The diacritical marks are his, made in case he ever had to pronounce these words in front of his students.
“There’s three pillars of Star Wars. I’ll probably get in trouble for this but it’s okay! There’s three pillars: the father, the son and the holy ghost.
I’m the father, Howard Roffman [president of Lucas Licensing] is the son and the holy ghost is the fans, this kind of ethereal world of people coming up with all kinds of different ideas and histories.
Now these three different pillars don’t always match, but the movies and TV shows are all under my control and they are consistent within themselves.
In the early days I told them they couldn’t do anything about how Darth Vader was born, for obvious reasons, but otherwise I pretty much let them do whatever they wanted. They created this whole amazing universe that goes on for millions of years.”
- People who write “e. e. cummings”
- People who like Edgar Allen Poe
- People who don’t like Robert Frost
- People who think poetry rhymes
- People who think poetry should never rhyme
- Billy Collins
- People who have only read Dante’s Inferno and not the rest of the Commedia
- People who think I’m pretentious for calling it the Commedia
- Any translation of the Iliad or the Odyssey that isn’t Fagles
- People who only read the sexy Neruda
I see it as a historical movie. The parallels are inescapable, of course, but at the same time… God, I hope we didn’t make a soapbox film. It would be so corny. At the premiere I got asked a horrible red carpet thing where the guy wanted a sound-bite answer.
He said, “What is the film?”
And completely out my ass, I said, “It’s a horror film about the birth of California.” And I thought, “That’s a fucking good answer, I should remember that!”
A few lines from Kevin Young:
I begged the earth empty
of him. Death
believes in us whether
My favorites from Peter Gizzi’s Apocrypha:
3. To love the children, so full of neurons and consciousness. What a joy to clean up and put a shine on their mess.
5. I leave the voice, the wonder, the mirror, and my lens, bent and beholden to the worm, leaf-work in wrought iron, eerie illuminations and deep-sea vision.
11. To Time Roman I give my stammer, my sullennes, my new world violence, form and all that, forms, and all that paper gusts. Little buttress.
20. To the polestar I leave my alien regalia, my off-world headdress. I leave acoustic forms in time, blooming, sudsy, inconsolable.
28. To mercy I leave whatever.
“For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers” by Reginal Dwayne Betts is splendid.
Over the trading world I sang
songs of chalk and sand
songs of the diamond hand.
Down the thigh of day
up the arm of night
rubbing my chest of clay
pulling the moon-belt tight.
Over the fading world I sprang.