Anne Tardos


Fat Accomplice             



In memory of Jackson Mac Low and Marcel Marceau

Brought up in a post-modern relativist world

I cannot believe in direct messages—even from a text.

I can transpose one reality into another

“. . . if I dreame I have you, I have you.”

I’m at my service yet I pay bare attention

I keep an open and soft mind and notice what’s happening in the moment

I am told that all things that arise have the nature to pass away

I believe this

It stands to reason

But there are other ways of looking at the same phenomenon

Impermanence can be seen as a vehicle of a process we call becoming

I seek to find freedom in the way I relate to what’s happening in the moment.

You’re almost always there

You’re always almost there

I write silently as I try not to disturb the silence around me. I become part of the silence and stop writing.

Can’t Write







You became a blue light

Something I could see one night

Brants broke our bric-a-brac

In the bright light

Took flight

Basic Logic for the Chinese Year of the Pig:

Every cat is animal.

Every pig is animal.

Therefore every pig is cat.

And every dog is not vicious.

A certain braveness comes into it after a while.

You can’t force the issue


It doesn’t matter

Nobody cares

None of this is really happening

Take it from me.

None of this is really happening

Not to worry

Pick up the pieces

The thread

Barely a thought.

For a long time tongue tied

and speechless

Events in your life, my life, our lives


Disappearing acts

Magic tricks

Heavy burdens

Each step of the way

Short bursts of thought



In Paris once a long time ago

Before I was even there

I was there I was there

With and without friends

At different times

With different friends

Without any money

Often without enough food

I’d eat foie de morue from a can

That’s cod’s liver

In a can like sardines

Very oily and tasty

Good for a low budget

I’d eat it straight from the can without bread

Sitting on the edge of the bed

In the little room



With my back to the world

And the world’s back to me

Then it was going to be suicide by razor blade

But first a pantomime concert by Marcel Marceau

Then a proper meal in a restaurant, as a farewell gift, a final emptying of the purse.

The next morning, the blade pressing against the skin, unable to make the incision, waiting for the courage to do it, the doorbell rings.

It’s a telegram. A Dutch film director wants to meet me under the Eiffel Tower tomorrow for a documentary he is shooting on young Parisians.

I show up and this man I had never met before gives me a bear hug

Then he suggests we do another take.

The Dutch crew records us hugging again.

Life continues.