measuring his need

So I’ve been discovering the amazing poetry of John Matthias. The book I’m reading (only book I was able to find in a library) is Northern Summer: New and Selected Poems 1963-1983 and I highly, HIGHLY recommend getting it, reading it etc. He’s damn, damn good. Here is one of the poems.

John Matthias: You Measure John

For posterity you measure John.
For the catalogue
you measure with a tape
his works
and recognize yourself as woman
among women
in the life of this man John, his death.

You measure for the catalogue
the pictures
and their frames
thinking of the others
measuring his need
measuring his pride (who could not
please himself)
measuring his gypsy caravans of children
as he went away to paint, badly,
the famous and the rich.

No, you do not like Augustus John.
Measuring the thickness
of a new biography you offer me
I think –
not. You tell it simply
and with no embellishments yourself.
It is an old story:
some man damages the lives of women
who would love him.
There are various excuses.
One is art.

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Interview with Brandon Sanderson

So here is an interview with Brandon Sanderson (here is my review of one of his books). It’s interesting and -by contrast- explains why GRRM’s books have been so slow in coming. The video itself is a bit odd. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POUpnyGQ25E

Foi sans Défaut

Looking for commentary on Pierre Drieu La Rochelle, a writer I had not previously read (but do now own a novel by), I found a brief, but very good essay by Philippe Sollers which included this paragraph that I found understandably interesting:

Le suicide, pour Drieu, est une “foi sans défaut”, une religion d’immortalité nourrie par une méditation intense à partir de la métaphysique indienne. On tue le Moi, on rejoint le Soi, pas de Dieu, pas de péché, la possibilité d’une “merveille” à la portée de chacun. La dernière journée de Drieu à Paris, sur les boulevards ou aux Tuileries, est inoubliable. Il va rentrer chez lui, avaler du “luminal” et ouvrir le gaz, il a toujours mené, sans que personne s’en doute, “une vie libre et dérobée” (beaucoup de bordels), il fait l’éloge de la solitude : “Je prête à la solitude toutes sortes de vertus qu’elle n’a pas toujours ; je la confonds avec le recueillement et la méditation, la délicatesse de cœur et d’esprit, la sévérité vis-à-vis de soi-même tempérée d’ironie, l’agilité à comparer et à déduire.”