Московски метро

Kiyevsskaya Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015Arbatskaya Metro Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015Mayakovskaya Station, Moscow, Russia, 2014Prospekt Mira Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015Taganskaya Metro Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015 Novoslobodskaya Metro Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015Komsomolskaya Metro Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015Belorusskaya Station, Moscow, Russia, 2015

Све станице које сте могли видети на приложеним фотографијама налазе се у Москви. Називи станица су:

1. Ки́евская
2. Арба́тская
3. Маяковская
4. Проспе́кт Ми́ра
5. Тага́нская
6. Новослобо́дская
7. Комсомо́льская
8. Белору́сская

Фотографије начинио Дејвид Бурдени током 2014. и 2015. године. Овај фотограф рођен је у Канади 1968. године. Студирао је архитектуру и унутрашњи дизајн, што је судећи према његовим фотографијама уочљиво. Интересовање за форму и архитектуру не изостаје у његовом прецизном и строгом формалном приступу.

Метро станице нисмо навикли да гледамо као палате, оне су производ модерног доба, касног 19. века, са великим развојем у 20. веку. Московски метро у том смислу, упркос својој непорецивој лепоти, изгледа анахроно јер производи осећај као да је грађен крајем 18. или током 19. века. У питању је неокласицистички архитектонски образац из тридесетих година 20. века.

Московски метро отворен је 1935. године. Дужина тадашњих линија износила је 11 километара, метро је имао 13 станица. До 2018. године московски метро имао је 224 станице и руту дугу 381 километар. Овај метро спада у пет најдужих на свету. Најдубља возна секција је 84 метра под земљом. Московским метроом дневно се превезе у просеку 6.99 милиона људи а 26. децембра 2014. године метроом се превезло чак 9.71 миллион људи!

Николај Васиљев, историчар архитектуре, у интервјуу за онлајн магазин City Lab, на питање о неокласицистичком изгледу московског метроа рекао је следеће: 

The first order of construction was primarily designed in a Soviet version of Art Deco, with some remains of avant-garde forms. Parts of the second and third orders, which opened in 1938 and 1943, are like this as well. Stations built from that point until the end of the 1950s can be described as Neoclassical with Empire-style motifs, usually for post-war projects treated as war memorials. These make up a little less than a quarter of the total stations in the system, but they are the most visited ones in the center and main line interchanges. Only 44 of total 214 stations are listed as historical monuments, including a few from the ‘50s and nothing since.

O delima Anselma Kifera

Among the artists whose work I know, Kiefer is perhaps the most talented, ambitious and literary of them all, and maybe that is why his universe appeals to me so strongly. – Orhan Pamuk

Ne sećam se kada i gde sam prvi put videla slike (reprodukcije) Anselma Kifera ali su mi se odmah dopala monumentalna dela, skulpture, knjige, fotografije. U eri „dematerijalizacije“, u eri „digitalnog“, u eri „koncepta“, Anselm Kifer je pravi primer romantičarskog umetnika. On ne odustaje od slike, od reči, od mita, od preispitivanja, on ne odustaje od materije i metafizike. Njegove slike (smemo li napisati platna?) teške su nekoliko stotina kilograma. Na njima je puno boje, puno slame, stolica, metalnih predmeta. Kifer stvara materijalnost, sliku, konkretno, čulno, istovremeno bivajući brutalan prema materijalnosti.

Na putovanjima sam se dva puta srela sa Kiferovim delima. Prvi put u Veneciji, u „Pegi Gugenhajm“ muzeju gde sam videla platno na kojoj je arhetipska slika, veoma važna za moju ličnu mitologiju, život, pisanje, a to je opustošena njiva. Nad njom se nadvijala kosa plave Margarete, slama, i stihovi ispisani rukom, prelepim rukopisom samog slikara, koji su iz pesme „Fuga smrti“ Paula Celana.

Tvoja kosa od zlata Margreto
Tvoja kosa od pepela Sulamko

Drugi put je to bilo u Briselu kad sam u „Muzeju lepih umetnosti“ kupila tri knjige među kojima je jedna bila posvećena radu Anselma Kifera. Razmišljala sam kako je njegovo delo blisko književnosti, i ne samo po upotrebi jezičkih elemenata, već u celini. Ono nije narativno ali poziva čitaoca da pejsaž dopuni prošlim i budućim. Delo je uvek tu, u sadašnjem, u zamrznutom, u trenutku koji je istovremeno i večnost. Večna sadašnjost.

Naišla sam na nekoliko zanimljivih tekstova i video zapisa o Kiferu. Jedan je tekst Kristofa Ransmajera, drugi je Orhana Pamuka, savremenog turskog pisca, jednog od Kiferovih umetničkih pandana. Njegov citat sledi u nastavku. Takođe, pored dokumentarnog filma „Remembering the Future“, naišla sam i na tri videa nastala povodom Kiferove izložbe u bečkom muzeju „Albertina“. Svi ovi tekstovi i filmovi mogu biti, uz moje upravo predočeno sećanje, početni impuls i uvid u dalje istraživanje ovog umetnika.

I found myself thinking once again that perhaps the reason why I loved these paintings so much was the artist’s ability to demonstrate the kinship of words and images, legends and landscapes. All these words, letters, trees, mountains, frail flowers and forgotten roads were part of a single text, and shared a common texture. All I wanted was to be able to read these paintings and the forceful brushstrokes that had formed them.

Izvor citata: The Guardian

Poezija posvećena grčkoj boginji Persefoni

Kore from the Acropolis, 6th century BCE, marble. New Acropolis Museum, Athens.

EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY: PRAYER TO PERSEPHONE

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be;
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell, – Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee;
Say to her, „My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here.“

 

CECILIA WOLOCH: HADES

Where we go when he closes my eyes
and under what country:
some blue darkness, farther than hell;
a landscape of absence and root and stone.
There are no bodies here,
we dream shapeless dreams –
a constant, cloudless storm.

Mother, I’ll never wake up from him,
I have already traveled too far.
My mouth is the color of his mouth
and his arms are no longer his arms;
they’re mute as smoke, as my first white dress,
and the spear of his name, once ferocious,
dissolves on my tongue
like sugar, like birdsong, I whisper it:
Hades.

 

NIKITA GILL: CONVERSATIONS WITH PERSEPHONE

I asked Persephone,

„How could you grow to love him?
He took you from flowers to a kingdom
where not a single living thing can grow.“

Persephone smiled,

„My darling, every flower on your earth withers.
What Hades gave me was a crown
made for the immortal flowers in my bones.“

 

LOUISE GLÜCK: A MYTH OF DEVOTION

When Hades decided he loved this girl
he built for her a duplicate of earth,
everything the same, down to the meadow,
but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight,
because it would be hard on a young girl
to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he’d introduce the night,
first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.
Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.
Let Persephone get used to it slowly.
In the end, he thought, she’d find it comforting.

A replica of earth
except there was love here.
Doesn’t everyone want love?

He waited many years,
building a world, watching
Persephone in the meadow.
Persephone, a smeller, a taster.
If you have one appetite, he thought,
you have them all.

Doesn’t everyone want to feel in the night
the beloved body, compass, polestar,
to hear the quiet breathing that says
I am alive, that means also
you are alive, because you hear me,
you are here with me. And when one turns,
the other turns.

