So this is a strange way of beginning to reveal myself.
But I want to read you a poem about my mother, who
writes me many letters.
And in her way she's a wonderful writer.
She has one great virtue, which is she never had any education.
[LIGHT LAUGHTER]
And she has a peculiar style, because her letters, even when
they're very long, are always one sentence long,
though they may treat many, many different subjects.
And she has also a curious habit of putting a comma--
nervous comma after every two or three words, regardless
of their place in the sentence.
She has a tremendous number of commas after the word "the,"
for example.
[LAUGHTER]
A little like that Filipino poet, Villa?
Remember, he used to do that after every word.
That was very mechanical.
My mother's could be more original than that.
[LAUGHTER]
And in fact this, is a letter from her--
my version of a letter from her.
And I think probably the best lines in it
are lifted directly from her letters.
It begins with her writing from Trenton, which is a lie.
But for some reason or other, this poem
was written in rhymed syllabic couplets, which
is of no importance whatsoever, except that I couldn't
find a rhyme for Philadelphia, which
is where she was writing from.
[LAUGHTER]
Well, I found a few rhymes, but they
led to other trains of thought and I abandoned them.
But the poem is called "My Mother."
And I suppose that most of you, or many of you,
have not had the experience of a Jewish mother,
but it doesn't matter.
They're very much like other mothers.
Perhaps-- well, "My Mother."
[LAUGHTER]
"My mother writes from Trenton, a comedian to the bone
but underneath, serious, and all heart.
'Honey,' she says, 'be a mensch and merry too,
it's no good to worry, you're doing the best you can your Dad
and everyone thinks you turned out very well as long as you
pay your bills nobody can say a word you can tell them to drop
dead, so save a dollar it can't hurt.'"
[LAUGHTER]
I know it doesn't sound like rhymed Slavic couplets.
[LAUGHTER]
It is.
"'nobody can say a word you can tell them to drop dead so save
a dollar it can't hurt. remember Frank you went to high school
with?
he still lives with his wife's mother,
his wife works while he writes his books
and did he ever sell a one, the four kids run around naked, 36
and he's never had, you'll forgive the expression
even a pot to piss in--
[LAUGHTER]
--or a window to throw it such a smart boy,
he couldn't read the footprints on the wall.
Honey, you think you know all the answers
you don't believe me, please try to put some money away
it wouldn't hurt artist shmartist
life's too short for that kind of, forgive me, horseshit,
[LAUGHTER]
I know what you want better than you,
all that counts is to make a good living
and the best of everything, as Sholem Aleichem,
said he was a great writer did you ever read his books dear,
you should make what he makes a year--
[LAUGHTER]
--anyway he said some place "Poverty is no disgrace
but it's no honor either."
[LAUGHTER]
Exactly what I say, love, Mother.'"
[LAUGHTER]
Every once in a while I have a dream,
in which I realize I've stolen that poem from Shelley Berman.
[LAUGHTER]