Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry Uncategorized

Die Stunde zwischen Wirklichkeit und Möglichkeit;Blaue Stunde -Gottfried Benn

Blaue Stunde

I
Ich trete in die dunkelblaue Stunde –
da ist der Flur, die Kette schließt sich zu
und nun im Raum ein Rot auf einem Munde
und eine Schale später Rosen – Du!

Wir wissen beide, jene Worte,
die jeder oft zu anderen sprach und trug,
sind zwischen uns wie nichts und fehl am Orte:
dies ist das Ganze und der letzte Zug.

Das Schweigende ist so weit fortgeschritten
und füllt den Raum und denkt sich selber zu
die Stunde – nichts gehofft und nichts gelitten –
mit ihrer Schale später Rosen – Du.

II
Dein Haupt verfließt, ist weiß und will sich hüten,
indessen sammelt sich auf deinem Mund;
die ganze Lust, der Purpur und die Blüten
aus deinem angestammten Ahnengrund.

Du bist so weiß, man denkt, du wirst zerfallen
vor lauter Schnee, vor lauter Blütenlos,
totweiße Rosen, Glied für Glied – Korallen
nur auf den Lippen, schwer und wundengroß.

Du bist so weich, du gibst von etwas Kunde,
von einem Glück aus Sinken und Gefahr
in einer blauen, dunkelblauen Stunde
und wenn sie ging, weiß keiner, ob sie war.

III
Ich frage dich, du bist doch eines andern,
was trägst du mir die späten Rosen zu?
Du sagst, die Träume gehn, die Stunden wandern,
was ist das alles: er und ich und du?

«Was sich erhebt, das will auch wieder enden,
was sich erlebt – wer weiß denn das genau,
die Kette schließt, man schweigt in diesen Wänden
und dort die Weite, hoch und dunkelblau.»

blaue

 

This very lovely poem appears in the useful collection “The Faber Book of 20th Century German Poems” where it has been translated by Michael Hofmann:-

 

 

Blue Hour

I

I enter the deep blue hour-

here is the landing, the chain shuts behind

and now in the room only carmine on a mouth

and a bowl of late roses-you!

 

We both know, those words

we both spoke and often offered others

are of no account and out of place between us:

this is everything and endgame.

 

Silence has advanced so far

it fills the room and seals it shut

the hour-nothing hoped and nothing suffered-

with its bowl of late roses-you.

II

Your face blurs, is white and fragile,

meanwhile there collects on your mouth

all of desire, the purple and the blossoms

from some ancestral flotsam stock.

 

You are so pale, I think you might disintegrate

in a snowdrift, in unblooming

deathly white roses, one by one-coral

only your lips, heavy and like a wound.

 

You are so soft, you portend something

of happiness, of submersion and danger

in a blue, a deep blue hour

and when it is gone, no one knows if it was.

III

I remind you, you are another’s,

what are you doing bearing me these late roses?

You say dreams bleach, hours wander.

what is all this: he and I and you?

 

‘What arises and arouses, it all comes to an end,

what happens- who exactly knows,

the chain falls shut, we are silent in these walls,

and outside is all of space, lofty and dark blue.’

Die blaue Stunde (L’heure bleue), 1890; Öl auf Leinwand. Leihgeber: Museum der bildenden Künste Leipzig.
Die blaue Stunde (L’heure bleue), 1890; Öl auf Leinwand. Leihgeber: Museum der bildenden Künste Leipzig.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is an interesting analysis of this poem by the Italian translator and scholar, Stefanie Golisch at http://www.fixpoetry.com/feuilleton/lesarten/gottfried-benn/blaue-stunde/ingeborg-bachmann/die-blaue-stunde

A new translation of Benn’s poems by Michael Hofmann called “Impromtus” is reviewed at http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jan/31/impromptu-selected-poems-gottfried-benn-review

 

There is also a You Tube reading at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAs1t3evQW4

 

 

 

Categories
Book Reviews Literature Poetry

Naming The Tree-Simon Richey-A Review by Roland Gurney

simon-richey-150x150

Before

Somewhere
the meaning of a word,

before it becomes a word,
waits in the silence. It is as if

it has come as far as it can go
without being uttered. In a moment

it will change from one thing
into another, or its meaning

will tremble into a word,
into something barely familiar,

finding itself spoken,
finding itself understood.