That’s what he felt, the lord of darkness,
looking at the world he had
constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind
that there’d be no more smelling here,
certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love?
These things he couldn’t imagine;
no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place.
First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden.
In the end, he decides to name it
Persephone’s Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow,
behind the bed. He takes her in his arms.
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

but he thinks
this is a lie, so he says in the end
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true.

 

JO WALTON: HADES AND PERSEPHONE

You bring the light clasped round you, and although
I knew you’d bring it, knew it as I waited,
Knew as you’d come that you’d come cloaked in light
I had forgotten what light meant, and so
This longed for moment, so anticipated,
I stand still, dazzled by my own delight.

I see you, and you see me, and we smile
And your smile says you are as pleased as me
With everything and nothing still to say
All that we’ve saved and thought through all this time
Boils down to affirmation now as we
Stand here enlightened in my realm of grey.

Cerberus wags his solitary tail,
And though the dust of Hell lies round our feet
Your flowers are already sprouting through.
“You came,” “I said I would,” “You didn’t fail,”
“And you’re still here,” “Of course. We said we’d meet.”
“Yes,” “Yes!” “You’re really here! “And so are you!”

We don’t say yet that you will have to go
And Hell return inevitably black
Your flowers fade when parted from your tread
Though this is something we both surely know,
As certain as you come, you must go back,
And I remain alone among the dead.

They say I snatched you from the world above
Bound you with pomegranates, cast a spell
Bribed you with architecture. It’s not so.
Friendship is complicated, life is, love,
Your work the growing world, my task is Hell
You come back always, always have to go.

But here and now, this moment, we can smile,
Speak and be heard, this moment we can share
And laugh, and help each other to be great,
And talk aloud together, all worthwhile,
Our work, our worlds, and all we really care,
Each word shines golden, each thought worth the wait.

And Hell’s poor souls whirl round us as they glide
Off up to Lethe to begin again,
On to new lives, new dawns beyond Hell’s night.
We walk among your flowers, side by side,
Such joys we share are worth a little pain.
You come back. And you always bring the light.

 

RITA DOVE: PERSEPHONE, FALLING

One narcissus among the ordinary beautiful
flowers, one unlike all the others! She pulled,
stooped to pull harder—
when, sprung out of the earth
on his glittering terrible
carriage, he claimed his due.
It is finished. No one heard her.
No one! She had strayed from the herd.

(Remember: go straight to school.
This is important, stop fooling around!
Don’t answer to strangers. Stick
with your playmates. Keep your eyes down.)
This is how easily the pit
opens. This is how one foot sinks into the ground.

Izvor poezije: Pinterest, Poetry Foundation

Slika: Mermerna sklptura Kore (devojke), 6. vek pre nove ere, Atina.

A . A . A u antologiji „Somehow“

Novosadski dizajnerski studio Peter Gregson osmislio je koncept za časopis (antologiju) koji bi sadržao eseje, poeziju, studije, odlomke. Švajcarski proizvođač nameštaja Woak podržao je ovu ideju.

Na sajmu nameštaja u Kelnu, koji je u toku, kupci i posetioci izlagačkog prostora ovog proizvođača moći će da dobiju knjigu, u kojoj sam i ja participirala jednim tekstom. Antologija je nazvana Somehow i sadrži dvanaest priloga koji su na engleskom jeziku.

Na preporuku prijateljice napisala sam esej o holandskoj mrtvoj prirodi, slikarskom fenomenu 17. veka. Ponosna sam, zahvalna i srećna! Već osećam energiju svog nepoznatog, dalekog čitaoca. Esej ću uskoro objaviti i na blogu, na srpskom jeziku, u okviru serije tekstova pod nazivom Barok nedeljom.

Isprva sam za potrebe antologije napisala dva eseja, od kojih je jedan prihvaćen. Drugi je, takođe, o holandskoj umetnosti 17. veka, s tim što je u fokusu tog rada prikaz egzotičnih ptica na platnima nekoliko holandskih i flamanskih slikara toga doba. Taj rad ću objaviti, isto tako, u okviru serije objava pod nazivom Barok nedeljom

Zamislila sam četri eseja kao četri različita platna u tamnoj sobi. Bio je to moj mali, privatni muzej. U formi tetraptiha bih holandsku umetnost zlatnog doba povezala sa istorijskim, ekonomskim i građanskim tekovinama koje su je uslovile i oblikovale. Posmatrač bi u tu sobu ušao i, krenuvši s leva na desno, kretao bi se ovako: prvo krilo tetraptiha su Rembrantovi ženski portreti, preciznije haljine Rembrantovih portretisanih. Drugo krilo su egzotične ptice u izmaštanim vrtovima koje su na ogromnim platnima bile deo enterijera prve moderne evropske građanske klase. Treće krilo je ovo o kome je reč: mrtva priroda, mnoštvo hrane i predmeta na stolovima u tamnim sobama. Četvrto krilo, još uvek „nenaslikano“, biće esej o kabinetima kurioziteta, o sobama i škrinjama mnogobrojnih ličnosti koje nalikuju Šekspirovom Prosperu. To su sobe putnika, kolekcionara i ezoterika, sakupljača, fetišista, zaljubljenika u materijalno, u predmete, ali ne u onakve kakve viđamo na platnima mrtve prirode, već bizarne, neobične, „kuriozitetne“. Sobe pune prepariranih životinja, korala, lobanja, predmeta iz prirode, ali odvojenih iz svog prirodnog staništa i stavljenih u potpuno novi kontekst.

Esej o haljinama Rembrantovih portretisanih je objavljen na blogu A . A . A. Sledeći na redu za objavljivanje, u okviru pomenute serije Barok nedeljom, jeste esej o egzotičnim pticama. Zatim ću objaviti ovaj esej o mrtvoj prirodi (na srpskom jeziku, samo za ovu priliku je objavljen na engleskom) i, najzad, esej o kabinetima kurioziteta koji ću, u međuvremenu, napisati. On će se poklopiti sa mojim doktorskim istraživanjima koja se tiču nekih Šekspirovih drama, naročito „Bure“.

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Henri Rid o Marselu Prustu (Henry Reed: „Proust’s Way“)

Naišla sam na ovaj skenirani isečak iz novina na nekom internet mestu kome, sada, ne umem da uđem u trag. Sve što ima veze sa Marselom Prustom privlači mi pažnju iako, shodno neminovnosti svakodnevnih obaveza, „kutija sa kuriozitetima“ (desktop folder) mora da sačeka na konačnu afirmaciju koja se ogleda, prvo u čitanju, a potom i u objavljivanju na ovom mestu (fotografija na kojoj je tekst stajala je na mom desktopu više od deset meseci). Nisam mogla da u celosti čitam to što je napisano jer mi čitanje na ekranu ne odgovara pa sam, stoga, odlučila da prekucam tekst ne bih li spoznala da li je vredan objave. Ispostavilo se da jeste.

Henri Rid bio je engleski pesnik, radio voditelj i prevodilac. Ovde, on piše povodom objavljivanja dva dela o Prustu. Prvo je prevod Prustovih različitih spisa koje je preveo na engleski Žerar Hopkins. Drugo se odnosi na kritičku studiju „The Two Worlds of Marcel Proust“ koju je napisao Harold Marč (oba dela pomenuta su u podnaslovu). Ovaj prikaz pomalo se čini nedovršenim (možda postoji nastavak?), ali je svakako koristan kao znak recepcije Prusta u Engleskoj.

