Self-Portrait of the Expatriate in the Time of Anxiety Maxwell Tang (bio) They'll defend their hollows and rational absencesIn this spare manner,A few June instances piquant with twilight,Here and there, cooling the self-regarded secretsAt the Piazza Del Duomo.But still too lofty a culture for empathy,And too redoubtable, as those voices disembodiedFrom their Latin are the dead in the stucco churchyard,Pealing the vain away. A few invitations forelengtheningThe three o'clock penumbra in Firenze.A few one-liners extending the inspired disharmony:As flourish for expatriates bent backward in their eternalLegionnaires. Memory is engrafted firm to landscapes,Like floral prints hardened broadside on mortared terracesIn the Riviera. In San Stefano, café societies are many.In Amalfi, revolutionists stomached too muchAperitifs and ennui to remember their credos.The expatriates muffle their anxieties quoting Virgil,So it is no longer intended for theDemocratic conscience to mollify its absence abroad.Nothing can separate the American pathos hereFrom self-dialogue with its pragmatic, ancestralForeshadow, or especially pretend to while in Rome. One by one they are doubled amongst the piazza square–Aristocrats of counterfeit tragedy and unequal noonday,If one is to live outside and unnoticed,An indifference must become fashionable, that isCourageous as it is apologetic,Unto countries too transparent to hearten the dreams ofForeign embrace. [End Page 150] And I would like this celebration of indulgenceTo play out to a self-denial, when faced with theSeafront harrowed by clouded doubts.So physical liberty has reached its open-eyed revolt,And does it befall next year in the Matisse exhibit?The Bostonians rousing up fracas in the Louvre?In full absence, I would not know how to resumeThe enjoyment of absinthe, frescoed lures of dusk,Skylines anaesthetized by gladness,Wherein there is this double memory of Baltic Spring:Nature's accomplice for I in my ignorance,This brings closer for me the haggard face, theLibertine totaled from nationless winners and losers. The sheen in the center of sunspotted crowds, Saxons, Gentiles,Even the sorry Bostonians' facesGreet the Venetian canal pontes. Characters seem to possessThe banal frugality of desire and weather on their own.If their belief holds, the world is unaware,Tenderminded to consummate, or to annul,Their livelihood for them through the acutest passage of night.Until daylight seals their mouths from echoingThe barcarolles again in their rounds. [End Page 151] Maxwell Tang maxwell tang notes that in his lyrical and critical essays, Albert Camus once remarked that his entire thesis for literature could be reduced to a simple axiom: 'Language should only bring us closer to its opposites: Silence and God.' Every word I have written so far has been an attempt to be in alignment with this. Copyright © 2023 University of North Dakota