Simon Richey

naming-the-tree

Here is a review of Richley’s collection by my friend and poet Roland Gurney:-

Naming The Tree-Simon Richey-Overstep Books-48pp paperback £8

 

This first collection from a London-based writer(published in reputable magazines such as Magma,Acumen  & Poetry Review) has mostly rural or

existential themes and curiously little sense of city life. Prose poem sequences

such as the title piece, a thirteen section on Fire and a ten section meditation on the nocturnal activities of the author’s cats  loom large. This is ‘free verse’, devoid of much imagery, music, structure or rhythm- example ‘And because there was no word anymore, no sound in which/its meaning could be carried/the meaning had nowhere to go,’ rather thoughts on themes such as The Word(opening) and the Book(closing). This is poetic minimalism, much in vogue and going back to stateside influences such as WC Williams(the 6 liner The Red Wheelbarrow), Wallace Stevens  and the Beats via TS Eliot’s The Wasteland and a host of contemporary imitators.

 

As such it will hopefully give pleasure to some but cannot be rated good value for money as some pages only have 6-9 lines on them. For not much more one can buy a 500 page Bloodaxe anthology of exceptional quality and offering a whole range of poetic experiences!

 

Roland Gurney.

The reviewer is an award-winning and much-published poet based at

Mulfra, Newmill just outside Penzance.

Oversteps Books are to be found at http://www.overstepsbooks.com/events/2653/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry

The Distant Flutes by Li Tai Pe

Die ferne FlöteFl4

Abend atmete aus Blumenblüten,
Als im fernen Winde wer die Flöte blies.
Laßt mich eine Gerte von den Zweigen brechen,
Flöte schnitzen und wie jene Flöte tun.

Wenn die Nächte nun
Ihren Schlaf behüten,
Hören Vögel, wie zwei Flöten süß
Ihre Sprache sprechen.

(Li-tai-pe)

(Alfred Henschke) Klabund
Aus der Sammlung Chinesische Gedichte

Fl3

 

 

 

The Distant Flutes by Li Tai Pe -a free translation

 

The evening is seeped in the heavy scent of rose blossom

As the distant winds catch the notes of flutes.

Let me carve a such a  flute myself

from this overhanging branch

 

May the night guard you

as you sleep,

Lulled listening to the birds, as two sweet melancholy

flutes whisper to you in your own secret language.

Fl

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry

The Porcelain Pavilion by Li-Tai-Pe

Der Pavillon von Porzellan

(Nachtdichtungen von Klabund)

Pav2

 

 

 

 

 

 

In dem künstlich angelegten Teiche
Auf der Insel steht der Pavillon von grün und weißem Porzellan.
Man gelangt in seine gläsernen Bereiche
Über eines weißen Tigers Rücken, der sich hier als Brücke aufgetan.

Dort sitzen Freunde froh beim Weine. Licht
Ist der Gewänder Farbe, die sich nicht im Staub der Wochentage placken.
Die Freunde plaudern oder schweigen heiter. Einer schreibt ein Gedicht,
Streift die Ärmel zurück und wirft das Haupt in den Nacken.

Sieh: in dem Teich, in dem die Jadebrücke, in den Wellen leise wehend,
Sich wie ein Halbmond wölbt, der Freunde trunknen Wahn!
Die Kleider zitternd! Auf dem Kopfe stehend
In einem Pavillon von Porzellan!

Li-tai-pe

Pav3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A free translation of this, is as follows:-

The Porcelain Pavilion

A white and green pavilion made out of porcelain

depicts beautifully elaborate pools.

See how these glassy dominions spring from

the white back of a tiger

that here, serves as a bridge.