Rid već na početku pominje Šekspira. Njegova komparativna preporuka nije slučajna. Naslov prvog prevoda Prustovog dela na engleski bio je, zapravo, Šekspirov stih Remembrance of Things Past (Sonet 30):

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past

Kad u veću misli utišane
Probude dane što odoše hujem
(prevod Živojina Simića i Stevana Raičkovića)

Kad zovem spomen dragih prošlih dana
Pliju me misli i slatke i nijeme
(prevod Danka Angjelinovića)

Prvi prevodilac Prustovog dela na engleski jezik bio je Scott Moncrieff. Tek 1992. godine, sedamdeset godina posle prvog izdanja, naslov biva zamenjen prikladnijim, vernijim orginalu, sa In Search of Lost Time. Prvobitni naslov maši suštinu izvornog naziva dela i navodi na potpuno promašene interpretacije. Englezi ne mogu bez samoisticanja, stvarajući od Prusta Šekspira i namećući jednu Prokrustovu postelju daljim interpretacijama. I danas se mogu pronaći tekstovi u kojima se ovaj prevod slavi kao jedan od najboljih na svetu (!), zanemarujući na taj način mnoge druge jezike i prevodioce, ističući po ko zna koji put anglocentričnost i slepilo jedne nacije za druge nacije i kulture. Neverovatno.

Naravno, ovde nije reč o tome da je sam prevod loš, iako naslov, uprkos svojoj lepoti i poetičnosti, nije odgovarajući, već je reč o isticanju bahatosti koja ne nailazi na odobravanje. Iako to nema veze sa Ridovim tekstom, ipak se mora pomenuti kada je o njemu reč, jer Rid osim tog prevoda, kao i autori knjiga koje on komentariše, nemaju drugog izvora pred sobom. Ridov tekst sam namerno ostavila na engleskom, ne bavim se prevođenjem, iako savršeno razumem napisano, a nadam se da će isti slučaj biti i sa čitaocima ovog bloga. Pored Šekspira, Rid pominje i više puta Raskina, ali je ta komparacija u potpunosti opravdana jer je Raskin u mnogo čemu bio Prustov duhovni učitelj od čijih uticaja francuski pisac nije zazirao i čiji je uticaj ne mali broj puta i sam isticao.

O pomenutom engleskom prevodu možete čitati na sajtu Public Domain Review, u tekstu „Lost in Translation: Proust and Scott Moncrieff„.

.

Proust, like Shakespeare, should be read as early as possible, and should be read entire. For the rest of life each of them provides a coprehensive and enduring world wich you can re-enter, briefly or at lenght, at whatever point you choose. After each new encounter you emerged dazed, happy and iluminted, with something learnt afresh or for the first time. A complete re-reading will make a new man of you.

In Mr. Gerard Hopkin’s selection of pieces from Pastiches et mélanges and elsewhere we have the charming experience of meeting Proust  – as we cannot, alas, meet Shakespeare – outside the turmoil of creation, chatting, confiding, preparing. Many of the pieces in this book, it is true, are prised by Proust himself out of the Temps Perdu and got up for breakfast reading in the Figaro; these are perhaps preferable in their true context.

The book also contains the magnificent Filial Sentiments of a Parricide, whose final paragraph Proust never bettered for tragic insight and power. Yet as a whole it is the essays centered on Ruskin, and the informal pieces about Baudelaire and Flaubert, that move one most: and it is still the write we know that move us. The same character, the same voice, that come through the translation of Scott-Moncrieff come through Mr. Hopkin’s no less sensitive versions.

In one of his Ruskin essays Proust points out how Ruskin’s enthusiasm may be held to excuse certain of his more dubious judgments. Enthusiasm combined with kinship of both the spirit and the nerves, produces his own brilliant pages on Baudelaire; and these in their turn remind us on how much Proust himself awaits a critic similarly equipped. „I want love, love, love, fire, enthusiasm, life!“, cried Leopardi to his brother; and it might be an artist appealing to his critic.

Mr. March’s painstaking study of Proust seems prompted by none of these things. It is dutiful, opaque, dull … and indispensable. For where else shall we find collected all the information he gives us? His opening chapter on the intelectual background and analogues might well have been reduced to a parenthesis elsewhere; the more so, since this is all Freud gets later. (Mr. March has apparently not been told that love and time are Freud’s themes no less than Proust’s).

The real value of his book lies in the biographical chapters, where he gave us an account of some of Proust’s „originals“. Here the facts, alone, are enough to grip and harrow us. Especially absorbing are the pages on the curious development of the text of Temps Perdu: it is a staggering thought that the whole of what Proust regarded as the virtually complete MS of the work was ready for publication by 1913; and that Albertine – that eternal image of the Hardyesque well-beloved – was not there at all!

Dilen Tomas: „Ne odlazi tiho u tu blagu noć“

Ne odlazi tiho u tu blagu noć,
Gori i bunca starost na kraju dana.
Žesti se, besni, dok svetlost se gasi!

Iako mudri shvate: tama je pravedna,
Jer rečima munju nisu razgranali, ipak –
Ne odlaze tiho u tu blagu noć.

Dobri poslednjim nariču drhtajem
Nad krhkim delima u zelenoj uvali:
Žeste, besne, dok svetlost se gasi.

Divljaci sunce love, opevaju mu let.
Kad kasno saznaju da su ga ražalostili,
Ne odlaze tiho u tu blagu noć.

Trezveni pred smrt, sumračnim pogledom
Vide: i slepčeve oči gore i raduju se,
Pa se žeste, besne, dok svetlost se gasi.

A ti moj oče, u tužnim visinama gore:
Kuni me, blagoslovi, tim gorkim suzama!
Ne odlazi tiho u tu blagu noć!
Žesti se, besni, dok svetlost se gasi!

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Kao dopunu Dilenovoj pesmi predlažem i ovaj snimak, čitanje uz pratnju klavira. Autor muzike je australijski kantautor Luis Tilet. Pesma je nastala povodom slepila umetnikovog oca. Nasuprot tami, simboličnoj smrti, svetlost afirmiše život, predočava postojanje Boga, beskraja, savšenstva, jedinstva i lepote.

Dilen Tomas, Ne odlazi tiho u tu blagu noć, prevod Srba Mitrović.

Izvor: Antologija engleske poezije 1945-1990, Svetovi, Novi Sad, 1992.

Preporuka: BBC

Lav Tolstoj i tenis

When Tolstoy was in his forties, he thought tennis was a faddish luxury, a pastime of the new rich, something imported, inauthentic.

Gerald Marzorati napisao je tekst, nedavno objavljen na sajtu magazina The New Yorker, o Tolstojevoj odluci da počne da igra tenis. Evo odlomka o tom događaju:

What brought Tolstoy to tennis so late in his life? Or, better, what brought him around to the game? When he was in his forties, he thought tennis was a faddish luxury, a pastime of the new rich, something imported, inauthentic – a child’s game enthused about by well-to-do grownups who refused to grow up. We know this from Part 6, Chapter 22, of Anna Karenina, which he was writing in the eighteen-seventies, when the modern game of ‘lawn tennis’ was developed and patented by Major Walter Clapton Wingfield, a British Army officer.

