No Wastage Poem by gershon hepner

For the writer there’s no wastage,
recycling thoughts with cut-and-pastage;
no deletions from the hard-disk
of a brain that's bright and bardesque.


D. T. Max writes about Salman Rushdie’s new life in Manhattan in “The Concrete Beneath His Feet” (The New York Times, September 17,2000. London, he feels, did not spur his imagination. 'I think it speaks for itself that, for somebody who lived in England for as long as I did, relatively little of my work has dealt with it.' New York holds more promise. “One of the things about being a writer is that there's no wastage, ' he says. 'Everything comes out somehow.'

9/17/00