For this month of March, the beginning of our trip to Greece, with She
Died Happy by Alexandra Papadopoulou; The Colossus of Maroussi by HenriMiller, then I Closed My Houses by Marianne Catzaras. Austria: Stefan
Zweig Cosmopolitan. United States: In Dreams by Delmore Schwartz.
France: Échappées belles by Denis Lavant and Nora, a puzzle of
literature and death by Jehan van Langhenhooven. ---- "What excuses God
is that he does not exist" - Stendhal ---- Kafka exhibition at the
Melina Mercouri Center with the Czech Cultural Center of Athens ----
Alexandra Papadopoulou: She died happy ---- Le Miel des anges editions
offer us She died happy (trans. Hélène Zervas and Michel Volkovitch), a
collection of eighteen short stories "finally translated into French" by
Alexandra Papadopoulou, "the forgotten writer of Constantinople, a
feminist before her time."
These short stories are as short, uneven and often fatal as those of Guy
de Maupassant. Written with the same precision, the same keen sense of
observation and in the same period style, of which perhaps only the
setting differs. Maupassant's peasant Normandy is replaced by that of
the Phanariotes, aristocratic families of Orthodox Christian faith, most
of Greek origin, like Papadopoulou's. They evolved at the end of the
second half of the 19th century between the salty waters of the
Proponticus, the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. We therefore come across
many themes common to Maupassant...
A little foretaste:
How can a mother set up her daughter - if not for her misfortune - with
a rich old man? Further on, "the pernicious evil that evil tongues do"
is mentioned. Also mentioned, the bad faith of mothers in the face of
obvious reality. Just as delicious, are the advice of a fulfilled
courtesan to her best friend. Sexist remarks from men from the Phanariot
community about their sisters and cousins "as boring as pets"! Then, a
very lively conversation on the misdeeds and benefits of coquetry. Then,
the story of a hero in spite of himself, but poorly rewarded. A few
questions then: what impromptu event can provoke laughter in a neglected
and seemingly undead woman? What dark secrets are hidden beneath the
gilding of a brilliant dance party? Can paranoia lead to death? Why
marry and leave your family, if it is to find worse? And what are the
harmful effects of negligence? The story again, of a doctor who, in
spite of himself, makes a happy death, etc. A
somewhat old-fashioned but not without charm journey, into another time
and another space.
Henri Miller: The Colossus of Maroussi
Henry Valentine Miller, born in 1891, is an American novelist, short
story writer and essayist who broke with existing literary forms. He
developed a new type of semi-autobiographical novel that mixes character
studies, social criticism, philosophical reflections as well as sex and
mystical surrealism, in a language that could not be more explicit. His
works, including Tropic of Cancer, are based on his experiences in New
York and Paris, all banned in the United States until 1961. He also
wrote travel memoirs, literary criticism and painted watercolors.
In the preface to The Colossus of Maroussi (Libretto ed., Georges
Belmont trans.), Yannick Haenel explains to us the circumstances and
state of mind in which Henry Miller set sail from Marseille for Piraeus
in June 1938, at the invitation of his friend Lawrence Durrel. And this,
a few months before the declaration of the Second World War, while
Greece was living under the dictatorship of General Metaxas. He would
not return from this trip until the spring of 1940, with this story as
his only baggage.
Henry Miller's impressions are awakened as soon as he enters the
Marseille/Piraeus ship, while he joins the Middle Eastern passengers
rather than the Westerners: "The Greeks, like the Indians and the
Chinese, open up like flowers." Let's move on to the trip, during which
Miller never stops criticizing the United States with his fellow
acquaintances.
Discovering Athens with him is a real pleasure, enthusiastic and
communicative. Miller invites us to see everything, learn everything and
appreciate the calm and generosity of the Greeks, "despite their
poverty." His perception of the city of Corfu is also very original, as
are his considerations of the ancient people, which are without
illusion: "Murders and brutality being compensated by high-flying
metaphysical speculations", which he entrusts us to revisit. "Greece
remains a sacred enclosure and will remain so, I am convinced, until the
end of time", he also tells us.
