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722 John Filiatreau “Ode on a Writer’s Block” Now we stop off in Louisville, where John Filiatreau used to write for the CourierJournal and apparently learned a thing or two about writer’s block. h Look, he does not write. Cut off his head. Better he should turn up somewhere dead than live without the words that used to dance down like water so clear so pretty so full of joy, remember? But now he does not write. He thinks to write and then does not. Look how he sizzles with guilt yet he refuses to write though he is burned up with not writing. He and the world are not speaking just now. Of course the world will not relent, ever; and he is stubborn when he is not writing. You see the outlook is not hopeful. Does a horse get up and run? Does a leaf seek sun? Does a bird take flight? But look, he does not write: Cut off his head. One who so lacks generosity that he nurses a grudge of such deep silence The author’s name 723 all night long and cannot force himself to budge when silence is wrong, is ready to be dead. We have offered him suicide, but he declines; the notion intrigues him but he cannot produce a proper note; and he wants assurances that in light of the eloquence of his death his poems will at last be read— Why else be dead? You see how tangled is his reticence, how cold his bed. Do him a favor. Cut off his head. John Filiatreau 723 ...

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