“The drawing room: to the left the entrance to the salon; to the right [at the back] a lighted niche by a tall window. [MIDIA with] several GUESTS [including KLIAN, DANDILIO, and the FOREIGNER].FIRST GUEST:Morn says—though he himself is not a poet—“It should be thus: in the flicker of daily life,unexpectedly, in the chance combinationof light and shadow, you feel within yourselfthe divine happiness of conception:it grabs you and is gone; but the muse knowsthat in a quiet hour, in the seclusionof... the night, the poem will begin to beatand fly off the tongue, fiery and babbling …”KLIAN:I have never felt like that … I myselfcreate differently: with persistence, disgust,tying a wet rag around my head … Perhapsthat’s why I am the genius …[Both of them pass on.]FOREIGNER:Who is that—the one that looks like a horse?SECOND GUEST:The poet Klian.FOREIGNER:Talented?SECOND GUEST:Shh … He’s listening …FOREIGNER:And that one,the silvery one, with the bright eyes—speaking,at the doorway, to the mistress of the house?SECOND GUEST:You don’t know?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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