C: Tell me about your work The Unknown.
W: Oh, thats our anthology. Which reminds me, didnt you edit an anthology called Up Late: American Poetry since 1970?
C: Why yes, some years ago.
W: Do you know where I can get a copy?
C: Well, ha ha, Im supposed to be interviewing YOU, I mean . . .
W: Im totally serious. That anthology has that poem by Bernadette Mayer, about . . .
C: Yes, yes. . . .
W: . . . about how I guess well never live on a farm after all. You know that poem?
C: Unknown. Now tell me, the very title itself suggests to me a sort of nebulous quality, your calling something unknown is playing, if you will, with the sign
W: Do you know her?
C: Bernadette Mayer?
W: Yeah, she is so cool.
C: I dont believe Ive ever met her. Were going to have to cut this out, sorry.
W: Do you have a copy of Bernadette Mayers Utopia? Man, that book is the shit!
C: Can I get some more coffee over here? Scott, finally, youve arrived. Could you remove your compatriot? Please
S: Damn it, William. Were here to do a job. I knew youd get off on some obscure book. Do I have to everything myself?
[Scott hefts William over his shoulder, firemans carry, and removes William from the room as he babbles something about language poetry.]
D: My apologies, Andrei, for Williams inappropriate behavior.
C: Not at all. Close the door behind you, yes, thats it. Okay now, lets begin.