HENRI MICHAUXYou who will understand the finest structures of the thought and character of
man, and his superhygiene,
who will have explored the nervous system of the great nebulae,
who will have begun to communicate with beings wittier than man, if any,
who will live, who will travel through interplanetary space,
Never, Never, no NEVER, however hard you try, you’ll never know what a
miserable suburb the Earth was. How wretched we were and starved for
Higher Things.
Everywhere felt like a prison, I swear!
Don’t believe what you read (professionals, you know.. .)
We deluded ourselves as best we could, 1937 wasn’t funny, though nothing was
happening except starvation and war...
There we were, nailed to that century,
And who would go all the way? Not many. Not me.
We sensed the dawning of freedom, in the far distance, for you.
We wept, thinking of you.
There were a few of us.
Through our tears we saw the immense stairway of the centuries, with you at its
end,
we at the bottom,
And we were filled with envy, Oh! How we envied you, and hated you too, don’t
think we didn’t, we hated you...
—mary ann caws and patricia terry
My Statues
I have my statues. The ages have bequeathed them to me: the ages of my
waiting, the ages of my discouragements, the ages of my undefined, of my un-
quenchable hope have created them. And now, they are there.
Like the shards of ancient ruins, I do not always know their meaning.
Their origin is unknown to me, lost in the night of my life, where their forms
alone have survived the inexorable sweep of time.
But there they are, and their marble hardens every year, growing whiter
against the dark background of the many forgotten ones.
—mary ann caws and patricia terry