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Sunday, March 24, 2019
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A Typescript
by Carl Dennis

The book on ending war once and for all
That my friend devoted the last ten years
Of his life to finishing still sits on my shelf
In typescript, though I promised him,
In an effort to ease his final hours,
To do my best to find a publisher.

A book that's argued as forcefully as any
Can be when based on the shaky premise
That most people have good intentions,
That they're as open as he was to supposing
Countries, like individuals, can learn to agree
On simple rules promoting the general welfare
And obey them gladly even when inconvenient.

If the trillions of cells we're each composed of,
His argument goes, manage to work together
Without a leader or contract, it's possible
That the far fewer creatures of thought like us
Can reach consensus if we keep talking.

His mistake is the mistake of genius,
If Emerson's definition of genius is accurate:
"To believe . . . what is true for you in your private heart
Is true for all men," a belief he supports
With examples showing how people often
Sell themselves short, how they assume
Their moments of generous impulse
To be less significant than they really are.

The only editor willing to give me an interview
Told me the book had no target audience
Waiting to read it, that an audience
Had to be found, not made.

The audience in the office consisted of two:
A friend of the late author and an editor
Not willing to edit the book in question,
Each composed of trillions of cells in harmony.
Two plus the fleshless ghost of my friend
Standing beside a bookcase crowded with books
Far less substantial than his typescript,
Nodding in silence to urge me on.


- Carl Dennis from Night School. Writer's Almanac today. (Penguin Books, 2018)