holidayclubrecordings.co.uk - Books/Literature http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/blog-tags/booksliterature en Gregory Corso - Marriage http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/gregory-corso-marriage <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/corso2_0.jpeg" width="650" height="426" alt="Gregory Corso, " /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>Image above - Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Maretta Greer at Opening of Timothy Leary's Mediation Center, Hudson Street, February 15, 1967</p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/HXp2eyC2oaQ" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p><strong>Marriage</strong></p> <p>Should I get married? Should I be Good? <br />Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood? <br />Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries <br />tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets <br />then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries <br />and she going just so far and I understanding why <br />not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel! <br />Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone <br />and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-</p> <p>When she introduces me to her parents <br />back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie, <br />should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa <br />and not ask Where's the bathroom? <br />How else to feel other than I am, <br />often thinking Flash Gordon soap- <br />O how terrible it must be for a young man <br />seated before a family and the family thinking <br />We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou! <br />After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living? <br />Should I tell them? Would they like me then? <br />Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter <br />but we're gaining a son- <br />And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?</p> <p>O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends <br />and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded <br />just waiting to get at the drinks and food- <br />And the priest! He looking at me if I masturbated <br />asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife? <br />And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue! <br />I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back <br />She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha! <br />And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-</p> <p>then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes <br />Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates! <br />All streaming into cozy hotels <br />All going to do the same thing tonight <br />The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen <br />The lobby zombies they knowing what <br />The whistling elevator man he knowing <br />The winking bellboy knowing <br />Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything! <br />Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye! <br />Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon! <br />running rampant into those almost climatic suites <br />yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel! <br />O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls <br />I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce-</p> <p>But I should get married I should be good <br />How nice it'd be to come home to her <br />and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen <br />aproned young and lovely wanting by baby <br />and so happy about me she burns the roast beef <br />and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair <br />saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf! <br />God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married! <br />So much to do! like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night <br />and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books <br />Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower <br />like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence <br />like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest <br />grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky! <br />And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him <br />When are you going to stop people killing whales! <br />And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle <br />Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-</p> <p>Yet if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow <br />and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn, <br />up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me, <br />finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man <br />knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear not Roman coin soup- <br />O what would that be like! <br />Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus <br />For a rattle bag of broken Bach records <br />Tack Della Francesca all over its crib <br />Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib <br />And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon</p> <p>No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father <br />not rural not snow no quiet window <br />but hot smelly New York City <br />seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls <br />a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job! <br />And five nose