Elegy Page #5

I miss her.

Well, that's easy for you to say

now that she's out of the picture.

I was in love with her, George.

I never felt anything like that in all my life.

Well, it's better late than never.

Now you gotta get back with your own life.

You're gonna be feeling better soon.

Time heals all wounds.

Now,

open wide cause here comes.

The train entering the station.

Open wide. There you go...

How does that taste like?

I added a little oregano and some chives.

You're going to make somebody

very happy one day.

You know,

after a long time of

silence and betrayal,

lately Amy and I...

- have been finding each other again.

- You and Amy?

- Your wife? Are you feeling OK?

- Yes, I feel OK.

That's the most incredible thing I've heard

you say in all the years I've known you.

Life always keeps back more surprises

than we can ever imagine.

Yeah.

Dave...

I need a favor.

I gotta go give a poetry reading

at NYU next month,

and they want somebody to introduce me.

George, I understand you

wanting to distract me,

but this is transparent

occupational therapy.

This is no joke.

I want you to present me in the

most embarrassing, flattering terms

all those portly pandering profs.

Present you?

Who's going to present me?

Forrest Lawn?

George, you're a champ for asking, but...

I can't write anything now.

I'm finished.

I may never teach another class.

Find somebody else.

I spent half of life

playing Horatio,

to your third rate Hamlet.

Listening to your endless naval gazing,

your moaning about Kenny, the father-hater,

the women who don't know

when goodbye means goodbye.

And for this you owe me big-time.

Now I expect you to do this

in the name of our friendship.

Now would you f***in' eat something?

The Poetry of George O'Hearn

makes no apology for itself.

As A.E. Housman wrote

in his celebrated essay,

"I don't know what poetry is,

but I recognize

it when I hear it. "

There can be no question that

this evening's guest writes what

we all instantly recognise as poetry.

Since the publication 25 years ago

of his first work in the New Yorker,

George O'Hearn's vigorously

masculine voice

has become a fixture

of the American poetic landscape.

Poetry which is one and the same time,

the language of the street,

potent,

urban and impatient.

But also the un-selfcentered promptings

of an unquiet heart.

In 1988, that

unique combination

of sensibilities

earned George O'Hearn,

The Pulitzer Prize.

But rather than procrastinate further,

or damn him with praise

he will inevitably consider feint,

I turn the proceedings

over to New York's own,

or, should I say,

America's own,

George O'Hearn.

George!

I'll call an ambulance.

Hi, David.

He just woke up a little while ago.

Hi, David.

George...

It's Kepesh.

I'm here, George. I'm here.

George...

I owe you.

I wonder who he thought I was.

I think he knew perfectly well.

You're sweet.

I took him as he was.

He so appreciated that.

He took me the same.

- You're going where?

- I just told you. Florida.

To meet her parents,

just for the week-end.

- The girl's...

- Her name is Dana.

You're going to meet her folks?

Well I think they should know

I'm not just some kind of pervert.

Kenny, you're nearly 40 years old.

You don't need

the approval of the parents of a

girl who has three children of her own.

Does she want her parents' approval?

If you want my approval,

fine, you've got it.

I just wanted you to understand.

This doesn't mean that

I don't love Lisa.

Kenny, what are you doing?

You're going to escape from one prison

and race headlong into another

maximum security facility.

Where did you get the idea

that marriage is a prison?

From serving time.

It wasn't about your mom.

- I just wasn't cut out for it.

- Is this your version of approval?

Kenny, listen to me.

I'm the only father you have.

I'm the only one you'll ever have.

What a comfort that is.

I know I disappointed you.

But you're not a child,

you've got to get past this rage.

If you ever want there to be anything

between us you've gotta turn the page.

Now excuse me,

I have an appointment.

I'm not finished.

I really have to run.

- What appointment?

- George's funeral.

George who?

- Your friend George?

- Yeah.

- He died?

- Yeah. I gotta go.

We'll finish this later, OK?

I'm sorry.

Hello?

I happened to be in town,

I saw the obit in The Times and I...

In two columns.

Not bad for a poet, I guess.

How are you holding up?

Not so good, but I'll be OK.

How's everything?

Seattle is a great place to

build a business. I'm exhausted.

But I love it.

What're you thinking about, Dave?

Nothing.

We kept acting like teenagers

all our life, that's all.

- Who's we? Me and you?

- Yes, you and I.

We spent our life

chasing after what?

The only time you got pregnant you had

an abortion because the time wasn't right.

That was 15 years ago.

Did the right time ever come?

Not the right person.

Do you remember that tampon

you found in my bathroom?

That thing belonged to a

young girl I was in love with.

What...

What kind of chance did we have?

She and I? None.

At best we could have dragged it out

a couple of years but in the end

she'd have realized

there was little room

in her life for a man thirty

odd years older than she.

Nothing

ever should have happened

between me and that girl.

It was just a mistake.

You're getting old David.

The way men look at me

changes every day.

There are women my age,

a lot of women who are on

these dating...

websites.

You're guaranteed a certain

number of dates per year.

And you pay for the silence...

and...

the same conversation,

every time.

I like them like that.

Is it possible that this is really the

first time we talked to each other?

Well...

After 20 years of sleeping together,

it's not bad.

I know a lot of people who

never got that far in 40 years of marriage.

What time is your flight?

I'll take you.

No.

Why start now?

I concentrated on my work.

I kept asking myself if it was right

not to go to that f***ed up

graduation party of hers.

It took two years but I finally got

past the death of George.

I even accepted the loss of Consuela.

I recovered my equilibrium

and my independence.

Who am I kidding?

The paintings and sculptures

of the day

would literally and figuratively

absorb the energy.

They were almost a self-contained

slice of life, if you will.

That, you put beautifully

in your opening chapter.

But also you're making a comment

on the relationship

between art and ownership.

Well, that's exactly right.

The people who buy these paintings,

they think that they own the pictures.

But, in reality, the pictures own them.

The pictures own them.

they're allowed to live,

they're allowed to house them all.

They're really custodians for

a period of time.

They're free to admire it,

- they're free to worship it if they like...

- In theory...

- you could purchase the Great Pyramid.

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