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Dan Waber--taking a break from his alphabet at the delta point--sends me the first of a six-card edition. This card is red, and on the back is a simple retelling of the i-poem.


Remarkably, there have been many i-poems over the years, so many that I once had planned to put together an anthology of these with Bob Grumman. But this one of Dan's is a little special, because it pushed the I-ness just a little bit further than most. He had made the poem, but sticking his finger into a big ball of black paint and painting it onto the red page.

And because of that, we can still read his fingerprint in the poem. This poem is no-one else's. The I is Dan.

un violon d'ingres