Autor u tekstu pominje i scenu koja se pojavljuje u romanu Ana Karenjina, a koju je kasnije i Nabokov komentarisao. Upitanju je igra tenisa koju posmatra Doli, gošća Ane i Vronskog.

After a formal dinner party that tires and deflates Dolly – who in this chapter, a reader presumes, embodies Tolstoy’s own point of view – the guests stroll to the tennis court and begin to play. Before long, it is mostly the men who are playing: running, laughing, shouting, perspiring in their frock coats. Nabokov, who loved tennis and loved Tolstoy, and who was perhaps the greatest reader of Anna Karenina, wrote in a note that I found buried in the manuscript of his Lectures on Russian Literature: ‘Now comes a nice detail: the men with the ladies’ permission took their coats off and played in their shirt sleeves.’ Watching them, Dolly senses her mood darkening. The ‘unnaturalness of grown-ups when they play at a children’s game by themselves, without children’, has made her unhappy. And the tennis gets her to thinking that the players she’s watching are players off the court, too – that Vronsky and his friends are new types, modern bourgeois strivers who are in all aspects of their lives ‘actors’, and for whom all settings are essentially ‘theatre’. You’d think, from all this, that Tolstoy despised tennis and all he thought it represented.

Izvor: The New Yorker

Fotografija: Lav Tolstoj igra tenis, kraj 19. veka.

Lav Tolstoj i vožnja bicikla

Na internet sajtu magazina The New York Times nedavno je objavljena lista umetnika koji su u kasnom dobu započeli sa određenom aktivnošću. Među njima našao se i ruski pisac Lav Tolstoj koji je sa šezdeset i sedam godina naučio da vozi bicikl. Vožnja bicikla je, pored jahanja i tenisa, bila deo njegove jutarnje rutine. Evo odlomka o tome:

The author of War and Peace took his first bicycling lesson at age 67, only a month after the death of his 7-year-old son, Vanichka. He was still grieving, and the Moscow Society of Velocipede-Lovers provided him a free bike and instruction along the garden paths on his estate. He became a devotee, taking rides after his morning chores. Count Leo Tolstoy . . . now rides the wheel, declared Scientific American in 1896, much to the astonishment of the peasants on his estate. A close friend noted: ‘Tolstoy has learned to ride a bicycle. Is this not inconsistent with Christian ideals?

Fotografija: Lav Tolstoj, 1895.

Intervju: Silvija Plat i Ted Hjuz (BBC, 1961)

Intervju naslovljen „Two of a Kind: Poets in Partnership“, snimljen je 18. januara 1961. godine, a emitovan 31. januara iste godine. BBC novinar bio je Owen Leeming. U nastavku slede dva citirana odgovora.

Prvi odgovor dala je Silvija Plat na pitanje o vezi svog deteinjstva i potrebe za stvaranjem:

I think I was happy up to the age of about nine — very carefree — and I believed in magic, which influenced me a great bit. And then, at nine, I was rather disillusioned — I stopped believing in elves and Santa Claus and all these little beneficent powers — and became more realistic and depressed, I think, and then, gradually, became a bit more adjusted about the age of sixteen or seventeen. But I certainly didn’t have a happy adolescence — and, perhaps, that’s partly why I turned specially to writing — I wrote diaries, stories, and so forth. I was quite introverted during those early years.

Drugo pitanje koje ovde izdvajam odnosilo se na Teda Hjuza. Engleski pesnik dao je odgovor na pitanje kako vidi vezu između njega i Silvije Plat, između dva snažna stvaralačka bića. Da li je konfliktna ili je, naprotiv, usklađena.

We’re very alike — we like the same things, live at the same tempo, have the same sort of rhythm in almost every way. But obviously this is a very fortunate covering for temperaments that are extremely different. But they lead secret lives, you see — they content themselves in an imaginative world, so they never really come into open conflict.

O FOTOGRAFIJAMA

Dajana Midlbruk (Diane Middlebrook), autorka knjigeHer Husband: Hughes and Plath – A Marriage“, objavljene 2003. godine, piše da su ove fotografije nastale u trenutku kada je par imao raspravu pa su rezultat prekinutih čarki kojima je prisustvovao fotograf Hans Beacham. Fotografije su nastale 25. jula 1960. godine, u okviru projekta za portfolio koji je trebalo da predstavi savremene britanske autore. Fotograf je kasnije čitav susret ovako prokomentarisao:

They were sullen. Hughes was rude. He was going to get more attention than she, and she didn’t like that while he did. He invited me outside and told me I needed to know that he loathed photographers. Hughes particularly wanted to keep Plath out of the way. His wish, of course, forced me to photograph them together.

Inače, Hans Beacham se ponovo susreo sa Hjuzom kojim mu je priznao da su oboje tom prilikom bili poprilično zlovoljni, a da se on sam ponašao „svirepo“.

Izvor: Brain PickingsLoving Sylvia

Tilda Svinton o romanu „Orlando“ Virdžinije Vulf

Engleska glumica Tilda Svinton u filmu „Orlando“ rediteljke Sali Poter, snimanom po motivima istoimenog romana Virdžinije Vulf, odigrala je nekoliko uloga po kojima će biti upamćena kao jedna od ikona sedme umetnosti. U tekstu objavljenom na internet sajtu magazina Telegraph ona evocira svoje impresije o ovoj knjizi:

A tourist guide to human experience, the best of wise companions. At least, it was my first: a message in a bottle from an imaginary friend.

I reread it now, 35 years later, and I am struck by its capacity to change like a magic mirror. Where I had originally seen it as a book about writing, about becoming a writer, I now see it as a book about reading, about taking one’s place in the chain. Where I once assumed it was a book about eternal youth, I now see it as a book about growing up, about learning to live.

For five years I was privileged to work alongside Sally Potter’s development of her feature-film adaptation of this book. I played the part of Orlando. Twenty years later, Orlando is still the name by which I am best known in Russia, to which I readily answer on streets throughout the world. In my attic is a box containing two of the costumes Orlando wore in the film. One day, I know my son will find them and try them on. One day – soon, I expect – my poetry-writing daughter, his twin, will pick up Woolf’s book and try it on for size.

Paul Kle: Putovanje u Egipat

Paul Klee, Evening in Egypt, 1929

 Ono što čovek može da zamisli obično prevazilazi ono što on vidi, budući da mašta po svom obimu prevazilazi stvarnost, osim kada je u pitanju Kairo, gde čovek vidi ono što ne može da zamisli.

Ibn Haldun, arapski istoričar, 14. vek

Na sajtu Kunstsammlung.org nedavno se pojavio tekst koji predstavlja izložbu dva nemačka slikara različitih umetničkih provenijencija – Maksa Zlegvorta i Paula Klea. Zajedničko obojici umetnika je putovanje u Egipat kao deo obrazovnog procesa koji će za obojicu biti višestruko koristan.