 

On one side the company enjoy their wine. The colour

of their garments radiates as white.

These are not grimy from their daily labours.

The friends chat or just sink into a cheerful silence.

One writes a poem

as another stretches up his arm and scratches

the back of his neck.

 

See just how above the pools and the jade bridge

and the gently plashing waves,

how the curving crescent of the moon arches

over the drunken folly of these friends.

Their very clothes seem to shiver as one man stands on his head

in this pavilion made from porcelain.

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry

Schicksale der Expressionisten- Fates of the Expressionists by Michael Hoffmann

20131015_160458The Kaiser was the first Cousin of George V,

descended, as he was from German George,

and unhappy Albert, the hard-working Saxon Elector.

-The relaxed, navy-cut beard of the one,

hysterical, bristling moustaches of the other…….

The Expressionists were Rupert Brooke’s generation.

Their hold on life was weaker than a baby’s.

Their deaths, at whatever age, were infant mortality-

a bad joke in this century. Suddenly become sleepy,

they dropped like flies, whimsical, sizzling,

ecstatic, from a hot light-bulb. Even before the War,

George Heym and a friend died from a skating accident.

From 1914, they died in battle and of disease-

or suicide like Trakl. Drugs Alcohol Little Sister.

One was a student at Oxford and died, weeks later,

on the other side……..Later they ran from the Nazis.

Benjamin was turned back at the Spanish border-

his history of the streets of Paris unfinished-

deflected into an autistic suicide. In 1938,

Ödön von Horváth, author of naturalistic comidies,

was struck by a falling tree. In Paris.

At the time

my anthology was compiled, there were still a few left:

unexplained survivors,

psychoanalysts in the New World.

20131018_123113

 

From the collection of Michael Hoffmann’s selected poems at  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Selected-Poems-Michael-Hofmann/dp/0374532230/ref=sr_1_fkmr2_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1403993437&sr=8-2-fkmr2&keywords=michael+hoffman+Selected++poems- This web-address also contains two useful reviews.

 

 

 

Categories
Book Reviews German Matters Literature

Mascha Kaléko -“Vor Heimweh nach den Temps perdus …”

Mascha Kaléko (1907 – 1975) wurde als Tochter jüdischer Eltern in Galizien geboren und wuchs in Berlin auf. Sie wurde als Dichterin bekannt und verkehrte im berühmten »Romanischen Café«. Doch 1935 erhielt Mascha Kaléko Publikationsverbot und musste mit Mann und Sohn nach New York emigrieren. Nach dem Krieg fand sie mit ihren so spielerisch eleganten wie spöttisch scharfsinnigen Texten wieder ein großes Publikum.

MK2

Mein schönstes Gedicht

Mascha Kaléko

Mein schönstes Gedicht ?
Ich schrieb es nicht.
Aus tiefsten Tiefen stieg es.
Ich schwieg es.

Das Ende vom Lied

Ich säh dich gern noch einmal, wie vor Jahren
Zum erstenmal. – Jetzt kann ich es nicht mehr.
Ich säh dich gern noch einmal wie vorher,
Als wir uns herrlich fremd und sonst nichts waren.

Ich hört dich gern noch einmal wieder fragen,
Wie jung ich sei … was ich des Abends tu –
Und später dann im kaumgebornen «Du»
Mir jene tausend Worte Liebe sagen.

Ich würde mich so gerne wieder sehnen,
Dich lange ansehn stumm und so verliebt –
Und wieder weinen, wenn du mich betrübt,
Die vielzuoft geweinten dummen Tränen.

– Das alles ist vorbei … Es ist zum Lachen!
Bist du ein andrer oder liegts an mir?
Vielleicht kann keiner von uns zwein dafür.
Man glaubt oft nicht, was ein paar Jahre machen.

Ich möchte wieder deine Briefe lesen,
Die Worte, die man liebend nur versteht.
Jedoch mir scheint, heut ist es schon zu spät.
Wie unbarmherzig ist das Wort: «Gewesen!»