Then comes praise for his friend Lawrence Durell, for alcohol and good
food. He then tells us about his "magical" meeting with the painter
Ghinka and the storyteller Georges Katsimbalis, who will be discussed at
length later: "He gave me the impression of an enormous tortoise that
had fallen from its shell, which was too narrow for it, and in whose
company, time no longer existed. The shepherds, that race of fools, the
sheep and even the soothsayers and witches, became timeless".
But then comes the declaration of war and the mobilization of the
Italians who claim to be neutral, on the Albanian border. How will Henry
Miller manage to live in this context of an occupied Greece?
In any case, this will not prevent him from making several trips between
Corfu and an Athens then "under the influence of Jazz" for eighteen
months. But also, among other places, to a Thebes "dead in its sleep";
to a Sparta "repulsive with virtues" or even to a Crete "this stranded
stone that was given to Greece to swallow", etc.
Throughout these pages, Henry Miller also treats us to great reflections
on history, notably during his visit to Elefsis where, according to him,
it is necessary to "throw away 2,000 years of ignorance and superstition
and get rid of Christianity and all its nonsense". He still takes us to
witness the profound meaning of life, the emptiness of material things
"all these useless things" and does not spare us in his incomparable
style neither his diarrhea, nor his drunkenness, nor his multiple
encounters and adventures, each one funnier than the last.
It was only after returning to the United States that Henry Miller would
write this moving homage to a Greece "made of earth, air, fire and
water, which breathes and invites". At least, at the time when it was
not yet invaded by mass tourism!
A first stowaway of circumstance...
Marianne Catzaras: I closed my houses
Marianne Catzaras was born in Djerba in Tunisia, to Greek parents. A
poet and photographer, she exhibits her photographs in many countries,
which draw on her imagination and her poems. For several years, she has
been translating contemporary Greek poets. In the introduction to J'ai
fermé mes maisons (published by Bruno Douccey), Murielle Szac addresses
a warm letter to Marianne Catzaras evoking their conversations about
insularity, migrants and "Greekness".
Themes that the poet will explore in turn in this small collection. A
cry of distress, an ode of love that she launches to us in the footsteps
of young Aziz, the migrant and his crossing of the Mediterranean, "the
child of the waves, a call for urgency, like a siren song" ... This
beautiful work is embellished with around eight magnificent photos by
the author.
Bravo, artist! Excerpts:
Migrants. "I don't want to see you die / And run, run / Towards the pier".
I saw the city rise. "I saw / Men / Pressed together / Against each
other / I saw them cry because they no longer knew how to tell[...]I saw
them dig / In the sea / The first scraps of earth / And deposit them in
the stripped cities". - "Repeat my name slowly so that I remember it".
The origins. "Greek, the mother tongue (pure impure), innocent guilty /
Benevolent and cursed / It is she who has blurred my memory".
Insularity. "An island / Another island / I can't stand islands anymore!"...
Stefan Zweig cosmopolitan
Stefan Zweig was born in Vienna (at the time, in Austria-Hungary), in
1881. A friend of Sigmund Freud; Arthur Schnitzler; Romain Rolland;
Richard Strauss and Emile Verhaeren, he was part of the Viennese
intelligentsia. He left his native country in 1934, due to the rise of
Nazism and his Jewish origins to take refuge in London, then in Brazil
where he committed suicide. His work consists mainly of biographies
(Fouché, Marie-Antoinette, Marie Stuart, etc.) of novels and short
stories including Amok, La Pitié dangereuse, La Confusion des
sentiments, Le joueur d'échecs. In his testamentary book, Le Monde
d'hier, souvenirs d'un européen, Zweig becomes a chronicler of "this
golden age of Europe" and analyzes what he considers to be "the failure
of a civilization."
