Letters & Essays of the Day
Scraps
By Abdulah Sidran
The past wasn’t talked about, but you could feel its tentacles wherever you looked.
The past wasn’t talked about, but you could feel its tentacles wherever you looked.
The remarkable document here published for the first time is an explanatory note to the censor at the Pisa Detention Camp where Pound was held after the war.
Jorge Luis Borges is a great writer who has composed only little essays or short narratives. Yet they suffice for us to call him great because of their wonderful intelligence, their wealth of invention, and their tight, almost mathematical style. Argentine by birth and temperament, but nurtured on universal literature, Borges has no spiritual homeland. He creates, outside time and space, imaginary and symbolic worlds.
Entered U.P. Penn at 15 with intention of studying comparative values in literature (poetry) and began doing so unbeknown to the faculty. 1902 enrolled as special student to avoid irrelevant subjects. 1903—5 continued process at Hamilton College under W.P. Shepard, “Schnitz” Brandt and J.D. Ibbotson. 1905—7 P.G. at U. of Penn. Chiefly impressed by lack of correlation between different depts, and lack either of general survey of literature or any coherent interest in literature as such (as distinct for example from philology).
The sculptor Gustav Seitz has been living and teaching in Hamburg since 1958. He enjoys travelling and docs a lot of it. Seitz paid his first visit to Paris in 1928. At that time he did something which for a young and unknown artist was unusual: he called on Maillol and Despiau. That meeting with the classic modern French sculptors was more than a mere incident for Seitz. It had the effect of clarifying his own position.
I awoke early in my apartment and rested quietly for an hour. Then I phoned my office to say that I would be in. Lucky, my secretary, was pleased, and said that she was thinking of getting married.
I saw Lowry only once, that time thirteen years ago, when as an unknown author he arrived in New York as a kind of herald for a novel he had finally finished. Between the man and his art falls the shadow, but if there is an exception, it was Lowry and his Under the Volcano. There was no space between them, no room for a shadow. The identical pressures were in both, the same unrelenting intensity.