Well, being down here in the right country for this,
I want to read a poem with allusions that are easily
picked up in Arizona.
It's a love poem.
It's called "In The Night Desert."
"The Apache word for love stings then numbs the tongue.
Uttered once clear, said, never that word again.
Cousin, you call or a sister, and one more word
that spins in the dust.
A flake, chip like obsidian.
The girl who hears this flake follows you into the dark,
turns it to touch.
The night desert forever behind her back."
Now I should have used this when I
was trying to make the point about diction.
Writing is not like having a big desk all full
of cubbyholes, with all the possible words in them.
And you sit there with tweezers, and pull out a word and then
another word.
No, no, no, so that what you could write
depends on how big the desk is or how much time you have
to sit there with the tweezers.
Instead, it's something going on.
Some kind of momentum, or it's with contexts.
So the reason I link it to this poem
is, I remember writing this.
When I got as far as saying, the Apache word for love, well,
I could think of 100 different things to say, and all of them
seem good.
And I didn't feel that I really had
to worry about the next thing.
"Passing Remark."
"In scenery, I like flat country.
In life, I don't like much to happen.
In personalities, I like mild colorless people.
And in colors, I prefer gray and brown.
My wife, a vivid girl from the mountains
says, then why did you choose me?
Mildly I lower my brown eyes, there
are so many things admirable people do not understand."
[APPLAUSE]