In the preface to Stephan Zweig cosmopolite (ed. du Portrait, translated
by the Austrian, Frédérique Laurent), the editors offer us a synthesis
of the life and work "of this pacifist writer who is still one of the
most widely read in the German language, and who lived through the
darkest hours of the Nazi threat". The originality of this book
consists, among other things, in the epistolary choice made from some
2,500 letters and cards that Zweig sent to his acquaintances and
friends. 1% of them, hitherto unpublished, are commented on by Stefan
Litt and Denis Chari.
They deal more particularly with his complex relationship with
Jewishness, Zionism and anti-Semitism, "although he never took written
positions in the press". Nevertheless, he touched on a few portraits of
"Jewish figures" in some of his short stories. In her correspondence, we
come across many of her famous friends including Sigmund Freud, Arthur
Schnitzler, Romain Rolland and Max Brod. She also offers considerations
on the characters of her many biographies. Below, we offer you some
small passages and themes addressed, gleaned here and there throughout
the work.
The first part brings together some of her letters written from 1900 to
1918, before and during the First World War "which opened my eyes". At
that time, Zweig was interested in the theories of Martin Buber with
which he did not necessarily always agree. Thus: "I only conceive of
Jewishness as a feeling without forms, nor borders, nor possible
demarcation. I prefer the painful idea of the diaspora[...]I refuse that
Jewishness is a prison[...]The feeling of being Jewish does not weigh on
me". We can also read this remark of astonishing and visionary acuity:
"I have the ultimate conviction that anti-Semitic relentlessness will be
discharged after the war[...]Jewishness is facing its most serious
crisis since the Inquisition."
In the second part, his letters are dated between 1920 and 1932, "his
most prolific period." Many of them revolve around creativity in Jewish
cultural spheres. We learn that Stefan Zweig had planned to create an
Anthology of Universal Hebrew Poetry, but without the communal aspect,
"that is, without a Heimat (hometown), in the noble sense of the word"!
Elsewhere, we read harsh comments on the assassination of Rosa
Luxemburg, Karl Liebknecht and Gustav Landauer, such as: "There is
nothing I hate more than the self-deification of peoples in the storm of
hatred of the world and ideas." While right-wing extremist ideas were
spreading, we will see why he refused to go to East Frisia, "the nest of
Pan-Germans," after the assassination of Walter Rathenau. We can guess
in his letters the mistreatment of his friends Sigmund Freud, Arthur
Schnitzler and Albert Einstein. We also come across a Zweig who is
"participating" in the animal cause, or very ironic: "I have nothing
against the National Socialists who write "Prohibition to Jews", at
least that has the merit of being clear"!...
Finally, the letters from 1933 to 1941 mainly deal with the accession -
democratic as Zweig reminds us! - of National Socialism "Worse than what
the Middle Ages, Romania or Russia ever did", first in Germany, then in
all the annexed countries. "Essential testimony - according to the
editors - at a time when, with the support of a part of society, openly
racist and anti-Semitic ideology is resurfacing". Stefan Zweig does not
accept the silence of non-Jewish German writers (apart from Thomas and
Heinrich Mann and three others) on Nazism, as well as on the part of
democratic states. He begins to doubt the Jewish colonization of
Palestine. Elsewhere, he explains the purpose for which he wrote his
Erasmus of Amsterdam, as a symbol against barbarism. He also explains
his non-participation in the anti-fascist review Die Sammlung, created
by Klaus Mann, Thomas's eldest son (on this subject, see the long
correspondence exchanged between them on this subject, in Klaus Mann or
the Vain Icarus by Patrick Schindler). Zweig rather dreams of a "great
federation of German-Jewish writers" opening onto a common manifesto.
Further on, we will discover the reasons why Zweig will decide to send
the greater part of his correspondence to the Jewish Library in
Jerusalem. Elsewhere, we can come across this definition by Franz Kafka:
"the Jewish spirit in its most sublime form". We follow him on his
journey, "while things are getting worse on the old continent".
