A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written (which will be published later this year).
On which Markson wrote:
“Dear Chs.— 4/11/09
Thank you for the note—and my regrets, again, for not being able to get together. I had to fink out on Ann Beattie too, only a few days later, when she was in town. Next week it will probably be the ghost of Ava Gardner.
Meantime, only a couple of days after that, four bloody hours to drag myself to a fancy oncologist, sit and wait, sit and wait, etc, + then shlepp home—all to be told ‘Go get such + such a test + then come back.’ Damn, I hate being old.
I’m glad you saw Knox, though. I must, must, get over there.
My best again—Dave.”
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Although the point of my blog is to share Markson marginalia, I was given a special treat by Charles Shields, who scanned and sent me his correspondence with David Markson.
So I couldn’t help myself but do a special post.
Markson was known for sending these type of plain white notecards to his friends and acquaintances.
I was lucky enough to receive two myself (which I’ve discussed on here at some point but have not yet posted—perhaps I will at some point in the near future).
Yesterday I explored Markson and old age, so I felt it a propos to post this notecard, which further explores the topic.
“Damn, I hate being old.”
He wrote to Shields.
“Age.
Dammit.”
– Vanishing Point, pg. 180.
A few pages later:
“Age. Age.” (Pg. 186).
In the introduction to her book on Markson, This Is Not A Tragedy, Francois wrote:
“He also saw a connection between his isolation and his age. He explained that while for years he’d been saying he was getting old, now, he really was.” (Pg. xxvi).
Old. Tired. Sick. Alone. Broke.
Damn, I hate being old.
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This postcard is owned by Charles J. Shields. The above scan is used with his permission. Copyright © Charles J. Shields.