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The Sun Magazine

Sy Safransky's Notebook

February 1980

On The Run

Most of what I write is fragmentary: notes on the run, sketchy maps to carry me back to subconscious treasure-chests, or a line “from” a poem, left on the page like one sock in the laundromat.

June 1992

The Map I Was Promised

Things I didn’t get to last week: answering the mail, giving up coffee, saving the planet.

November 1992

Bent to the task of reconstruction, this endless need to improve myself, no less intense at forty-seven than at seventeen. My serious plans, shining like new cars on the dusty lot.

June 1993

Another Coincidence

Not enough time for the poem. But the poem staggers to its feet, wipes its face on the dirty towel, remembers it lives here too, remembers it needs no invitation.

March 1995

The past rushes into the room, breathless, dressed in something outrageous she just threw together. Only the past would show up this way.

July 1995

Right-wing extremists used to despise Communists; now they despise the U.S. government. If the Devil didn’t exist, we’d have to invent him.

December 1995

I keep imagining that someday I’ll get caught up: write those letters, read those books. What a great imagination! My plans smile at me from tomorrow, always tomorrow. And here it is, always today.