Posetioci će posredstvom izlaganja dela oba umetnika moći da uoče generacijsku razliku, kao i istorijske okolnosti koje su uslovile, između ostalih, formalne razlike njihovih slika. Zlegvort putuje 1914, u doba kada je on još uvek engleska kolonija a Nemačka imperijalna sila. Kle putuje između 1928. i 1929. tokom potpuno drugačije umetničke i društvene klime obe zemlje. Evo jednog odlomka sa sajta:

This exhibition juxtaposes the works of a pair of artists who, although coexisting during the same period, exemplify highly divergent pictorial traditions and intellectual worlds. Not only did Slevogt and Klee experience Egypt differently, they processed their artistic perceptions in markedly contrasting ways. Slevogt journeyed to Egypt in spring of 1914, when the country was still under British colonial rule. His journey (which also took place during the German Imperial era), stood in the tradition of the Grand Tour typically undertaken by painters of the Orient. Fifteen years later, during the turn from 1928 to 1929, Paul Klee followed the same route from Alexandria via Cairo and Luxor to Aswan. Now under altered political and social conditions, his journey took him to a country that had achieved independence in 1922. With the foundation of the Weimar Republic at the end of World War I, Germany too experienced a political reorientation.

Both artists had been familiar with the culture of ancient Egypt through exhibitions held in Germany after major excavations such as those at Tell el-Amarna, where the celebrated Bust of Nefertiti was discovered in 1912. Slevogt’s image of Egypt was also stimulated by fantastical tales such as The Thousand and One Nights, which captivated him already as a child, and served as a continuous source of inspiration for paintings and illustrations. As early as the period around 1900, Klee had incorporated forms into his works that are reminiscent of the pyramids and hieroglyphs. A trip to Tunisia in 1914 further fueled his interest in North Africa and the Orient. The impressions Slevogt received in Egypt sparked a hitherto unprecedented coloristic and compositional virtuosity. Not the historic ruins, the pyramids and temple remains, stood at the center of Slevogt’s interest, but instead the people, everyday life at the marketplaces, along with the endless desert landscape. Unlike Slevogt, Klee traveled to Egypt alone and with minimal luggage. Klee produced almost no work in Africa, instead reflecting upon and transforming the visual stimuli he received there in a series of new works only after returning to his studio.  *

Slika: Paul Kle: Paul Klee, „Veče u Egiptu“, 1929.

Džon Boven o romanu „Orkanski visovi“

 

Profesor engleske književnosti, Džon Boven, o kome je bilo reči u tekstu O tri engleska gotik romana ovoga puta govori o elementima specifičnog prostora koji se uklapa u gotski senzibilitet romana Orkanski visovi. O romanu sam pisala i ja, iz ugla teme kojom se već dugo bavim, a koja se tiče različitih oblika koje junaci dati kao putnici u književnosti 18. i 19. veka zadobijaju. Tim povodom pisala sam o Hitklifu, junaku romana Emili Bronte, u tekstu pod nazivom Putnik Hitklif.

Na sajtu The British Library piše:

Professor John Bowen considers Emily Brontë’s combination of fantasy and reality in Wuthering Heights and the way in which fairy tale and Gothic elements „haunt the edges“ of the novel.

O tri engleska gotik romana

Ova objava donosi dva znanja: jedno je profesora Džona Bovena o ključnim motivima gotik žanra, izloženog kroz priloženi video, kratak uvod o fenomenu književnosti nastale u 18. veku; drugo je profesora Džona Mulana koje je izloženo u pisanom obliku. Odlomci priloženi u nastavku objave, kao i fotografije prvih izdanja knjiga, preuzete su sa sajta British Library i nalaze se u okviru članka The Origins of the Gothic koji je napisao profesor Džon Mulan.

Odlomci na engleskom jeziku deo su pomenutog teksta i ukratko opisuju neke od osnovnih odlika prvih gotskih romana koji su se pojavili u Engleskoj sredinom 18. veka. U pitanju su dela „Zamak Otranto“ Horasa Volpola, „Misterije Udolfa“ En Redklif i „Monah“ Metju Luisa. U Mulanovom tekstu pominju se i drugi romani koji pripadaju tradiciji gotskog žanra poput dela „Northangerska opatija Džejn Ostin, „Frankenštajn“ Meri Šeli, „Orkanski visovi“ Emili Bronte, kao i kasnije napisanim knjigama – „Velika očekivanja“ Čarlsa Dikensa, „Drakula“ Brema Stokera ili „Doktor Džekil i mister Hajd“ R. L. Stivensona.

Generally regarded as the first Gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto was first published in 1764. Its author is Horace Walpole (1717-97), but it purports to be a translation of a work printed in Naples in 1529 and newly discovered in the library of ‘an ancient Catholic family in the north of England’. The novel relates the history of Manfred, the prince of Otranto, who is keen to secure the castle for his descendants in the face of a mysterious curse. At the beginning of the work Manfred’s son, Conrad, is crushed to death by an enormous helmet on the morning of his wedding to the beautiful princess Isabella. Faced with the extinction of his line, Manfred vows to divorce his wife and marry the terrified Isabella himself. The novel had a major effect on the reading public throughout Europe, with the poet Thomas Gray commenting to Walpole that it made ‘some of us cry a little, and all in general afraid to go to bed o’nights.’

The Mysteries of Udolpho is a Gothic novel by Ann Radcliffe, published in 1794. It was one of the most popular novels of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. It was then and continues to be widely regarded as a key text in the development of the Gothic genre.

The Mysteries of Udolpho is set in France and Italy in the late 16th century. The main character is Emily St. Aubert, a beautiful and virtuous young woman. When her father dies, the orphaned Emily goes to live with her aunt. Her aunt’s husband, an Italian nobleman called Montoni, tries to force Emily to marry his friend. Montoni is a typical Gothic villain. He is violent and cruel to his wife and Emily, and locks them in his castle. Eventually Emily escapes, and the novel ends happily with Emily’s marriage to the man she loves.

Like other Gothic novels, The Mysteries of Udolphocontains ruined castles, beautiful countryside, a virtuous heroine and a villain. There are a number of strange occurrences in the novel which seem to be supernatural, but which are revealed to have rational explanations. This too is a common theme in Gothic novels, although other examples of the genre (such as Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto and Matthew Lewis’s The Monk) do feature the genuinely supernatural.

Matthew Lewis’s novel The Monk (1796) marked a turning point in the history of Gothic literature. With its emphasis firmly on the horrific and the shocking, the book moved Gothic away from the gentle terrors of earlier authors such as Horace Walpole and, instead, confronted readers with an onslaught of horror in the form of spectral bleeding nuns, mob violence, murder, sorcery and incest. Unsurprisingly the book met with outrage and condemnation from critics. Equally unsurprisingly it was hugely popular with the public.

With its twin themes of erotic obsession and the corrupting influence of power, The Monk deals with important issues and contains moments of impressive psychological insight. At heart, however, it remains a morality tale about one man’s fall from grace through greed, pride and lust.

