Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Lost In a Circle of Books...

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Lost In a Circle of Books...

I'm on my fourth or fifth reading of "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss. This book is in my top five favorite books of all time, ever. This book led me to my #1 favorite book:

"The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories" by Bruno Schulz. This book has no equal. Do not die having NOT read this book. It will change your life. I weep all the way through it every time I read it because it is too much---too beautiful, too rich, too unique. After reading one chapter, I realized that I looked at the world through new eyes. (Also, knowing that Mr. Schulz was shot in the head at age 50 by a Nazi and that his magnum opus, "The Messiah" was lost just breaks my heart into a million pieces.) But reading this book is like falling into a lake of color & words & otherness & mystery & magic. It is like no other book on earth. And then I read that Ms. Krauss is married to the writer, Jonathan Safran Foer, which led me to fetch my copy of:

"Tree of Codes" by Jonathan Safran Foer which is more a work of art than a simple book because he took "The Street of Crocodiles" and selectively cut out words to create a new book which is in itself a miracle and a wonder. And then I read more books by Ms. Krauss and Mr. Foer.

And that's what I've been up to. And you?

3 comments:

erin said...: oh, marion, you cause me a wild and untameable smile:))

i have been working too much and dreaming and nearly tearing my eyes out for want of whatever it is that pushes on our being from the inside out.

and i am very very sad that jack gilbert has died and so tonight i have been crying.

xo
erin; November 13, 2012 at 10:17 PM
Kelly said...: I've only read the first of those you have mentioned here.

I'm still trying to clear off books from my TBR pile. I'm afraid I'll never live long enough to complete the task (especially since I still add to it, though I've been good in "not buying" this year)!; November 14, 2012 at 4:07 PM
Marion said...: Erin, I know how you feel. I was sad to hear about Jack Gilbert's death, too. But as he'd been battling Dementia for over ten years, I'm sure it was a release for his friends and family. Love you!! xoxo

Kelly, I have many, many piles and I hope to die having many more new ones scattered about. LOL! xoxo; November 14, 2012 at 8:56 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240