running brats in love with Batman <br />And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired <br />like those hag masses of the 18th century <br />all wanting to come in and watch TV <br />The landlord wants his rent <br />Grocery store Blue Cross Gas &amp; Electric Knights of Columbus <br />Impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking- <br />No! I should not get married and I should never get married! <br />But-imagine if I were to marry a beautiful sophisticated woman <br />tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves <br />holding a cigarette holder in one hand and highball in the other <br />and we lived high up a penthouse with a huge window <br />from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days <br />No I can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-</p> <p>O but what about love? I forget love <br />not that I am incapable of love <br />it's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes- <br />I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother <br />And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible <br />And there maybe a girl now but she's already married <br />And I don't like men and- <br />but there's got to be somebody! <br />Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married, <br />all alone in furnished room with pee stains on my underwear <br />and everybody else is married! All in the universe married but me!</p> <p>Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible <br />then marriage would be possible- <br />Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover <br />so I wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.</p> <p>Gregory Corso</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-11-19T12:00:00+00:00">Monday, November 19, 2012 - 12:00</span></div></div></div> Fri, 16 Nov 2012 11:07:43 +0000 holidayclub 332 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/gregory-corso-marriage#comments William Carlos Williams - Danse Russe http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/william-carlos-williams-danse-russe <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/williamcarloswilliams.jpeg" width="1536" height="1104" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>If I when my wife is sleeping<br />and the baby and Kathleen<br />are sleeping<br />and the sun is a flame-white disc<br />in silken mists<br />above shining trees,—<br />if I in my north room<br />dance naked,grotesquely<br />before my mirror<br />waving my shirt round my head<br />and singing softly to myself:<br />“I am lonely,lonely.<br />I was born to be lonely,<br />I am best so!”<br />If I admire my arms,my face,<br />my shoulders,flanks,buttocks<br />against the yellow drawn shades,—</p> <p>Who shall say I am not<br />the happy genius of my household?</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-10-05T10:15:00+01:00">Friday, October 5, 2012 - 10:15</span></div></div></div> Fri, 05 Oct 2012 09:11:39 +0000 holidayclub 331 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/william-carlos-williams-danse-russe#comments John Cage - Indeterminacy pt1 http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/john-cage-indeterminacy-pt1 <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/john-cage-paris-1981.jpeg" width="901" height="602" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>"I certainly had no feeling for harmony, and Schoenberg thought that that would make it impossible for me to write music. He said, 'You'll come to a wall you won't be able to get through.' So I said, 'I'll beat my head against that wall.' " - John Cage</p> <div class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AJMekwS6b9U" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></div> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div><div class="field-item odd"><a href="/blog-tags/music" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Music</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-09-27T17:00:00+01:00">Thursday, September 27, 2012 - 17:00</span></div></div></div> Thu, 27 Sep 2012 16:00:55 +0000 holidayclub 327 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/john-cage-indeterminacy-pt1#comments Origins and History of Consciousness By Adrienne Rich http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/origins-and-history-consciousness-adrienne-rich <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/adrienne_rich_ap_img%281%29.jpeg" width="600" height="288" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>Origins and History of Consciousness<br />By Adrienne Rich </p> <p>I.</p> <p>Night-life. Letters, journals, bourbon</p> <p>sloshed in the glass. Poems crucified on the wall,<br />dissected, their bird-wings severed<br />like trophies. No one lives in this room<br />without living through some kind of crisis.</p> <p>No one lives in this room<br />without confronting the whiteness of the wall<br />behind the poems, planks of books,<br />photographs of dead heroines.<br />Without contemplating last and late<br />the true nature of poetry. The drive<br />to connect. The dream of a common language.</p> <p>Thinking of lovers, their bind faith, their<br />experienced crucifixions,<br />my envy is not simple. I have dreamed of going to bed<br />as walking into clear water ringed by a snowy wood<br />white as cold sheets, thinking, I’ll freeze in there.