May 10, 1996
There also is a mole in Swans' bunker...Here is a conversation we overheard:Gilles: Hey Janie, do you have any idea for tomorrow's article?
Jan: No, and it's not my turn. I delivered. Ask me next week.
Gilles: Next week won't do Swans much good as far as tomorrow is concerned...
Jan: Isn't it Olivier's turn?
Gilles: Yes it is, and I have not heard from him in more than one week.
Jan: Well, what do you want me to say? He is your friend and your countryman. Deal with it.
Gilles: How does one deal with unreliable people, French or not? By the way, I resent the allusion to citizenship here...
Jan: But of course, you are French. Tough...
Gilles: okay, I won't get into that one right now... (Wait until we are off-line!) Meantime, since Olivier is a has-been, what do we do?
Jan: We publish something else.
Gilles: Okay, what? The Charter of the United Nations?
Jan: Boring...
Gilles: Boring? How can you say that, you pragmatic American you? Do you prefer something about Transcendental Idealism?
Jan: No, I am not French. I'll reflect on it in my mantra tonight. Meantime, let's write about something that we believe in, you know, like inalienable rights: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness...
Gilles: You want to be kidding.... I do not believe one iota about this ratatatat. I want something that is not americanocentric, something real, something lasting...
Jan: What about poetry?
Gilles: Poetry will do. I'll recite something for Swans:
"I hate my verses, every line, every word.
Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try
One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird
That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky.
Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch
One color, one glinting flash, of the splendor of things.
Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets of wax,
The lion beauty, the wild-swan wings, the storm of the wings."
- This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.
Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast,
Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame.
Does it matter whether you hate your...self? At least
Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.
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