Posts Tagged ‘In Memoriam’
August 29, 2012 | by Sadie Stein
We were saddened to learn of the death of Daryl Hine last week at the age of seventy-six. Over the years, his work appeared with regularity in our pages, and his voice will be greatly missed. The following poem appeared in issue 155.
Time’s one-way traffic won’t reverse
Summer’s sentimental course
Or force the headlong universe
Perversely backwards to its source.
Reverting to the title page
Cannot erase a book once read;
What echo of a golden age
Gilds an eternity of lead?
All the spontaneous happenings
Of the erotic pantomime.
Precipitate, straightforward lovers
Intimate that certain things
Are irreversible as time.
August 1, 2012 | by The Paris Review
“The most interesting thing about writing is the way that it obliterates time. Three hours seem like three minutes. Then there is the business of surprise. I never know what is coming next. The phrase that sounds in the head changes when it appears on the page. Then I start probing it with a pen, finding new meanings. Sometimes I burst out laughing at what is happening as I twist and turn sentences. Strange business, all in all. One never gets to the end of it. That’s why I go on, I suppose. To see what the next sentences I write will be.” —The Art of Fiction No. 50
June 6, 2012 | by The Paris Review
“I don’t believe in optimism. I believe in optimal behavior. That’s a different thing. If you behave every day of your life to the top of your genetics, what can you do? Test it. Find out. You don’t know—you haven’t done it yet. You must live life at the top of your voice! At the top of your lungs shout and listen to the echoes. I learned a lesson years ago. I had some wonderful Swedish meatballs at my mother’s table with my dad and my brother and when I finished I pushed back from the table and said, God! That was beautiful. And my brother said, No, it was good. See the difference?
Action is hope. At the end of each day, when you’ve done your work, you lie there and think, Well, I’ll be damned, I did this today. It doesn’t matter how good it is, or how bad—you did it. At the end of the week you’ll have a certain amount of accumulation. At the end of a year, you look back and say, I’ll be damned, it’s been a good year.”
—Ray Bradbury, The Art of Fiction No. 203
May 29, 2012 | by The Paris Review
It is with deep sadness that we note the death of our reader Marina Keegan.
Marina graduated last week from Yale, where she was a finalist for the Wallace Prize in creative writing, a leader of the Occupy Morgan Stanley protest, and a staff writer for the Yale Daily News. One of her most popular articles, on the path from Yale to Wall Street, earned her a guest column in The New York Times Dealbook. A musical she wrote, Independents, is set to be performed this summer at the New York Fringe Festival.
She died Saturday afternoon in a car accident at the age of twenty-two.
Marina came to the Review recommended by her classmates, who described her as the star writer of their class. She was funny, self-assured, blazingly bright, full of mature dedication, and passionate for life. In her final column for the Daily News, she exhorted her readers to “make something happen to this world.”
Our hearts go out to her family and friends.
May 15, 2012 | by Sadie Stein
“When your life is half over, I think you have to see the face of death in order to start writing seriously. There are people who see the end quickly, like Rimbaud. When you start seeing it, you feel you have to rescue these things. Death is the great Maecenas, Death is the great angel of writing. You must write because you are not going to live any more.”
—Carlos Fuentes, The Art of Fiction No. 68
April 23, 2012 | by Sadie Stein