In one of
his letters Flaubert complains –
Or is he
boasting? – that he spent the morning
Taking
out a comma and the afternoon
Putting
it back in. The afternoon’s comma
Was, I
have reason to believe, quite different
From the
one removed in the morning.
Disgusted
at Flaubert’s treatment,
It had
crawled painfully across his desk
To hide
in an ink-stain on the blotter.
Ever
afterward, when he took inventory,
Flaubert
was always one comma short;
It
irritated him intensely. George Sand
Offered
to give him one of hers;
He
politely refused, not letting her see
That the
thought of an alien comma
Had
brought back his neurasthenia.
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