Archive for the ‘literature’ Category

A Library In Mongolia

Wednesday, August 11th, 2010

From the breathless YouTube script, which, decoded, is about preserving the texts of the Buddha:

The only copy of ancient encyclopedia Kangyur which invented by ancient gurus in Tibet and India is under active rescue mission in Mongolian National Library. Its original tibetan and sanskrit versions destroyed through wars and social instabilities and only Mongolian version is saved intact with Mongolian ancient scholars. Now it is taking another fresh breath of getting digitized hence taking chance of educating people.

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Henry Miller Asleep and Awake (1975)

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010
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RIP David Markson

Sunday, June 6th, 2010

Today

This is rushed, and I’m finding it hard to say what I want to say.  I’m saddened in part because he went out like so many of the giants in his books–broke, underappreciated.  His commonplace book aesthetic, the assemblage technique that built and built until something more than the sum of those lines, those facts, hovered over/nested under the text was called experimental and marginalized.  But few books read more quickly than his assemblage novels.  Few books repay rereading as generously.

Anecdotes he shared in interviews–the role he played in getting Gaddis’ The Recognitions reissued in paperback, etc.  His generosity.  The absolute lack of pretension in him.  All of this will be missed.  R.I.P.

any news of an English translation of Suicidios ejemplares?

Monday, March 22nd, 2010

After reading1 this article of Bolaño’s advice on writing short stories, I realized that he mentioned a Vila-Matas collection that I’ve heard of, but forgot, Suicidios ejemplares. A quick search on Google turned up a pdf file describing the work. (The reviewer is Paolo Scocco.) Does New Directions or anyone else have a translation in the works?

  1. Re-reading? I’ve been out of the loop, and have forgotten much. []

The Unknown Citizen—W. H. Auden

Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010

(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
 saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
 generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
 education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

Russian Lit in Korea

Wednesday, January 27th, 2010

Why Koreans Love Russian Literature.

As is true so often, the article fails to live up to its title.  “That Koreans Have Read Russian Literature At Various Times in the Past And Are Still Doing So” would have been a more accurate title.  But what can you do?

Summation paragraph:

Russia and Korea are in many ways culturally compatible. The two countries are not only areas of cultural exchange, but they also share similar historical events and experiences. Literature, songs and movies often refer to the “Russian soul” and “anguish” as a characteristic of the Russian people. On the other hand, when talking about the mentality of Koreans, the term “han” (a Korean way of addressing anguish) is often used. Even this cultural similarity confirms that the two countries have all the prerequisites for closer cultural convergence. Perhaps it is for this reason that Russian literature enjoys the special attention and love of Korean readers.

The Crying Of Lot 49

Friday, December 4th, 2009
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Prieto, Cuba, Revolution

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009

Jose Manuel Prieto on Cuba, in which he claims, among other things, that Castro is best thought of as an American politician and that “The Miami Economic Miracle, the astonishing ascent that transformed a sleepy tourist town, refuge for retirees, into the new capital of Latin America, was accomplished by the same generation that brought about the Cuban Revolution–the generation of the 1950s….”:

Cuba wants to be the United States.

In contrast to many perspectives around the world that are critical or even disdainful of the obvious crudeness of much of the American way of life, Cubans see such a life as desirable, imagine their future as independent–but American. Ugly suburbs, ticky-tacky houses and disposable plastic cups all figure in the mental tableau of their happiness.

Any schema that seeks to oppose “Cuban identity” to “American identity” is false; as early as the middle of the nineteenth century, Cuban identity was shaped, nourished and colored by American identity, which was a consubstantial part of Cuban identity, one of its fundamental elements. This peculiar amalgam is manifest in any sector or period of Cuban life you might choose to name, from the very beginning of our “national awakening,” through the rather odd fact that our first president was a Cuban-American schoolteacher, a Quaker who had lived through more than twenty winters in America, and the no less surprising detail that José Martí, our “national poet,” the “apostle” of our independence, was a fiery lover of America and a privileged vehicle of the nationalist religion in its distinctive American variety.

Interesting reading.

Susana Bombal—Jorge Luis Borges

Sunday, November 29th, 2009

Tall in the evening, arrogant, aloof,

she crosses the chaste garden and is caught

in the shutter of that pure and fleeting instant

which gives to us this garden and this vision,

unspeaking, deep.  I see her here and now,

but simultaneously I also see her

haunting an ancient, twilit Ur of the Chaldees

or coming slowly down the shallow steps,

a temple, which was once proud stone but now

has turned to an infinity of dust,

or winkling out the magic alphabet

locked in the stars of other latitudes,

or breathing in a rose’s scent, in England.

She is where music is, and in the gentle

blue of the sky, in Greek hexameters,

and in our solitudes, which seek her out.

She is mirrored in the water of the fountain,

in time’s memorial marble, in a sword,

in the serene air of a patio,

looking out on sunsets and on gardens.

And underneath the myths and the masks,

her soul, always alone.

Alastair Reid, translator.

Related:  scroll down for a picture of Susana on her wedding day.

Gleanings

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

Irish spelling has been stumbling outsiders for centuries.  Thus Hamlet, an improbable name as most would agree for any Dane, let alone a Prince of Denmark, becomes intelligible when we learn that it is the French form of Amelthus, which was what Saxo Grammaticus in his Historica Danica inherited from someone who had copied it out of the Latin with his eye on Amhlaoibh, the Irish spelling of a decent Scandinavian name, Olaf.  (In Ireland, Olafson, Mac Amhlaoibh, lingered as a surname: thus MacCauliffe and Macauley and even Cowley.)  Since Ireland’s was a literate culture when the Olafs and their crews first impinged on it yelling, it was natural for Viking names to enter Latin through an Irish door.  And the Irish scribes had heard “Olaf” and said “owlayv”, and then written by their usual system Amhl = owl, ao = ay, (i)bh = v.  So Amhlaoibh and, ultimately, Hamlet.

- Hugh Kenner, A Colder Eye.  That “yelling” is the winking mark of critical genius.