I want to marry Octavio Paz
I want to marry Octavio Paz. I know he
has been away for some time – dead, I mean. But still, I want to
marry Octavio Paz. Just the name – and the fame. No, not beause of
the fame, but his fame spread his seeds to me, and for that I am
grateful. This is not what I wanted to write, but anyhow.
I want to marry Octavio Paz. But it's
so much easier to be in that wanting when I'm alone. Then, more
dificult in the world, all the people who are not Octavio Paz and
have no clue that I want to marry him or who would think it the
sillyest idea, how about that – a woman wanting to marry a dead and
buried (?) Mexican poet. There will be no dinner parties, no
children, and most defenetily no sex. Well, abot the last part I'm
not so sure – This Octavio, he knew, you see, that in the embrace
of the lover we are all embracing our most intimate wishes and
desires, hoping they will be responded in the embrace. (By the lover?
Maybe the lovers allowing eachother to reach their own most intimate
spaces, doing it together, sharing that moment of extroverted and
intimate introversion. Those are my words, his are much more
interesting, elocuent, well-thougt and wise.)
I just read it a couple of days ago.
But already before that I wanted to marry him. I was living at the
Nobel sqare and I invited him in – a Nobel price winner like him.
Now I've moved. I thought of leaving him with someone there, him
being a Nobel price winner, how could I take him away? I thought,
someone living by that square should have a corner of their house for
him, to honour a noble tradition. I might go with his picture in my
wallet and hand it to someone I know will take care of him, someone
who lives by the Nobel squre, of course. Making a ghost of him in me,
deciding to host a ghost. But – will I then expect this other
person to embrace Octavio Paz embracing me? I don't know. If someone
decides to host the same ghost on my initiative, it must be because
one corner or another of that person's being has hosted the ghost
already. Most people are used to that, at my age. No worries. And I'm
not talking about sex, now – I'm talking about ideas. Opening up to
and embracing new ideas. Or acting in ways which are suggested by
others, spontaneously. So, if I say – here's a picture of Octavio
Paz, would you take it and have it in your house, him being a Nobel
price winner, and you, living by this square? I will have to make the
experment in order to find out what will happen.
Anyway, what a strange wish – I can
see that.
I never wanted to get married, it didnt
even cross my mind. Then, suddenly, I did. A man I know told me a
story on how to choose – It's about going through a field to pick
the tallest grass. Once you start comparing them, it's easy to go
through the whole field without having picked a single one, because
there was always a taller one ahead. So, the idea is to pick a grass
that is tall, not minding whether there might be taller ones. The
moment he had finished his story – we were preparing food in a
kitchen, togeher with other people – I saw a beatiful young man
waking by and ran to stand beside him, asking if he wanted to marry
me. On that morning he had a cold and was tired, but surprised in a
funny way by my suggestion, or shoud I call it proposal? I wasn't
serious enough, though, I didn't even go with him, not even for
breakfast. So he left, and then I never saw him again. My excuse is
always that he was anyway the friend of some other woman, and he was
anyway too young, too beautiful, too smart. So, that's that. I want
to marry Octavio Paz, now.
I used to want to marry several impossible men, one of them, a Swami. Maybe
that's why I'm hooked on Octavio now. I discovered that he's got the
yoga-sifter to sieve the world through, just as seriously as I do –
or even more. That's why I landed in him – or he landed in me, I
would say. Not only because he is a poet and writes in Spanish, but
aso, because of this filter he worked himself through, and then uses
himself, in his view of things.
I was trying to write about a book of
his with the help of my teacher at the university, but I couldn't do
it – not at this momnt. I have to confess, that my wish for
marrying him is standing in the way for my writing with a clear mind.
It seems that the marrying-kind-of-ghost I have inside pops up all
over, when I least wish for it to, and disturbs my peace of mind.
Like tall grasses that make me dream. Or very supple and sweet ones.
This makes me sad. No writing
seriously, no marrying. Just trying to focus when I can't and running
away from fields with no grass in it for me. No mind, too much mind. Maybe I should just go
to the beach. (It's summer. Most people do. Take off my clothes and
let the sun and the wind and the water of the sea touch my skin,
lying on a towel on the sand, hearing the waves and the birds and the
air, looking out over the horizon. Sharing that with all the people.
Forget about marrying, forget about writing, just be at the beach.)
The picture is from Wikipedia, the Spanish version.
