7: Tokyo Blonde, 1985

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.