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The Greatest Living Author, Karl Shapiro, 1960 - v.
Bu metin İngilizce dilinden otomatik olarak çevirilmiştir. Orjinali Göster
Henry Miller'ı yaşayan en büyük yazar olarak adlandırıyorum çünkü öyle olduğunu düşünüyorum. Ona şair demiyorum çünkü hiç şiir yazmadı; hatta şiirden bile hoşlanmıyor sanırım. Ancak yazdığı her şey, kelimenin en iyi ve en geniş anlamıyla bir şiirdir.Grove PressKitabı okudu
One thing I know, that at the recollection of these words I suddenly realized the impossibility of ever revealing to her that Paris which I had gotten to know, the Paris whose *arrondissements* are undefined, a Paris that has never existed except by virtue of my loneliness, my hunger for her. Such a huge Paris! It would take a lifetime to explore it again. This Paris, to which I alone had the key, hardly lends itself to a tour, even with the best of intentions; it is a Paris that has to be lived, that has to be experienced each day in a thousand different forms of torture, a Paris that grows inside you like a cancer, and grows and grows until you are eaten away by it.
Sayfa 179 - Grove PressKitabı okudu
I call him Joe be cause he calls me Joe. When Carl is with us he is Joe too. Everybody is Joe because it's easier that way. It's also a pleasant reminder not to take yourself too seriously.
Sayfa 102 - Grove PressKitabı okudu
I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We’re all alone here and we are dead.
Sayfa 1 - Grove PressKitabı okudu
The Greatest Living Author, Karl Shapiro, 1960 - xv.
Morally I regard Miller as a holy man, as most of his adherents do—Gandhi with a penis.
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Over all the earth a gray desert, a carpet of steel and cement. Production! More nuts and bolts, more barbed wire, more dog biscuits, more lawn mowers, more ball bearings, more high explosives, more tanks, more poison gas, more soap, more toothpaste, more newspapers, more education, more churches, more libraries, more museums. *Forward!* Time presses. The embryo is pushing through the neck of the womb, and there's not even a gob of spit to ease the passage.
Sayfa 266 - Grove PressKitabı okudu
The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through me—its past, its ancient soil, the changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its course is fixed.
Sayfa 318 - Grove PressKitabı okudu