SOME ENDING
They've tidied up the falls for the
Spanish speaking hordes, and I've
sat here once too with an Asian guy
reading Williams. It was pretty good,
watching him absorb. Things that are
old-hat to us can be awesome to another,
as if I myself were to visit that Yangste
Valley. He'd probably yawn. I used my
American drawl, 'But it all goes on, all.'
He smiled, but just once, and said, 'Are
you an American poet?' Like Peter, I
denied. Once, anyway. I said 'No, nothing
like that at all, we actually don't have them
anymore - they demand belief, and we lost
that when the railroad factories left here.
And the submarines too. Did you know
they once were made right here? Nothing
large, just the two-man subs, but they
once were here.' I thought I heard a
distant cock crowing. He got up, and
showed me his book; the one he was
reading was 'Paterson,' yes, by Williams,
but another he carried was written by him,
and in Chinese (he said) it was about Williams.
I said 'Yes, we still have that difference here
too.' He smiled again. I would have asked for
a copy, but it was in Chinese characters, and
what did I know. Another cock crowed,
and I just let him go.
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