

Once a student of mine, translating Euripides on a mid-term exam, came up with "wild in the grips of a god." Those were the days.

words can squirt sideways, mute and mad; you think they are tools, or toys, or tame, and all at once they burn all your clothes off and you're standing there singed and ridiculous in the glare of the lightning.

Do I frighten people? Saying there's no back wall? Nothing between you and your heart of darkness? Or if there is, you can't pray to it, you can't write poems about it, you can't compete for its love.

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