“That’s it? I’m finished?”
“Next.”
Fred went back to Ann. “He didn’t even look at me!”
With his new social security number, Fred got a job at a local print shop. He had learned to set type while working on the magazine in Germany. One of the shop’s customers was the publisher of a small literary magazine. Fred occasionally met with the publisher to go over proofs of the next issue. After getting to know the man, Fred showed him some of his poems. The editor liked what he saw and suggested Fred submit a few pieces to the magazine.
His greatest desire was to have an audience for his poetry. His themes ran to meanings and feelings he found, in life with Ann, in the freedom of life in America, and the beauty of nature, but always there were the shadow of the police and the darkness of the cell: ‘for every creature in the garden a predator waits/, and most fearful of all/ is the ruler of the garden.’
The idea of having his name published, especially attached to poetry that could get him in trouble with the state, terrified him. Ann, of course, thought the fear of ridiculous. She read him the right to free speech amendment to the U.S. constitution but the memories of the time in the East German prison kept overriding anything. Eventually the agreed he would submit the poems under a pseudonym and only the publisher would know the real name of the poet. Fred would eventually publish three volumes of poetry that way.