On Misremembering Literature: Me Against the Authors
I had a friend named John who sang a lot. Sometimes he screwed up the lyrics. His sister, who could also sing, would correct him. When she did, John would say, “I’m singing a totally different song”.
What happens when you prefer your misremembered version of things to the original? Isn’t it OK to “collaborate” a little.
My Collaboration With Joseph Brodsky
For comic effect I sometimes quote “postwar Russian poetry” by saying:
Bobo is dead. My sweet Bobo is dead. My grief would suit sliced cheese.
That is a horrible blender-paste of Joseph Brodsky’s wonderful poem, “The Funeral of Bobo.” The poem never says “my sweet”, and the genius of the “sliced cheese” image comes in the line, “My tear would suit sliced cheese.” which not only is different, but betrays the fact that in addition to screwing up the words of the poem, I’ve missed the meaning as well.
It doesn’t matter, I’m sticking with my version. I’m reciting a totally different poem. A poem that rips off Joseph Brodsky.