Izvor: British Library

Gotski roman na blogu A . A . A

O Blejkovoj pesmi „Jerusalim“

Ovako je izgledala kuća engleskog pesnika Vilijama Blejka i njegove supruge u vreme njegovog rada na pesmi „Jerusalim“ koja je deo Blejkove poeme Milton. Legenda kaže da je u bašti, u časovima predaha, Blejk čitao svojoj supruzi stihove iz Miltonovog epa Izgubljeni raj. Naravno, oboje su poput biblijskih grešnika Adama i Eve bili potpuno nagi. Posle skoro 90 godina Blejkova kuća je opet data na prodaju. Tome je i posvećen članak u magazinu Guardian:

In his lifetime Blake lived in nine houses. Only two survive. The other house is in London, and people are always welcome there to talk about Blake, but it’s not a museum and has a very small capacity. The idea is to link these two remaining houses where Blake lived, said Heath. Literary houses can have a detached connection to their author, but for Blake place was so important that it seems extraordinary that in Britain we don’t celebrate these two extraordinary houses.

Blake wrote to his friend John Flaxman on his arrival in the cottage that “Felpham is a sweet place for Study because it is more Spiritual than London … Heaven opens here on all sides her golden Gates”, also singing its praises in poetry: “Away to sweet Felpham, for Heaven is there / The ladder of Angels descends through the air.

William Blake – Jerusalem

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green and pleasant Land *

Klavirski virtuoz Frederik Šopen

Listova muzika opčinjava duh a Šopenova govori srcu. Ako inspiracija kod jednog ne ide uvek u korak sa čudnom lakoćom izražavanja, kod drugog ona nikad ne izneverava. Rođen u Želazova-Volja, kod Varšave, 1810. godine, Frederik je po ocu poreklom Francuz. Virtuoz od svoje osme godine, on preduzima, kao List turneje koncerata po Evropi. Napušta Varšavu 1830. i odlazi u Pariz, gde ga primaju oni koji zapažaju u njemu više nego običan talenat. Posećuje Lista, Berlioza, Hajnea, Majerbera, i radije izvodi svoja dela u užem krugu publike. Posle jednog putovanja u Drezden, gde se upoznaje s Marijom Vodžinskom, koju ne može da dobije za ženu, on odlazi u Lajpcig, gde nalazi u Klari Vik idealnog interpretatora svojih dela. Zaljubljuje se u Žorž Sand (1836) sa kojom odlazi da provede zimu na Balearskim ostrvima. Ali Šopen, nagrižen bolešću koja ne oprašta, vraća se samo još više bolestan. Ljubavnici žive u Parizu, ili u Noanu, do dana raskida (1847). Posle putovanja u Englesku i Škotsku, Šopen se vraća u Pariz, i tu, sasvim zahvaćen tuberkulozom, umire ubrzo (1849).

Njegova klavirska dela odaju brižnog umetnika koji pati. Nesumnjivo je da se u njima mogu naći mnogobrojne reminiscencije iz njegovog rodnog kraja, izvesna slovenska nostalgija, ritam u osnovi poljski. Ali ima i nečeg više: prisna veza između umetnika, sanjalice, i njegovog omiljenog instrumenta, klavira. Čovek čija je osetljivost neobično utančana crpe iz svoje ljubavi prema Sandovoj stvaralačke snage koje mu inspirišu najslavnija dela: Etide, Preludije, Sonate, Balade, Berseze, dva Koncerta. Romantičar po imaginaciji, neki put klasičar po oblicima koje obrađuje, često inspirisan igrom, ovaj pesnik klavira govori svojim jezikom, sa osetljivošću i prefinjenošću tako ličnom da njegovo celokupno delo, kao kod Baha ili Mocarta, dostiže od prve krajnju granicu lepote. Ima u njegovim Valcerima, Mazurkama, Polonezama, onoliko poezije koliko i u njegovim Impromptima, Nokturnima. Svaka etida, svaki preludij sačinjava jedan potpun i savršen svet. Emocija je izvor njegove umetnosti, a zvučan izraz je njen krajnji cilj. Izrazita melodija, sa svojom osobenom figuracijom, novim ukrasima, koji zahvataju često više oktava, veoma retko osećanje za modulaciju, izvesna tendencija da se insistira na nekom motivu na kome pisac voli da se zadržava, arpeđirani akordi, to su karakteristične osobine ove muzike, u isto vreme i bujne i prijatne, diskretne i strasne, čežnjive i snažne, koja nosi pečat genijalnosti.

*

I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.

U nastavku sledi jedno pismo poljskog kompozitora, na engleskom, upućno nepoznatoj osobi koje otkriva umetnikov senzibilitet, uklopiv u raspoloženja romantičarskih junaka. Ovi crteži, zajedno sa prepiskom i mazurkama, predstavljaju kuriozitet za istraživanje ovog umetničkog i intelektualnog pokreta, ali i za ljubitelje klasične muzike.

Poetski citat na početku koji je floberovski, ako smem impresionistički da ostavim svoj utisak, a bez odgovarajućih dokaza, svedoči o odnosu umetnika i njegovog instrumenta. Za pisca je to papir, za pijanistu klavir, za slikara platno, za skulptora kamen ili glina. Tako klavir postaje dnevnički zapisnik, najbliži poverenik, deo tela.

How strange! This bed on which I shall lie has been slept on by more than one dying man, but today it does not repel me! Who knows what corpses have lain on it and for how long? But is a corpse any worse than I? A corpse too knows nothing of its father, mother or sisters or Titus. Nor has a corpse a sweetheart. A corpse, too, is pale, like me. A corpse is cold, just as I am cold and indifferent to everything. A corpse has ceased to live, and I too have had enough of life….

Why do we live on through this wretched life which only devours us and serves to turn us into corpses? The clocks in the Stuttgart belfries strike the midnight hour. Oh how many people have become corpses at this moment! Mothers have been torn from their children, children from their mothers – how many plans have come to nothing, how much sorrow has sprung from these depths, and how much relief!…

Virtue and vice have come in the end to the same thing! It seems that to die is man’s finest action – and what might be his worst? To be born, since that is the exact opposite of his best deed. It is therefore right of me to be angry that I was ever born into this world! Why was I not prevented from remaining in a world where I am utterly useless? What good can my existence bring to anyone? …

But wait, wait! What’s this? Tears? How long it is since they flowed! How is this, seeing that an arid melancholy has held me for so long in its grip? How good it feels – and sorrowful. Sad but kindly tears! What a strange emotion! Sad but blessed. It is not good for one to be sad, and yet how pleasant it is – a strange state…

Citat: Norbert Dufourcq, Mala istorija muzike u Evropi, preveo Mirko G. Avakumović, Nardona prosvjeta, Sarajevo, 1959.

Izvor: SlikaPismo

Geteova teorija boja

Njutnova greška bila je ta što je verovao više matematici nego utisku svoga oka. – Gete 

Na sajtu Tejt galerije u Londonu, povodom priloženih Geteovih crteža iz 1809. godine i stavova o odnosu svetlosti i boje, piše sledeće:

The German thinker Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was already an established statesman, poet, author and philosopher when he published his colour theories in 1810. Unconvinced by Newton’s belief that colours were contained within light, he thought that it was the interplay of light and dark, as seen through atmospheres like dust and air, that created colour.  (1)

Takođe, tim povodom, na sajtu Wikipedia, stranici posvećenoj teoriji boja i njenom odnosu prema temperamentima, piše sledeće:

The rose of temperamentsan earlier study (1798/9) by Goethe and Schiller, matching twelve colours to human occupations or their character traits (tyrants, heroes, adventurers, hedonists, lovers, poets, public speakers, historians, teachers, philosophers, pedants, rulers), grouped in the four temperaments.“ (2)

 

 

Ono što je kasnije zamerano Geteu i što je navelo mnoge da njegove teorije o boji proglase nenaučnim, jeste njegova intencija da boju vezuje za raspoloženja kao i za određene psihološke reakcije koje može da izazove kod posmatrača.

