Raymond Carver was a revisionist. He never let a word out before it was rewritten about seventeen times. Even then, when the New Yorker and Esquire were journalist's magazines(!), his stories would hit the newsstand and be revised before the book.
The book. The motherfucker was published. With a wife, and kids, and a night job as a janitor in a hospital, was published!
And, he was a drunk. Was he a self indulgent drunk? Possibly. Did he drink because of his art? Possibly, I can not ask him, for he is dead.
Oh, soo much more, would I like to believe that he did not. That he drank for the pressures that surrounded him on a daily basis. For having two kids, for working odd and meaningless jobs (for decades, even after he was published) in the pursuit of his art. Nay, scratch that, in pursuit of a sort of communication. Isn't that what artists drive for? Even if it is for themselves.
I remember one night, about four years ago, when my artistic compatriot Nick and myself were drunk, very much, so indeed. We were talking about the work of Salinger. For the fact that he was even brought to court over a trivial matter, but brought to the attention that he had volumes of unpublished work. Nick argued that this should be brought to light of his readers, I believed (as I still do) that it is the artists own ability to hold what expression they may need to bring to themselves, as opposed to those brought to the world.
The world, to fully grasp that concept, the billions of people, the hundreds of trillions of thoughts. The worry, the bullheadedness, the pedantic ego. Fucking kills me. With amazement.
I would love to believe in the one soul-mate, the one and only "lobster", for each and every one of us. Not to say that; each and everyone, are our one and only. Be all. Not to say that I even like myself (I do, ten percent of the time.)
I believe that I am here to do good, I just fault in very bad ways.
Anyway, back to Carver. I believe he was the brevity of the common man. I believe that his words move me. I know that he pisses me off.
I do know that this is not who I am. I just hope I'm still drunk enough to realize that, in the morning, of what I want to be.
-g
p.s. this has been rewritten five(now six) times. probably five(four) times more before the morning.