 “Diese eigentümliche Mischung aus Melancholie und Witz, steter Aktualität und politischer Schärfe ist es, die Mascha Kalékos Lyrik so unwiderstehlich und zeitlos macht.”

Wiedersehen mit Berlin

mascha-kaleko

Seit man von tausend Jahren mich verbannt.Ich seh die Stadt auf eine neue Weise,So mit dem Fremdenführer in der Hand.Der Himmel blaut. Die Föhren lauschen leise.In Steglitz sprach mich gestern eine MeiseIm Schloßpark an. Die hatte mich erkannt. 

Und wieder wecken mich Berliner Spatzen!

Ich liebe diesen märkisch-kessen Ton.

Hör ich sie morgens an mein Fenster kratzen,

Am Ku-Damm in der Gartenhauspension,

Komm ich beglückt, nach alter Tradition,

Ganz so wie damals mit besagten Spatzen

Mein Tagespensum durchzuschwatzen.

 

Es ostert schon. Grün treibt die Zimmerlinde.

Wies heut im Grunewald nach Frühjahr roch!

Ein erster Specht beklopft die Birkenrinde.

Nun pfeift der Ostwind aus dem letzten Loch.

Und alles fragt, wie ich Berlin denn finde?

— Wie ich es finde? Ach, ich such es noch!

 

Ich such es heftig unter den Ruinen

Der Menschheit und der Stuckarchitektur.

Berlinert einer: »Ick bejrüße Ihnen!«,

Glaub ich mich fast dem Damals auf der Spur.

Doch diese neue Härte in den Mienen …

Berlin, wo bliebst du? Ja, wo bliebst du nur?

 

Auf meinem Herzen geh ich durch die Straßen,

Wo oft nichts steht als nur ein Straßenschild.

In mir, dem Fremdling, lebt das alte Bild

Der Stadt, die so viel Tausende vergaßen.

Ich wandle wie durch einen Traum

Durch dieser Landschaft Zeit und Raum.

Und mir wird so ich-weiß-nicht-wie

Vor Heimweh nach den Temps perdus …

 

Berlin im Frühling. Und Berlin im Schnee.

Mein erster Versband in den Bücherläden.

Die Freunde vom Romanischen Café.

Wie vieles seh ich, das ich nicht mehr seh!

Wie laut »Pompejis« Steine zu mir reden!

 

Wir schluckten beide unsre Medizin,

Pompeji ohne Pomp. Bonjour, Berlin!

 Drei gute Webseiten sind:-

 http://www.kaleko.ch/index.php?option=com_frontpage&Itemid=1

http://www.deutschelyrik.de/index.php/kaleko.html

http://www.dtv.de/autoren/mascha_kaleko_181.html

mascha_kaleko-9783423346719

Categories
Art and Photographic History Book Reviews Literature

Reading a novel about Hogarth

As an introduction to this topic take a quick look at this clip from the excellent film producer, Ken Loach-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odZrzqgOruE made for the Tate.

The novel in paperback-I,Hogarth
The novel in paperback-I,Hogarth

How similar in many ways was Hogarth’s London in the middle of the Eighteenth Century to the London of today. A city where it was easy enough to end up in debtor’s prison, as indeed did Hogarth’s beloved and unworldly father, having been condemned to the Fleet; a sad fate for a brilliant Latin scholar and writer of erudite texts. He opened a Latin speaking coffee house in St John’s Gate. Here the governor and authorities were open to high levels of corruption, as later in Dickens time and very reminiscent of the scandals of G4S today, from which Bill Gates has just withdrawn his investments. In other respects, the London which Michael Dean so vividly depicts with its gin shops and stews and general squalor appears more genial and creative than the contemporary city. A backdrop is painted where a young chancer such as William Hogarth Esq. can develop his prodigious artistic talents. Beyond the joy of the paintbrush, to say nothing of the etching tool, he ravishes with gusto the charms of both serving wenches and the daughters of his aristocratic patrons. Dean, who is incidentally versed in Chomsky’s linguistics, has furnished his readers with a beguiling study of this genius of visual satire.