Plava je boja romantizma. Od plavih Verterovih pantalona do plavog cveta Novalisa. Evo šta o plavoj misli Gete: ona, za razliku od žute, u sebi sadrži princip tamnog. Moćna, je, nezadrživo oko ide uranja u nju, njena pojava je međutim nešto što izaziva podjednako akciju u vidu divljenja ali i statičnost u vidu kontemplacije.

As yellow is always accompanied with light, so it may be said that blue still brings a principle of darkness with it.

This color has a peculiar and almost indescribable effect on the eye. As a hue it is powerful — but it is on the negative side, and in its highest purity is, as it were, a stimulating negation. Its appearance, then, is a kind of contradiction between excitement and repose.

As the upper sky and distant mountains appear blue, so a blue surface seems to retire from us.

But as we readily follow an agreeable object that flies from us, so we love to contemplate blue — not because it advances to us, but because it draws us after it.

Blue gives us an impression of cold, and thus, again, reminds us of shade… Rooms which are hung with pure blue, appear in some degree larger, but at the same time empty and cold.

The appearance of objects seen through a blue glass is gloomy and melancholy.

Gete objavljuje svoju teoriju boja u šezdeset prvoj godini, svojim spisom uspostavljajući neophodnu ravnotežu Njutnovoj teoriji boja. Sa naučne na intuitivnu, pesničku, psihološku stranu boje. Doba prosvetiteljstva, kako je to mnogo puta naznačeno na ovom mestu, bilo je iznutra paradoksalno i suprotstvaljeno. Ono traži ponovna čitanja i preispitivanja.

Gete se ne bavi svetlošću, niti fizičkim zakonima prirode koji se odnose na spektar, on govori o temperamentima koje boje podrazumevaju i uticaju. On ne govori o poreklu, već o subjektu, on pravi zaokret ka unutra u doživljau i objašnjenju boje. Boja je značajna utoliko što ima uticaj na svoga posmatrača, bez koga kao da i ne postoji. Subjektivna a ne objektivna pozicija boje nešto je što Getea interesuje i on u pisanju o žutoj, plavoj, zelenoj, narandžastoj, ljubičastoj i crvenoj to zanimljivo predočava.

Detaljnije možete čitati na sajtu Brain Pickings.

Knjiga nije prevedena na srpski jezik pa su citati o bojama dostupni samo onima koji znaju engleski. Takođe, za one koje zanima celokupan sadržaj knjige u telu teksta sam postavila celu knjigu koju je moguće naći na sajtu archive.org.

Intervju za „Parisku reviju“: Maja Angelou

U nastavku slede neki od najzanimljivijih odlomaka iz intervjua koji je američka književnica Maja Angelou dala za časopis The Paris Review. Autor intervjua bio je Džordž Plimton, osnivač i dugo godina glavni i odgovorni urednik tog lista. Intervju je dobro polazište za otkivanje biografskih detalja i stvaralačkih rituala ove umetnice. Boca šerija, Biblija i hotelska soba neki su od neophodnih detalja pre početka rada na jeziku.

INTERVIEWER

You once told me that you write lying on a made-up bed with a bottle of sherry, a dictionary, Roget’s Thesaurus, yellow pads, an ashtray, and a Bible. What’s the function of the Bible?

MAYA ANGELOU

The language of all the interpretations, the translations, of the Judaic Bible and the Christian Bible, is musical, just wonderful. I read the Bible to myself; I’ll take any translation, any edition, and read it aloud, just to hear the language, hear the rhythm, and remind myself how beautiful English is. Though I do manage to mumble around in about seven or eight languages, English remains the most beautiful of languages. It will do anything.

INTERVIEWER

When you are refreshed by the Bible and the sherry, how do you start a day’s work?

ANGELOU

I have kept a hotel room in every town I’ve ever lived in. I rent a hotel room for a few months, leave my home at six, and try to be at work by six-thirty. To write, I lie across the bed, so that this elbow is absolutely encrusted at the end, just so rough with callouses. I never allow the hotel people to change the bed, because I never sleep there. I stay until twelve-thirty or one-thirty in the afternoon, and then I go home and try to breathe; I look at the work around five; I have an orderly dinner—proper, quiet, lovely dinner; and then I go back to work the next morning. Sometimes in hotels I’ll go into the room and there’ll be a note on the floor which says, Dear Miss Angelou, let us change the sheets. We think they are moldy. But I only allow them to come in and empty wastebaskets. I insist that all things are taken off the walls. I don’t want anything in there. I go into the room and I feel as if all my beliefs are suspended. Nothing holds me to anything. No milkmaids, no flowers, nothing. I just want to feel and then when I start to work I’ll remember. I’ll read something, maybe the Psalms, maybe, again, something from Mr. Dunbar, James Weldon Johnson. And I’ll remember how beautiful, how pliable the language is, how it will lend itself. If you pull it, it says, OK.” I remember that and I start to write. Nathaniel Hawthorne says, “Easy reading is damn hard writing.” I try to pull the language in to such a sharpness that it jumps off the page. It must look easy, but it takes me forever to get it to look so easy. Of course, there are those critics—New York critics as a rule—who say, Well, Maya Angelou has a new book out and of course it’s good but then she’s a natural writer. Those are the ones I want to grab by the throat and wrestle to the floor because it takes me forever to get it to sing. I work at the language. On an evening like this, looking out at the auditorium, if I had to write this evening from my point of view, I’d see the rust-red used worn velvet seats and the lightness where people’s backs have rubbed against the back of the seat so that it’s a light orange, then the beautiful colors of the people’s faces, the white, pink-white, beige-white, light beige and brown and tan—I would have to look at all that, at all those faces and the way they sit on top of their necks. When I would end up writing after four hours or five hours in my room, it might sound like, It was a rat that sat on a mat. That’s that. Not a cat. But I would continue to play with it and pull at it and say, I love you. Come to me. I love you. It might take me two or three weeks just to describe what I’m seeing now.

INTERVIEWER

How much revising is involved?

ANGELOU

I write in the morning and then go home about midday and take a shower, because writing, as you know, is very hard work, so you have to do a double ablution. Then I go out and shop—I’m a serious cook—and pretend to be normal. I play sane—Good morning! Fine, thank you. And you? And I go home. I prepare dinner for myself and if I have houseguests, I do the candles and the pretty music and all that. Then after all the dishes are moved away I read what I wrote that morning. And more often than not if I’ve done nine pages I may be able to save two and a half or three. That’s the cruelest time you know, to really admit that it doesn’t work. And to blue pencil it. When I finish maybe fifty pages and read them—fifty acceptable pages—it’s not too bad. I’ve had the same editor since 1967. Many times he has said to me over the years or asked me, Why would you use a semicolon instead of a colon? And many times over the years I have said to him things like: I will never speak to you again. Forever. Goodbye. That is it. Thank you very much. And I leave. Then I read the piece and I think of his suggestions. I send him a telegram that says, OK, so you’re right. So what? Don’t ever mention this to me again. If you do, I will never speak to you again. About two years ago I was visiting him and his wife in the Hamptons. I was at the end of a dining room table with a sit-down dinner of about fourteen people. Way at the end I said to someone, I sent him telegrams over the years. From the other end of the table he said, And I’ve kept every one! Brute! But the editing, one’s own editing, before the editor sees it, is the most important.

