Denis Johnson
Denis Johnson
Denis Hale Johnsonis an American writer best known for his short story collection Jesus' Sonand his novel Tree of Smoke, which won the National Book Award for Fiction. He also writes plays, poetry and non-fiction...
NationalityGerman
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth1 July 1949
CountryGermany
When I'm writing for Esquire, my conscious thought is, I'm not writing for American Scholar.
accuracy concerned lighter plays prose thrill truth trying
In the plays - that's where I go crazy. But my prose has a much lighter touch; it's not trying to thrill with language, just to be more truthful. I'm not concerned with the accuracy of anything. We don't get to the truth of anything with facts.
came hit job met money ran seven work
I'd met a woman and I got married, but the money ran out right away. I hadn't had a job for seven months, and it just came over me that I was never going to work again. It hit me.
jesus silly writing
I think it's silly for anyone to think you could write under the influence, but if they'd like to think that, I'd like to keep the legend alive. Maybe I was under the influence when I wrote Jesus' Son and I just didn't know it.
hate teaching two
I hate two kinds of sentences you hear in workshops, the ones beginning "I really like ..." and the ones beginning "My problem with this poem is ..."
trying communicate
What could be lonelier than trying to communicate?
beautiful born
There was a part of her she hadn’t yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place
heart torn chests
We’d torn open our chests and shown our cowardly hearts, and you can never stay friends after something like that
heart steps broke
With each step my heart broke for the person I would never find, the person who'd love me.
war tree might
It was only when you left it alone that a tree might treat you as a friend. After the blade bit in, you had yourself a war.
heart soul mind
Before this moment I'd lived as a mind. Body, heart, soul, intellect, so we care ourselves into parts. But the whole of us, what can it be?
mean sides grows
Everybody’s got a mean side. Just don’t feed it till it grows.