Hog2 Shrimp Girl

There are also rich comparisons to be made between current financial calamities and the South Sea Bubble, the first major crash of the early stock market in 1720 and from which the first Prime Minister, Sir Robert Walpole was deft at concealing his personal involvement. This was the very first subject for Hogarth’s satirical print where he depicts speculators of every religious persuasion gambling on the huge machine which stands for the merry-go-round of unlicensed gambling.

Dean illustrates vividly the crowded and fetid cobbled streets of the old city and his protagonist’s sharp eye for both hypocrisy and the opportunities for Hogarth’s enterprising talent. The account dwells considerably upon the dreadful prisons, already mentioned but also gives us an insight for instance, into the techniques which Bill Hogarth used to portray the dreadful plight of the murderess, Sarah Malcolm two days before her one- way cart ride to Tyburn. Dean shows us Hogarth’s determination to reveal the human qualities of his subject and the skill and concentration when posing her for this portrait. The chameleon nature and psychological adaptability of the great artist is outlined in the constant reappraisals that Hogarth made of his work and even how he recorded his own name.

Samuel Johnson showed his own admirable restraint by his famous remark the actor-manager David Garrick,” I’ll come no more behind your scenes, David for the silk stockings and white bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous propensities.” Hogarth, however, shows little self control in his own sometimes comical and bawdy investigations, some of which were indeed conducted at the dark and chilly recesses in the Royal Theatre. In relation to other members of the female sex, whose general treatment at the time was abysmal, there is a touching bittersweet quality. Infection was to lead to this particular rake’s downfall.

Hog1

Michael Dean focuses, in a mildly erotic account, upon the exchange of a hooped dress between his own intended, Jane Fenton, and the actress, Lavinia Fenton. The latter lady becoming the subject of further paintings he made of her and of her on-stage appearances. In an innovative and almost Brechtian manner Hogarth considered the inclusion of the audience; an opportunity too to provoke and admonish!

Essentially I,Hogarth is a non-fictional novel, sometimes referred to as a bio-fic; a form which has certain ambiguities and is exemplified by another well-known Eighteenth Century novel about Samuel Johnson, According to Queeney by Beryl Bainbridge where the story of the great man is told through an ancillary close observer. Dean’s book is written in the first person and this adds extra challenges. The style in which it is written, at first noticeable becomes gradually more engaging. There is little in the way of a conventional plot, however the narrative pace is sustained by the energy with which Hogarth pursues his goals, like his wooing of Jane Thornhill in opposition to her father, his patron. Those who wish to progress to a factual biography couldn’t do better than to read William Hogarth: A Life and a World by Jenny Uglow to whom the author refers in a note.

The pleasure in reading this account lies in its vivid, picturesque and satirical world view as seen through Hogarth’s sharp and observant eyes. The reader is introduced to an amusing variety of characters and educated about Eighteenth Century life. Many scenes from the book are posed as in an engraving. It will send people back to really look again at Hogarth’s achievement and support Michael Dean’s

Hogarth's Bust in Leicester Square
Hogarth’s bust in Leicester Square

heartfelt request for a better memorial to this inspired rebel.

 

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry

Sehnsucht und Leidenschaft- Moritz Hartmann

There is an interesting discussion of the concept of Sehnsucht at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sehnsucht#In_psychology where it rather neatly states from  Scheibe, S.; Freund, A. M., & Baltes, P. B. (2007). “Toward a developmental psychology of Sehnsucht (life longings): The optimal (utopian) life”.Developmental Psychology (43): 778–795;(Psychologists have worked to capture the essence of Sehnsucht by identifying its six core characteristics: “(a) utopian conceptions of ideal development; (b) sense of incompleteness and imperfection of life; (c) conjoint time focus on the past, present, and future; (d) ambivalent (bittersweet) emotions; (e) reflection and evaluation of one’s life; and (f) symbolic richness.”