To name just a few examples: the advent of the anti-Semitic nationalist
Romanian government; on a personal level: his first wife, Fridericke,
who refused to leave Austria, which was in the process of becoming
Nazified; the persecution of Jews after the Anschluss by "Hitleraille";
the refusal of the USSR to welcome Jewish exiles; or the relations
between Stalin and Hitler, foreshadowing the non-aggression pact and the
situation of Polish Jews after the Nazi annexation, etc. Bitter
reflections on the 400,000 wealthy Jews who remained in Nazi Germany. We
will follow Stefan Zweig, a refugee - like Freud - in London, during the
Blackout in September 1939 and the administrative harassment that
foreigners had to endure there. Finally, the terrible episode of his
flight to Brazil, "where the Jews were divided into small antagonistic
groups, just like in the United States."
By completing this historically first-rate work, we understand better
what will push Zweig and his second wife Lotte to suicide ...
Delmore Schwartz: In Dreams
Born in Brooklyn in 1913, in a Jewish family originally from Romania,
Delmore Schwartz, after brilliant studies in philosophy, began to write.
TS Eliot, WS Carlos Williams and Ezra Pound were interested in this
young author aged 25. For twenty years, Schwartz would not stop
publishing short stories and poems in various magazines. In the
mid-1950s, he became the mentor of Lou Reed who would dedicate My House
to him in one of his albums. But in the early 60s, he sank into
alcoholism and depression, secluded in a Manhattan hotel. Saul Bellow's
Humboldt's Gift is largely inspired by Schwartz's last days (see the
Black Rats of March, September and May 1921).
In the preface to Dans les rêves (published by Rivages Poche, translated
by Daniel Bismuth), Lou Reed wrote this tribute to him: "Oh Delmore, how
we miss you.[...]Cursed genius, you have written the greatest short
story ever written!"
Thirteen short stories are offered to us here - which, we must admit,
are not all of the same verve - in which Delmore Schwartz "obsessed by
the myth of Narcissus, the relationship with the mother, identity,
cinema or even the New York octopus", displays great narrative talent.
A selection of a few.
The first, undoubtedly autobiographical, is quite surprising. It
depicts, in what could be a silent film, the meeting between his father
and mother in Brooklyn, in 1909. But what begins as a dream will end in
a kind of waking nightmare, loaded with signs.
Change of scenery: we return from Paris to an America in the midst of an
economic crisis (1936), in the company of our narrator "unable to decide
to do anything", otherwise listen to his mother's nostalgic stories!
Further on, Delmore Schwartz depicts a group of young New York Jewish
people "from the lower middle class, with its share of illusions and
poverty." He paints with great skill and an exceptional sense of humor
the hopes, philosophical questions and disenchantments of this band of
failed hacks or disillusioned, gossipy, arrogant and drunken professors.
And who "fiercely confront their antagonistic visions of the world."
Further on, there is talk of a New Year's Eve ruined by individuals
determined to spend it in bad company, rather than alone. Irresistible.
How can we not think of Sparks' Thank God it's not X'mas.
Then again, we witness the pompous and increasingly hysterical speech of
a speaker chosen at the last minute for a graduation ceremony for
students, torn between indifference and bewilderment.
What follows is a description of the "hectic" life of a lazy,
good-for-nothing but loud-mouthed son of a family.
More serious, the reversal of racist arguments by an old university
professor in the heated context of the Second World War and the revolts
of blacks and Latinos.
These short stories are also an opportunity for Devon Schwartz to place
here and there a few thoughts on Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Franz Kafka, James
Joyce, Thomas Mann, ET Eliott, Brueghel or even on an André Gide jealous
of Marcel Proust. Sometimes, atypical little texts come to interpose
themselves in these pictures, such as the one evoking the beautiful
disinterested gesture of a young poet or the little fantastic tale on
the mystery of these ice statues in human forms that will put New
Yorkers in a frenzy.
