First of all, I don’t like Gertrude Stein’s writing. Conceptually what she is doing might be interesting, and I appreciate the fact that she was brave and that she wrote what she wanted to write even if she had to publish it herself, but her writing is awful to read. I was sitting in the train station this morning reading Tender Buttons and a young man was pacing up and down, somewhat agitated, muttering to himself or occasionally talking out loud. His conversation sounded like this: one more time, I’m telling you, cartwheels, yes, last chance, and that’s spelled C-H-A-N-C-E. I thought he sounded an awful lot like Stein.
I think the purpose of language is to say something. Otherwise why don’t we just grunt and groan and make barking noises?
People say that Stein “reacquaints” us with language.
I can do it too (if I may be so audacious). My version of Gertrude Stein’s poem Orange.
Lemon (a poem that was more satisfying to write than to read)
Why is a smell crab an eyebrow run. Why is a round yellow why is a sad color a round round a broken show and give me back my pieces just give me yellow round tart table round canter clop in the heat be okay I just want to be okay be okay I just want the yellow sun.