Janet Lynch Woman
Janet Lynch
Woman

It is not quite nostalgia but clearly a term that can be associated with Romanticism. The above link makes clear that, ” Sehnsucht is a compound word, originating from an ardent longing or yearning (das Sehnen) and addiction (die Sucht)”. Hence, Schiller writes:-

O zarte Sehnsucht, süßes Hoffen,
Der ersten Liebe goldne Zeit!
Das Auge sieht den Himmel offen,
Es schwelgt das Herz in Seligkeit.
O dass sie ewig grünen bliebe,
Die schöne Zeit der jungen Liebe.

( O tender yearning, sweet hope, 
  the first love golden time! 
  The eye sees the heavens open, 
  it revels in the heart of bliss. 
  O that they would remain ever green, 
  The beautiful time of young love.)

JanetLynch Knowing
JanetLynch
Knowing

Indeed, zarte is another lovely word indicating great tenderness. Collins large dictionary gives this example- der dritte Satz hat etwas Sehnsüchtiges – the third movement has a strangely yearning quality.

Here is Hartmann’s Poem-

Und kommst du nicht am Tage

Und kommst du nicht am Tage,
So komm im Traum zu mir;
Gewiß, gewiß ich sage
Dir tausend Dank dafür.

Komm immer so wie heute,
Da ich entschlummert kaum,
Wie holdes Brautgeläute
Erklang mein ganzer Traum.

Wohl sind noch meine Lider,
Wenn ich erwache, feucht –
Doch komme immer wieder,
Vor Glück weint’ ich vielleicht.

Ich fleh’ es, wie mit Kosen
Der Nachtigall Gebet
Vom jungen Frühling Rosen
In kalter Nacht erfleht.

O komm mit aller Plage,
Die du mir schon gebracht,
Und kommst du nicht am Tage,
So komm im Traum der Nacht.

Hartmann  (1821 – 1872), was an Austrian writer and a radical politician, member of the Frankfurt National Assembly, wrote among other things, “Chalice and Sword”-»Kelch und Schwert« More information may be found at http://de.wikisource.org/wiki/BLK%C3%96:Hartmann,_Moriz

JanetLynch In the Clear
JanetLynch
In the Clear

Don’t come in daytime

Don’t come in daytime

but come to me in my dreams.

Confidently, certainly, gladly

I thank you again one thousand times

 

Always come like you did today,

since I can scarcely slumber.

Lovely wedding bell chimes echo

through all my dreams

 

Even my eyelids are refreshed

when I awake with tears.

Always come back again

blissfully crying, “I might”.

 

I beg you with a tender caress

like the nightingale’s plaintive song

amidst young spring roses

yearning into the chill of the night.

 

Come again with all the trouble you have already  brought

But don’t come by  daytime

But come in dreams by night!

 

As usual there is much to learn from Goethe, particularly at -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nur_wer_die_Sehnsucht_kennt and perhaps another time is needed to tease out the meanings of Leidenschaft but here is as good a start as any :-http://synonyme.woxikon.de/synonyme/leidenschaft.php

JanetLynch  Forgetting
JanetLynch
Forgetting

There is a great exhibition of Janet Lynch’s beautiful paintings from Cornwall Contemporary at the moment and they go rather well I hope with the poem. Please see http://www.cornwallcontemporary.com/JanetLynch_JaneMuir53.html

 

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry Uncategorized

Blauer Schmetterling -Hermann Hesse

Flügelt ein kleiner blauer
Falter vom Wind geweht,
Ein perlmutterner Schauer,
Glitzert,flimmert,vergeht.
So mit Augenblicksblinken,
So im Vorüberwehn
Sah ich das Glück mir winken,
Glitzern,flimmern,vergehn.

Hermann Hesse

 

A Blue Butterfly

A small blue butterfly flutters,

tossed by the wind;

a frisson of a mother-of -pearl shower.

Glittering, shimmering and passing.