What better conclusion than to listen to My House, a song composed by
Lou Reed, in homage to Delmore Schwartz:
Translation into French of the passage concerning him directly: "My
friend and teacher took the guest room. He died, the wandering Jew,
finally at peace. The other friends put stones on his grave. He was the
first great man I ever met. Delmore, I miss all your humor. I miss your
jokes and your witticisms"
Denis Levant: Echappées belles
Denis Lavant at the Lexikopoleio bookstore (Athens). Photos Patrick
Schindler
A great meeting at the Athens bookstore Lexikopoleio where Denis Lavant,
this erudite and polymorphous artist, arrived that day, with the -
typical - Greek half-hour delay! He gave us a great deal of it back, if
only by starting by surprising us. "I don't like traditional, fixed and
chronological autobiographical presentations. I much prefer to let
myself drift along with my moods and my fantasy. Nothing to regret
insofar as my book will teach you what I won't tell you tonight, apart
from a few snippets. I much prefer to read you some excerpts from texts
by my favorite authors. Besides, there is a lot of poetry in my journey
as an actor."
Grabbing a microphone (which he didn't really need given his range!),
Denis Lavant first read us a short text, the author of which he let us
guess. To everyone's surprise, it was by Bobby Lapointe!
At the request of the Greek public who did not know him, he then gave a
short summary of his forty-year career. Then, jumping from one subject
to another, he shared with us his admiration for the Russian people,
their culture and their language that he learned in high school! "Nobody
at the time spoke Russian, I felt like I was speaking a secret language"
... But he was somewhat disenchanted to learn that in fact, contrary to
what he thought, he had no Russian roots.
He then told us about the birth of his passion for the show: before
cinema, theater, acrobatics and body expression, "For me, the ideal
start to link gesture to speech. Because, in my opinion, that is not
learned in drama classes. For my part, it was Chaplin, Buster Keaton or
Harpo Marx who taught me how burlesque is essential in our profession.
But what really opened the way for me was poetry, which I consider to be
the best path of thought, the one conveyed by images. And I am always
keen to desacralize poets to bring them down a little from their pedestal."
So it was with impatience that he invited us into his little world. By
reading a text with shattering words while we had the impression that
his whole body was sticking to the words, as if to expel them from the
paper where they were lying and still leaving us to guess the author.
This time Arthur Rimbaud evoking the tragic end of The Paris Commune in
Paris is repopulating. Denis continued with a forgotten text by Verlaine
and another by Henri Michaux "This explorer of drugs and language whose
texts, like those of Stéphane Mallarmé, notably Un coup de dés jamais
n'abolira le hasard, are reputed to be difficult. For my part, I find
them as if sculpted and composed to be said and not read". And to
continue with an extract from the magnificent Coup de corne et la mort
and "its recurring five o'clock in the evening", which punctuates this
poem by Federico Garcia Lorca. A perfect opportunity for Lavant to
explain to us what, in his opinion, constitutes "the substantial marrow
of creation": the Duende, or the spirit of evocation (the muse in France
and the Angel in Germany). "Duende that we find as much in Flamenco
dancers as in the choreography of bullfighters (if we erase the
unbearable cruel side), but also in the painting of El Greco. A fight
against oneself. With its dark side, as in the texts of Jim Morrison".
As time passed, Denis Lavant could no longer stop. And to rummage
through "the pile of my poems in bulk that I never part with" and to
bring out with a magician's gesture, an extract from La balade des
pendus, this text "so lucid and considerate by François Villon on the
peril of living".
What was more of a show than a typical dedication ended with an excerpt
from the little-known Le Satyre taken from La Légende des siècles by
Victor Hugo, "a text that one could, against all preconceived ideas
about Hugo, describe as libertarian" ...
Change of venue: in his autobiography Echappées belles (published by Les
impressions nouvelles), Denis Lavant takes a more contained, more
serious, thoughtful and less "haphazard" look than that of his
performance in Athens. He traces his forty-year career, but not
necessarily chronologically. Which has its charm.