<br />My bare feet are numbed already by the snow<br />but the water<br />is mild, I sink and float<br />like a warm amphibious animal<br />that has broken the net, has run<br />through fields of snow leaving no print;<br />this water washes off the scent—<br />You are clear now<br />of the hunter, the trapper<br />the wardens of the mind—</p> <p>yet the warm animal dreams on<br />of another animal<br />swimming under the snow-flecked surface of the pool,<br />and wakes, and sleeps again.</p> <p>No one sleeps in this room without<br />the dream of a common language.</p> <p>II.</p> <p>It was simple to meet you, simple to take your eyes<br />into mine, saying: these are eyes I have known<br />from the first…. It was simple to touch you<br />against the hacked background, the grain of what we<br />had been, the choices, years…. It was even simple<br />to take each other’s lives in our hands, as bodies.</p> <p>What is not simple: to wake from drowning<br />from where the ocean beat inside us like an afterbirth<br />into this common, acute particularity<br />these two selves who walked half a lifetime untouching—<br />to wake to something deceptively simple: a glass<br />sweated with dew, a ring of the telephone, a scream<br />of someone beaten up far down in the street<br />causing each of us to listen to her own inward scream</p> <p>knowing the mind of the mugger and the mugged<br />as any woman must who stands to survive this city,<br />this century, this life…<br />each of us having loved the flesh in its clenched or loosened beauty<br />better than trees or music (yet loving those too<br />as if they were flesh—and they are—but the flesh<br />of beings unfathomed as yet in our roughly literal life).</p> <p>III.</p> <p>It’s simple to wake from sleep with a stranger,<br />dress, go out, drink coffee,<br />enter a life again. It isn’t simple<br />to wake from sleep into the neighborhood<br />of one neither strange nor familiar<br />whom we have chosen to trust. Trusting, untrusting,<br />we lowered ourselves into this, let ourselves<br />downward hand over hand as on a rope that quivered<br />over the unsearched…. We did this. Conceived<br />of each other, conceived each other in a darkness<br />which I remember as drenched in light.<br />I want to call this, life.</p> <p>But I can’t call it life until we start to move<br />beyond this secret circle of fire<br />where our bodies are giant shadows flung on a wall<br />where the night becomes our inner darkness, and sleeps<br />like a dumb beast, head on her paws, in the corner.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-08-22T12:30:00+01:00">Wednesday, August 22, 2012 - 12:30</span></div></div></div> Wed, 22 Aug 2012 11:32:00 +0000 holidayclub 319 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/origins-and-history-consciousness-adrienne-rich#comments The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/myth-sisyphus-albert-camus <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/SisyphusTitian.jpeg" width="740" height="829" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.</p> <p>If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction in this. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile laborer of the underworld. To begin with, he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Aegina, the daughter of Aesopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained to Sisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Aesopus would give water to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He was punished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Pluto could not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of the conqueror.</p> <p>It is said also that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld. And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission to return to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyed water and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls, signs of anger, warnings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling sea, and the smiles of the earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, led him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him.</p> <p>You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the aburd hero. He is,as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain. It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.</p> <p>If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and this fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.</p> <p>If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and th sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy rises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Thus, Oedipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment he knows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same time, blind and desperate, he realizes that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: "Despite so many ordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well." Sophocles' Oedipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism.</p> <p>One does not discover the absurd without attempting to write a manual of happiness. "What! by such narrow ways--?" There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd discovery. It happens as well that the feeling of the absurd springs from happiness. "I conclude that all is well," says Oedipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile sufferings. It makes of fate a human matter, which must be settled among men.</p> <p>All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing. Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. there is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his effort will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that silent pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.</p> <p>I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-07-11T13:15:00+01:00">Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - 13:15</span></div></div></div> Wed, 11 Jul 2012 12:24:06 +0000 holidayclub 304 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/myth-sisyphus-albert-camus#comments An Extraordinary Adventure - Mayakovsky http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/extraordinary-adventure-mayakovsky <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/Vladimir-Mayakovsky-1893-1930.jpeg" width="500" height="399" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>One of my favourite Mayakovsky poems detailing the day the sun stopped by for tea.</p> <p>Firstly, here's a little introduction to the great poet...</p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Nju_ZQa23jU" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p><strong>AN EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO ME, VLADIMIR MAYAKOVSKY, ONE SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY</strong></p> <p><em>(Pushkino, Mount Akula, Rumyantsev Cottage, 20 miles down the Yaroslav Railway)</em></p> <p>A hundred suns the sunset fired,<br />into July summer shunted,<br />it was so hot,<br />even heat perspired-<br />it happened in the country.<br />The little hamlet known as Pushkino,<br />Akula's Mount<br />made hunchbacked.<br />Below, the village<br />seemed pushed-in so --<br />its crooked roof-crusts cracked.<br />And beyond that village<br />yawned a hole,<br />into that hole- and not just maybe -<br />the sun for certain always rolled,<br />slowly, surely, daily.<br />At morn<br />to flood the world<br />again<br />the sun rose up-<br />and ruddied it.<br />Day after day<br />it happened this way,<br />till I got <br />fed up with it.<br />And one day I let out such a shout,<br />that everything grew pale,<br />point-blank at the sun I yelled:<br />"Get out!<br />Enough of loafing there in hell!"<br />To the sun I yelled:<br />"You lazy mummer!<br />in the clouds cushioning,<br />while here - knowing neither winter nor summer,<br />I sit, just posters brushing!"<br />I yelled to the sun:<br />"Hey, wait there!<br />Listen, golden brightbrow,<br />instead of vainly<br />setting in the air,<br />have tea with me<br />right now!"<br />What have I done!<br />For ruin I'm heading!<br />To me, <br />of his own goodwill,<br />the sun himself,<br />ray-strides outspreading,<br />is marching over the hill.<br />Not wanting to show him I'm afraid-<br />back I retreat, guardedly.<br />Now his eyes lighten the garden shade.<br />He's actually in the garden now.<br />Through windows,<br />doors,<br />crannies he spread;<br />in flooded a sunny mass,<br />having burst in<br />he drew his breath,<br />and spoke in a deep bass.<br />"I've withheld my fires you see<br />the first time since creation began.<br />You've invited me?<br />So lay out the tea,<br />and, poet, lay on the jam!"<br />Tears from my poor eyes were streaming-<br />the heat really made me scary,<br />all the same-<br />I got the samovar steaming:<br />"Of course, <br />sit down, comrade luminary!"<br />What possessed me to shout at him like a fool,<br />inwardly myself I cursed, -<br />and sat confused<br />on the corner of a stool,<br />frightened it might be worse!<br />But a radiance strange<br />streamed from the sun, -<br />and my tact<br />no longer taxing,<br />I sit and chat with the luminated one,<br />gradually relaxing.<br />About this,<br />and about that I chatted,<br />worn out with ROSTA publicity,<br />but the sun:<br />"Alright,<br />don't get so rattled,<br />see things with greater simplicity!<br />You think it's easy<br />for me<br />to shine so?<br />- If so, come and have a test! -<br />But once you go -<br />why have a go<br />go - and shine your damnedest!"<br />We gossiped like that till darkness appeared,<br />till the night before, that is.<br />For how could there be any darkness here?<br />And now<br />like chums we chatted.<br />And soon,<br />in open friendship bonded,<br />to slap him on the back I dared.<br />And likewise the sun<br />warmly responded:<br />"Why, comrade, we're a pair!<br />Come, poet,<br />let us dawn<br />and sing<br />away the drabness of the universe.<br />As the sun, myself I'll fling,<br />and you - yourself,<br />in verse."<br />And shadows' walls,<br />and jails of night<br />fell to its double-barreled shot.<br />Battering barrage of poetry and light -<br />shine out, no matter what!<br />And when the sun gets tired,<br />and night<br />wants to rest<br />its sleepy-headed,<br />why suddenly -<br />I shine with all my might -<br />and once more day is trumpeted.<br />Shine all the time,<br />for ever shine.<br />the last days' depths to plumb,<br />to shine - !<br />spite every hell combined!<br />So runs my slogan -<br />and the sun's!