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ReadySteadyBlog

The Bookaholics' Guide to Book Blogs: "Mark Thwaite ... has a maverick, independent mind"

Tuesday 11 March 2008

Warner on Beckett

Babble with Beckett: How foreign languages can provide writers with a way out of the familiar (thanks Dave Lull):


About twenty years ago, a friend from Paris gave me a copy of Premier Amour (1945), one of Samuel Beckett’s very early works in French. This friend especially treasured this little-known short récit, but there was a word he did not understand. The protagonist does some kind of business with a “panais”. “Qu’est-ce que c’est qu’un panais?”, he asked. “It’s a parsnip.” “Yes, so the dictionary says. But what is a parsnip? The French don’t eat parsnips. They feed them to animals.” The appearance of the panais in Premier Amour is ruefully comic; it brings into play the cryptic, the abject and the theatrical. It hints, according to punning dream logic, at the proverb, “Fine words butter no parsnips”. Beckett was finding his way out of fine words.

Posted by Mark Thwaite
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Reader Comments

Tuesday 11 March 2008

Richard says...

Yeah, I thought Warner's piece was really fascinating, Mark...

(you may have missed my two posts touching on it a little while back:

http://yolacrary.blogspot.com/2008/03/there-is-something-to-fizzle-itself.html

http://yolacrary.blogspot.com/2008/03/restless-unnameable-discomfort.html

)

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Serendipoetry

The Quarrel

The word I spoke in anger
weighs less than a parsley seed,
but a road runs through it
that leads to my grave,
that bought-and-paid-for lot
on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro
where the scrub pines
overlook the bay.
Half-way I'm dead enough,
strayed from my own nature
and my fierce hold on life.
If I could cry, I'd cry,
but I'm too old to be
anybody's child.
Liebchen,
with whom should I quarrel
except in the hiss of love,
that harsh, irregular flame?

-- Stanley Kunitz
The Collected Poems (W.W.Norton)

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