The theater to begin with, then pantomime. But also during his training,
his long flirtation with the "so-called minor genres": acrobatics,
improvisations. Lavant shares with us on this subject his many and
diverse influences.
We quickly become aware of the extent of his palette. And then of
course, cinema "a universe I entered by chance, thanks to Leos Carax".
The character he preferred to play? "Mr. Merde, a tramp who lives in the
sewers of Tokyo". Here and there, Denis treats us to delicious impulsive
flashbacks to his childhood - he was born into a bourgeois and cultured
family. Then to his youth "open to the world through reading", in
particular poetry "this silent word", his passion "I chose the imaginary
because reality frightened me. Books, for their part, contain
magnificent images and landscapes awakened by the eyes that make them
fly away in the imagination". Further on, Lavant indulges in an apology
for fairground theater and the profession of actor. While slipping
between the lines for our greatest pleasure, multifaceted extracts, such
as that of La Chanson de Craonne.
We also have the opportunity to meet a crowd of the most diverse people,
including Zo d'Axa; Francis Bacon; Jean Genet; James Baldwin; Marcel
Moreau; Jean-Pierre Martinet; Pier Paolo Pasolini and LF Celine, "this
dirty guy but a genius writer"!...
In its style and the scope of the subjects discussed, this autobiography
differs radically from the usual genre.
Before leaving us, Denis Lavant confessed to us that "even to this day,
I continue to perpetually question myself". Then this little special
dedication to the readers of Le Rat noir:
2e passager clandestin...
Jehan van Langhenhooven: Nora puzzle of literature and death
Nora, puzzle of literature and death (ed. Douro), the latest work by our
friend Jehan Van Langhenhoven (already encountered in this section), has
just been released.
To introduce himself to readers, Jehan is as sober as can be: "Childhood
in the working-class and red suburbs. Indelible marks. Owns a dog.
Unwavering loyalty beyond death and the years." We must add that he is
the host of a show on Radio Libertaire that has seen many beautiful
people parade before his microphone for a good number of years!
This time, he still takes us armed with his fiery pen full of verve,
into the mystery of the beautiful and buxom Nora, "woman of all
pleasures." The mystery of her short life is commented on by the
narrator of this little book: Nicki Bellmoor. An anti-hero "in search of
the Nobel Prize for erotic and spellless books"! A reporter for the
Paris News, specializing in bloody news items, he will try to put
together for us all the pieces of the "puzzle" surrounding the murder of
the beautiful and troubled Nora.
However, Niki finds himself among the presumed guilty of the murder of
the beautiful woman, with a good dozen other individuals, including a
young beardless man; a supposed one-armed man; a "formidable" docker or
Sandro Becker, "the last surviving painter of the Grand Painting
Barnum". All will be questioned in turn by inspectors as unusual and
atypical as the defendants.
Between two digressions - about which the author, in passing,
philosophizes "but what is life if not a long series of digressions" -,
Niki will try to see a little more clearly in this imbroglio, confiding
his doubts to a palette of colorful individuals. We are only at the
beginning of the story when the author warns us that "the chapters that
follow will be full of asides, side roads, feet in the dish or explosive
hair in the steaming soup"!
After the burial at Père Lachaise of poor Nora, Niki's adventures never
flirt with boredom or languor. They will continue under other skies (the
Bronx), without her obsession disappearing: "to keep the ghost of her
heroine alive".
This small collection "full of umbilicated nerves" gives us the
opportunity to meet, even briefly, some distinguished guests, such as
Herman Melville; Dylan Thomas, Charles Baudelaire "this expert in
funeral theater, phantasmagoria and various simulacra"; Francis Bacon,
Ibsen or even the wrestler Maurice Tillet known as "the monster". Bon
voyage!
Patrick Schindler, individual FA Paris
one last stowaway...
https://monde-libertaire.fr/?articlen=8248
_________________________________________
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