</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div><div class="field-item odd"><a href="/blog-tags/inspiration" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Inspiration</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-07-10T11:45:00+01:00">Tuesday, July 10, 2012 - 11:45</span></div></div></div> Tue, 10 Jul 2012 10:46:16 +0000 holidayclub 302 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/extraordinary-adventure-mayakovsky#comments Trout Mask Replica record sleeve http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/trout-mask-replica-record-sleeve <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/hank.jpeg" width="1409" height="1431" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>The original promo sleeve of Trout Mask Replica apparently came with an envelope of poems, here they are in all their glory.</p> <p><a href="http://www.beefheart.com/datharp/albums/official/tmr.htm">Here's where I found it, this site is incredible for Beeheart detail. </a></p> <p>Envelope cover:</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_cover.jpeg" width="450" height="198" /></p> <p>Captain Beefheart</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_beefheart.jpeg" width="450" height="403" /></p> <p>Zoot Horn Rollo</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_zoot.jpeg" width="450" height="391" /></p> <p>Rockette Morton</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_rockette.jpeg" width="450" height="456" /></p> <p>Antennae Jimmy Semens</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_antennae.jpeg" width="450" height="368" /></p> <p>The Mascara Snake</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/TMR_promopack_mascara.jpeg" width="450" height="502" /></p> <p>AND...</p> <p>Here's how the original lyric sheet pullout looked... (right click and open in new tab to zoom right in)</p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/page%201.jpeg" width="1600" height="1559" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/page%202.jpeg" width="1600" height="1518" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/page%203.jpeg" width="1600" height="1541" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/page%204.jpeg" width="1600" height="1508" /></p> <p>Such a great great album!</p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KIKZNDJQe44" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div><div class="field-item odd"><a href="/blog-tags/music" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Music</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-07-06T11:45:00+01:00">Friday, July 6, 2012 - 11:45</span></div></div></div> Fri, 06 Jul 2012 10:45:51 +0000 holidayclub 300 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/trout-mask-replica-record-sleeve#comments Tadeusz Rózewicz http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/tadeusz-r%C3%B3zewicz <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/ae3d4effe7aade1c55714e5078643750.jpeg" width="640" height="430" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>Tadeusz Różewicz,  (born October 9, 1921, Radomsko, Poland), Polish poet and playwright, one of the leading writers of the post-World War II period.</p> <p>Dealing with solitude, estrangement, and the existential situation of a poet, Różewicz’s poetry, in particular, gradually evolves toward values whose implications go beyond the contemporary to the universal. Ultimately it expresses, in a simple, often metaphoric form, a concern with the moral issues inherent in the preoccupations and attitudes of modern society. In its simplicity the poetry is unlike Różewicz’s dramas, which are filled with a sense of the absurd.</p> <p>Bio from <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/511691/Tadeusz-Rozewicz">Britannia.com</a></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/IMG_20120620_190247.jpeg" width="534" height="712" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/IMG_20120621_093635.jpeg" width="534" height="712" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/IMG_20120621_093726.jpeg" width="534" height="712" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/IMG_20120621_093652.jpeg" width="534" height="712" /></p> <p><img src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/IMG_20120621_093620.jpeg" width="534" height="712" /></p> <p> </p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-06-21T12:15:00+01:00">Thursday, June 21, 2012 - 12:15</span></div></div></div> Thu, 21 Jun 2012 11:30:47 +0000 holidayclub 282 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/tadeusz-r%C3%B3zewicz#comments A duel: Proust vs Lorrain http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/duel-proust-vs-lorrain <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/duel-001.jpeg" width="813" height="506" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>From <a href="http://www.dandyism.net/2012/02/12/dueling-dandies/">Dandyism.net</a></p> <p>"As with most duels, this one begins with an insult. Writing in his column “Pall-Mall Semaine,” Raitif de la Bretonne, nom de plume of Jean Lorrain (whose real name was Paul Duval), singled out another young writer by the name of Marcel Proust.  Lorrain had written a review of Proust’s first novel Pleasures and Days. Among Lorrain’s criticisms, he found Proust’s work, “… elegiac spinelessness…” He thought it full of “tenderness, vain, inane flirtations, and pretentious in style…” He then went on to write of Proust’s private affairs. He hinted at Proust having an affair with M. Alphonse Daudet’s son, Lucien, and that Daudet might write a future preface for Proust as a result of this affair.