Supper first. Then I’m headed to the garage to enjoy a cigar. I usually bring reading and/or writing material with me. Hot dogs are almost ready. I’m distracted and begin to flip through the pages of the magazine. I stop.
Page 82. Poets & Writers. September/October 2022. Great magazine for those interested. Top of the page. University of Nebraska Press (UNP). Six books are being advertised. One catches my eye by Elizabeth Cooperman – Woman Pissing. Hmm. What’s that all about?
I’m too curious – or perverse – not to investigate further. So I went to the UNP website and looked the title up. Now if you can be patient with me, it’s worth reading the following paragraph taken directly from the summary:
“Woman Pissing is composed of roughly one hundred short prose “paintings” that converge around questions of creativity and fecundity. As the book unfolds it builds a larger metaphor about creativity, and the concerns of artistry and motherhood begin to entwine. The author comes to terms with self-doubt, inefficiency, frustration, and a nonlinear, circuitous process and proposes that these methods might be antidotes to the aggressive bravura and Picassian overconfidence of ego-driven art.”
Of course, I’m inquisitive about the editorial content. But I’m totally transfixed with the structure of the book.
No.
I just purchased Dictee by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha the other day. I can’t see buying another book so soon. (But it’s only $19.95 on Amazon Prime. (Pssst. Pssst. Free shipping.)
No!
I have to go eat dinner. Hot dogs. (Some dinner.) Then, the next stop is the garage.
No! No! No!
The next stop is buying the book. I do. Now I can go smoke my cigar in the garage without that prickly indecisiveness on my mind. I chose a European brand that never quite made it to the states. Though I hope it does eventually – Horacio.
The first draw is divine. Creamy. Mellow. Exquisite. This cigar is properly aged. The latter, in my opinion – is the secret to any cigar’s success made with fine tobaccos. Hmmm. Perfect burn. I have the magazine with the advertised book I just bought. No computer. I pick up my phone. Then Google the UNP site and continue to read about the reasoning for the truncated structure and the incredibly, imaginative intellect of Ms. Cooperman (an unknown author until now) to conjure up that idea, “As the book unfolds it builds a larger metaphor about creativity . . . .” The connective tendon to excellence. Get it?
I take another long draw. It’s a Robusto. The cigar’s bouquet fills my nostrils with delicate aromas of simply great tobacco. It’s balanced. The wrapper is naturally oily. Such wonder. Nature produces unprecedented creations in words and cigars. Man is just the conduit to the final product. Bullseye.
The cigar?
I have.
My patience waiting for the book?
I don’t.
So I’ll relax with what remains of my dear Horacio and I’ll make it through the temporary absence of Cooperman’s tome.
Hit it, Carly.
IrvCigarBroker 