INTERVIEWER

So you don’t keep a particular reader in mind when you sit down in that hotel room and begin to compose or write. It’s yourself.

ANGELOU

It’s myself . . . and my reader. I would be a liar, a hypocrite, or a fool—and I’m not any of those—to say that I don’t write for the reader. I do. But for the reader who hears, who really will work at it, going behind what I seem to say. So I write for myself and that reader who will pay the dues. There’s a phrase in West Africa, in Ghana; it’s called “deep talk.” For instance, there’s a saying: “The trouble for the thief is not how to steal the chief’s bugle but where to blow it.” Now, on the face of it, one understands that. But when you really think about it, it takes you deeper. In West Africa they call that “deep talk.” I’d like to think I write “deep talk.” When you read me, you should be able to say, Gosh, that’s pretty. That’s lovely. That’s nice. Maybe there’s something else? Better read it again. Years ago I read a man named Machado de Assis who wrote a book called Dom Casmurro. Machado de Assis is a South American writer—black father, Portuguese mother—writing in 1865, say. I thought the book was very nice. Then I went back and read the book and said, Hmm. I didn’t realize all that was in that book. Then I read it again, and again, and I came to the conclusion that what Machado de Assis had done for me was almost a trick: he had beckoned me onto the beach to watch a sunset. And I had watched the sunset with pleasure. When I turned around to come back in I found that the tide had come in over my head. That’s when I decided to write. I would write so that the reader says, That’s so nice. Oh boy, that’s pretty. Let me read that again. I think that’s why Caged Bird is in its twenty-first printing in hardcover and its twenty-ninth in paper. All my books are still in print, in hardback as well as paper, because people go back and say, Let me read that. Did she really say that?

Full Interview

T. S. Eliot o Ezri Paundu

Intervju sa umetnikom je relevantan književni žanr. On nam može poetički i biografski, stvaralački i na nivou dnevnih rituala približiti pisca. U nastavku sledi odlomak iz intervjua koji je T. S. Eliot dao za magazin The Paris Review. Iz njega sam izdvojila deo koji se odnosi na intervenciju Ezre Paunda nad Eliotovom poemom Pusta zemlja.

INTERVIEWER

Do you remember the circumstances of your first meeting with Pound?

ELIOT

I think I went to call on him first. I think I made a good impression, in his little triangular sitting room in Kensington. He said, “Send me your poems.” And he wrote back, “This is as good as anything I’ve seen. Come around and have a talk about them.” Then he pushed them on Harriet Monroe, which took a little time.

INTERVIEWER

You have mentioned in print that Pound cut The Waste Land from a much larger poem into its present form. Were you benefited by his criticism of your poems in general? Did he cut other poems?

ELIOT

Yes. At that period, yes. He was a marvelous critic because he didn’t try to turn you into an imitation of himself. He tried to see what you were trying to do.

INTERVIEWER

Does the manuscript of the original, uncut Waste Land exist?

ELIOT

Don’t ask me. That’s one of the things I don’t know. It’s an unsolved mystery. I sold it to John Quinn. I also gave him a notebook of unpublished poems, because he had been kind to me in various affairs. That’s the last I heard of them. Then he died and they didn’t turn up at the sale.

INTERVIEWER

What sort of thing did Pound cut from The Waste Land? Did he cut whole sections?

ELIOT

Whole sections, yes. There was a long section about a shipwreck. I don’t know what that had to do with anything else, but it was rather inspired by the Ulysses canto in The Inferno, I think. Then there was another section which was an imitation Rape of the Lock. Pound said, “It’s no use trying to do something that somebody else has done as well as it can be done. Do something different.”

INTERVIEWER

Did the excisions change the intellectual structure of the poem?

ELIOT

No. I think it was just as structureless, only in a more futile way, in the longer version.

Full Interview

O fotografijama u Zebaldovom romanu „Austerlic“

O Zebaldovom romanu „Austerlic“ na sajtu Source piše:

At a public reading Sebald explained that the picture on the cover of the book (which we learn shows Austerlitz as a young boy) had been the ‘point of departure’ for the book, and that the photographs ‘formed an intimate part of my working process’. Sebald’s work has inspired many other writers including some who have also incorporated photographs in their own books. Since we first reviewed the novel Sebald has become an example for many people of the closer relationship between literature and photography and the changing way in which we think about photographs. I hope this film gives some indication why.

Na istom sajtu, u recenziji pomenute knjige, piše:

Austerlitz tells the life story of an architectural historian (called Austerlitz), who is also an amateur photographer. His story is told by a narrator who meets Austerlitz taking photographs with ‘an old Ensign with telescopic bellows’ in the waiting room of Antwerp train station during the 1960s. After a number of coincidental meetings which span three decades, the narrator is entrusted with the ‘many hundreds of pictures’ Austerlitz has taken during his life. It is through these images and recollections of their conversations, that the story of Austerlitz’s life is told. Within this fictional construct, Austerlitz’s thoughts are only ever reported second-hand making the photographs the most direct access to Austerlitz. But this is only the illusion of a proximity – the use of photographic imagery being just part of the apparatus by which the ‘fiction’ of Austerlitz is constructed.

Austerlitz was adopted as a young boy by a joyless Calvinist couple in Wales and renamed Daffyd Elias. For reasons of their own they told him nothing about his (or their) past. Only when his two adoptive parents die does Daffyd learn his real name is Austerlitz. It is not until his retirement from academia that Austerlitz addresses the truth of his past: how at the age of 5 he was put on a Kindertransport in an attempt to escape the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia.

One of the themes of this complex novel is what Austerlitz refers to as ‘the laws governing the return of the past’: how the past does or does not become present to the living. Photography becomes a metaphor (and means) for the possibility of this return and it is partly through Austerlitz’s relation to photography that his disconnected existence is drawn by Sebald.

Dokumentarni film o T. S. Eliotu

Dokumentarni film o američkom pesniku Tomasu Sternsu Eliotu donosi relevantan izbor podataka i vizuelnih predložaka za jednu biografsku priču koja obuhvata različite faze i na dobar način, kako to inače važi za BBC dokumentarne filmove, približava i predstavlja datu ličnost. Na sajtu BBC radija o ovom ostvarenju piše sledeće:

For the first time on television, Arena tells the whole story of the life and work of T. S. Eliot including the happiness he found in the last years of life in his second marriage. His widow Valerie Eliot has opened her personal archive, hitherto unseen, including the private scrapbooks and albums in which Eliot assiduously recorded their life together.

Arena brings an unprecedented insight into the mysterious life of one of the 20th century’s greatest poets, and re-examines his extraordinary work and its startling immediacy in the world today. Thomas Stearns Eliot materialises as banker, critic, playwright, children’s writer, churchwarden, publisher, husband and poet.