</p> <p>Lorrain and Proust no doubt ran in some of the same circles. The two men shared many acquaintances, such as fellow traveler Robert de Montesquiou; so perhaps Lorrain did have intimate knowledge of Proust’s private trysts. While this may be true, Proust certainly didn’t want his private life bandied about by Lorrain for all to see. Proust, obviously and rightly incensed, demanded satisfaction.</p> <p>It may be difficult to imagine Proust, with his celebrated asthma, throwing down the gauntlet at the feet of Lorrain, but that is exactly what he did. He rose to the occasion in a manner which may seem uncharacteristic of the gentle, meticulous, Hercule Poirot-like Proust many believe they know. His friend Reynaldo Hahn testified in his journal that Proust “shows a coolness and firmness, for three days prior to the duel, which seem incompatible with his nerves, but does not surprise me at all.” Proust was earning the respect of his peers. When it came to being insulted, Proust stood his ground. He must have felt some pride in doing so for, at a later date, when critics had made insinuations about his character, Proust would frequently point to this moment in his history. In 1904 he wrote to Robert de Montesquiou, “I remember when I fought with M. Lorrain, a time when I had not yet set the day, but I was already there in my morning coat, ready, my only concern was that the duel did not take place before noon.”</p> <p>We see the sangfroid of an idler whose only concern was to not have to get up too early. </p> <p>Not much about the fight exists, but it certainly took place. An edition of Le Figaro from February, 1897, says that the seconds met at the home of Jean Beraud where, because no settlement was reached, the conditions of the affair were made. The duel would be fought with pistols at a distance of twenty five paces.</p> <p>On the appointed day the weather had turned cold and rainy, but the two men took their positions. Proust fired first. The shot hit the ground at Lorrain’s feet. Proust then stood to receive Lorrain’s fire. Lorrain aimed and fired. The bullet flew wide of the mark.</p> <p>The paper the next day reported that the duel ended with no injury. “Two bullets were exchanged without result, and the witnesses, by agreement, have decided that this meeting ended the dispute.” Honor had been satisfied although Jean Lorrain and Marcel Proust would still go on vehemently disliking each other, but their issues on this day were publicly laid to rest.</p> <p>It is fun imagining a young Proust dressed in an immaculate morning coat, lily in the buttonhole, staring down the sights of an antique dueling pistol at an equally well turned out Lorrain, both nonchalantly looking death in the face as they prepare to receive a shot from the other.</p> <p>Of course, had the two been better practiced at shooting the affair may have had a more gruesome ending. It is fortunate for us that it ended as it did, as Proust would go on to finish his monumental À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, and Lorrain his many novels, poems, and plays.</p> <p><em>Source material for this article includes: Douglas W.  Alden, “Marcel Proust’s Duel,” Modern Language Notes, 53 (1938)."</em></p> <p><em><br /></em></p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-06-14T12:15:00+01:00">Thursday, June 14, 2012 - 12:15</span></div></div></div> Thu, 14 Jun 2012 11:35:37 +0000 holidayclub 273 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/duel-proust-vs-lorrain#comments Swann's Way (radio adaptation) http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/swanns-way-radio-adaptation <div class="field field-name-field-lead-img field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/sites/default/files/marcel-p.jpeg" width="750" height="500" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>Having just finished the Cities of the Plain (vol 7 &amp; 8 of the Chatto &amp; Windus Proust translations), Swann's Way seems a long time ago. While kicking around on youtube I came across this series from BBC radio 4 of an adaptation of Swann's Way, if the drawn out sentences of the novel put you off, here's a really good intro to the wonderful 'In search of lost time'.</p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/P-Y7O1UAox8" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/v6gTrLQTSAE" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/LmxY9JAoRPY" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0hrnmLqGwIg" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/x4CXEU257UU" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p class="video-wrapper"> <iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eJbRPYnSxgg" frameborder="0" width="420" height="315"></iframe></p> <p>Enjoy, and if you're interested in reading I'd recommend the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Kenneth_Scott_Moncrieff">Scott Moncrieff</a> translation for Chatto &amp; Windus</p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tag field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/blog-tags/booksliterature" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel">Books/Literature</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-date field-type-datetime field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><span class="date-display-single" property="dc:date" datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2012-06-08T12:30:00+01:00">Friday, June 8, 2012 - 12:30</span></div></div></div> Fri, 08 Jun 2012 10:43:30 +0000 holidayclub 265 at http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk http://holidayclubrecordings.co.uk/post/swanns-way-radio-adaptation#comments