Pseudopod 362: Go, Go, Go, Said The Bird

by Sonya Dorman.
Copyright (c) 1967, 1995 by the Literary Estate of Sonya Dorman; first appeared in DANGEROUS VISIONS edited by Harlan Ellison; used by permission of the Estate and the Virginia Kidd Agency, Inc.

“Go, Go, Go, Said The Bird” was originally published in 1967 in the Harlan Ellison edited, groundbreaking anthology DANGEROUS VISIONS. She said of this story “Perhaps I wrote (it) because sometimes that’s the way the world seems, or perhaps I hope that when my daughter’s generation grows up it won’t need or want to run for its life, or perhaps because, in the seventeenth century, Jeremy Taylor wrote: ‘…when it is enquired whether such a person be a good man or no, the meaning is not what does he believe, or what does he hope, but what he loves.’ Amen..”

SONYA DORMAN (1924- 2005) was the working name of Sonya Dorman Hess. She is perhaps best known outside of the world of science fiction as a poet, with some of her collections in this form being STRETCHING FENCE and A PAPER RAINCOAT. One of her poems, however, “Corruption of Metals”, received honors within science fiction circles by winning the Rhysling Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. Her best-known work of science fiction is the story “When I Was Miss Dow”, which has been reprinted numerous times and received a James Tiptree, Jr. retrospective award nomination. She also wrote four books in the YA series ROXY RIMIDON OF THE PLANET PATROL. She said of herself “I have been a cook, receptionist, riding instructor, flamenco dancer and married. I like speculative fiction because I believe art and science should be lovers, not enemies or adversaries.”.

Your reader this week – Heather Welliver – recently read “Dancing” for Pseudopod, one section of Pseudopod 293: Flash On The Borderlands XII – (Black) Arts & (Dead) Letters. Her website can be found here and those needing her professionally for voice-work may examine her profile here.

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“Think of it, she conversed in great gasps with herself, leaping over a crevasse where a southbound lane had split off from the main runway. Think of it, she insisted, scarcely having breath left but unable to control her mind, which was galloping faster than her weary legs.

I’m only thirty, I’m unique, there’s no one in this world, this universe, who is me, with my memories:”

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