Early ​Prose and Poetry 1 csillagozás

William Faulkner: Early Prose and Poetry

Contains 16 poems, 16 pen-and-ink drawings, and 17 prose pieces. Edited by Carvel Collins. 134 pages.

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Jonathan Cape, London, 1963
144 oldal · ISBN: 0224601903

Enciklopédia 6


Kiemelt értékelések

Arianrhod P>!
William Faulkner: Early Prose and Poetry

Már rég olvasnom köllött vón Faulknert! Mindezidáig viszont vonakodtam, halasztgattam a dolgot, hogy megismerkedjek vele, és most azt mondom, kár volt. Olvassatok Faulknert, megéri!

Azért választottam első könyvnek ezt a gyűjteményt, mert az első irodalmi és művészi próbálkozásait foglalja össze, az egyetemi, vagy inkább mondhatni egyetem mellett töltött éveiből. Vannak benne versek, könyvrecenziók – utóbbiak különösen megragadták a fantáziámat, itt aztán kaptam a klasszikus stílusú, romantikus versek szenvelgő költőjének ironikus prózájából is, ami sokkal inkább bejött, bár a költemények is nagyon jók, formailag a tökélyre törnek, csak az az igazi láng hiányzik még belőlük, ami a prózában, a kötetben szereplő néhány novellában már kiütközik. És a rajzai, azok fantasztikusak!

Visszatérve a recenziókra, szégyenkeznem kellett. Annyira eredetiek, olyan jól megragadják az olvasmányai lényegét, torz vagy értékes vonásait, amennyire ritkán sikerül még itt a molyon alkotók krémjének is. Hogy lehet ezt elsajátítani? Vagy erre születni kell?


Népszerű idézetek

Arianrhod P>!

The second in this series of articles discussed Conrad Aiken, whose poetry Faulkner respected and frequently quoted admiringly to his University of Mississippi friends, as he did the poetry of James Joyce, a volume of which he often carried about the campus.

Arianrhod P>!

When Pan sighs and his pipes doth blow
While sky above and earth below
Stand still and hearken to his strain,
And sigh also as does the rain
Through woodland lanes remote and cool
To dream upon a leafed pool.

Naiads' Song

Arianrhod P>!

Saneness, that is the word. Live and let live; criticise with taste for a criterion, and not tongue. The English review criticises the book, the American the author.

On Criticism

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I have a nameless wish to go
To some far silent midnight noon
Where lonely streams whisper and flow
And sigh on sands blanched by the moon,
And blond limbed dancers whirling past,
The senile worn moon staring through
The sighing trees, until at last,
Their hair is powdered bright with dew.

L' A pres-Midi d'un Faune

Arianrhod P>!

Mr. Percy – like alas ! how many of us – suffered the misfortune of having been born out of his time. He should have lived in Victorian England and gone to Italy with Swinburne, for like Swinburne, he is a mixture of passionate adoration of beauty and as passionate a despair and disgust with its manifestations and accessories in the human race.

In April Once by W. A. Percy

Arianrhod P>!

In the fog generated by the mental puberty of contemporary American versifiers while writing inferior Keats or sobbing over the middle west, appears one rift of heaven sent blue – the poems of Conrad Aiken. He, alone of the entire yelping pack, seems to have a definite goal in mind. The others – there are perhaps half a dozen exceptions – are so many loud sounds lost in a single depth of privet hedge; the others lay about them lustily with mouth open and eyes closed, some in more or less impenetrable thickets of Browningesque obscurity, others hopelessly mired in the swamps of mediocrity, and all are creating a last flurry before darkness kindly engulfs them.

Turns and Movies

Kapcsolódó szócikkek: Conrad Aiken
Arianrhod P>!

Something new enough to be outstanding in this age of mental puberty, this loud gesturing of the aesthetic messiahs of our emotional Valhalla who have one eye on the ball and the other on the grandstand.

Aria da Capo

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Some one has said – a Frenchman, probably; they have said everything – that art is preeminently provincial: i.e., it comes directly from a certain age and a certain locality.

American Drama: Eugene O'Neill

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Writing people are all so pathetically torn between a desire to make a figure in the world and a morbid interest in their personal egos – the deadly fruit of the grafting of Sigmund Freud upon the dynamic chaos of a hodge-podge of nationalities.

Inhibitions

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Time changes us, but Time's self does not change. Here is the same air, the same sunlight in which Shelley dreamed of golden men and women immortal in a silver world and in which young John Keats wrote „Endymion” trying to gain enough silver to marry Fannie Brawne and set up an apothecary's shop. Is not there among us someone who can write something beautiful and passionate and sad instead of saddening?

Verse Old and Nascent: A Pilgrimage


Hasonló könyvek címkék alapján

T. S. Eliot: The Waste Land / A kopár föld
Michael Jackson: Dancing the Dream
Jim Morrison: Szeretlek és gyűlöllek
Allen Ginsberg: Howl and Other Poems
Charles Bukowski: The Pleasures of the Damned
Louise Glück: Averno
Charles Bukowski: Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way: New Poems
Charles Bukowski: Mockingbird Wish Me Luck
Sylvia Plath: Collected Poems
Charles Bukowski: War All the Time