Reading Rushdie in Lisbon
to Robert Hass
Who am I anyway and this book isn’t even Rushdie, it’s Cervantes or wait: Quichotte, key-shot, qui shot me? Can you do it, make languages just go together? Or is he just making new myths out of the past, i.e. Quichotte = Quixote, Satanic Verses = Paradise Lost, Golden House = Brothers K, Two Years Eight Months and Twenty Eight Nights = OK, OK, am I being too obvious here? After all, every angel is terrifying, or at least that’s what Rilke says, though I don’t know why.
And what am I doing in Lisbon instead of Porto where at least if all I did was wander the streets and look at the sides of buildings it would be something beautiful to see.…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, January/February 2025