My encounter with Ms Rand was existential:
She was blond and statuesque and twenty-four,
Fluent in Chinese and very bright
And, as we strolled the streets of Tokyo,
Where she, of course, was looked at goggle-eyed
By many avid, stressed out little men;
And after we had danced through Ueno Park
And lunched with Hunter and Christine in Habaraku -
He an engineer and she an artist –
Urged that just we two run off together.
Let’s go, she said, to Hamamatsu-cho
To a coffee shop she knew and talk of dreams,
Of Jung, especially, and of my Anima.
How could I decline, on any count,
Especially as she plainly seemed to think
That, as Christine had said, I was a genius –
Imagine how surprised I felt at that!
And what young genius, fresh in Tokyo,
Could conceivably turn down a striking blond,
Who proposed a blend of dreams and coffee beans?
Politeness strangely held me by the toes:
We spoke in caffeinated animation
Of archetypes and of my tangled loves;
She dug my dreams and made good sense of them;
Enchanted, it was plain, by my persona,
She said to me, with flagrant sexual candour,
That I shouldn’t feel confined to just one Muse.
Even now, when I’m no longer young,
My memories of her shy, seductive words
Tantalize my still ingenuous tongue.