So in an instant glance

or past whisper,

I saw bliss wink at me,

Glittering, shimmering but passing

 

Categories
Book Reviews Literature Penwith St Ives West Cornwall (and local history)

Außerhalb Lilly Schönauer und Rosamunde Pilcher (1) Virginia Woolf

Außerhalb Lilly Schönauer und Rosamunde Pilcher (1) Virginia Woolf

The Cornish Review Edited by Denys Val Baker
The Cornish Review Edited by Denys Val Baker

 

West Cornwall has many literary connections and famous writers have been attracted to its scenery and its people. In an idle moment I was thinking about how useful it might be to give an account of some of the significant figures that are associated with the Penwith peninsula. In her magical notes, “Moments of Being” Virginia Woolf writes of the evocative inspiration which waking in Talland House gave to her. Not only was it a source of inspiration for her great modernist novel,“To the Lighthouse” but to remember that once Henry James took tea on the lawn recalls once again the long Edwardian summer and the echoes of the conversations between him and Virginia’s father, the formidable Leslie Stephen. Links include http://www.woolfonline.com/timepasses/?q=node/271

and

http://fernham.blogspot.co.uk/2009/07/virginia-woolf-on-henry-james.html

Books about Virginia and her sister in St Ives include “Virginia Woolf, Vanessa Bell and Remembering St Ives” by Marion Whybrow (currently unavailable on Amazon) and the novel “Virginia and Vanessa” said to be;”…a chronicle of love and revenge, madness, genius, and the compulsion to create beauty in the face of relentless difficulty and deep grief”. In addition there is Dell, Marion. Peering Through the Escallonia: Virginia Woolf, Talland House and St. Ives. No. 23. 1999. ISBN 1-897967-47-0. Price £7.00VW

There are more websites to peruse and pursue, should you have the time. Namely, http://www.glennhorowitz.com/featured/virginia_woolf_goes_to_the_beach

And

https://bloggingwoolf.wordpress.com/books/

It is interesting, though unsurprising, how Woolf keeps turning up as a factional character in novels. My personal favourite as I have mentioned on here before is “House of Exile” by Evelyn Juers –mostly about Thomas Mann-which contains an interesting and memorable incident where Virginia and Leonard visit a restaurant in the Funkturm in Berlin and loses her elegant scarf which is recovered by another leading character.” Some moments of exhilarating coincidence in these pages are reminiscent of Stoppard’s Travesties.” According to the reviewer, Robert McCrum at http://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/may/22/house-of-exile-juers-review. Although not associated with St Ives, Virginia Woolf turns fictional in the film “The Hours” based on the novel by Michael Cunningham, which came out in 2002 directed by Stephen Daldry (who also filmed The Reader). Her bent-nosed appearance, which some critics found rather hilarious, won Nicole Kidman the best actress award that year. Recently I came across Alison Macleod at this year’s Jewish Book Week, where she was talking about her haunting and remarkable novel, “Unexploded”. She is Professor of Contemporary Fiction at the University of Chichester and a lively and engaging speaker who talked about her research into the background of the novel which is set in Brighton, where she herself lives, during the hazardous summer of 1940. The novel was long-listed for the Man Booker Prize in 2013 and deals with, among other sensitive issues, anti-Semitism in wartime Britain. Virginia Woolf lectured in Brighton during this period and she and her novels turn up as one leitmotiv in this persuasively constructed story. Many of the issues are based on a thoroughgoing examination of the archives. http:/www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/bookreviews/10244729/Unexploded-by-Alison-MacLeod-review.htmlVW3

VW1

Returning along the coast in a westerly direction to West Penwith, a glance at A Literary Atlas and Gazeteer reveals that many fascinating littérateurs lived or visited from Truro and to the west.  Here are a list of just ten whose connections may not be very well known. At Zennor at Higher Tregarthen from 1916-1917, D.H.Lawrence, J.Middleton Murray and Katherine Mansfield. In Truro, Samuel Foote (1720-1777 became celebrated as much for his acting as his didactic diatribes)-his story has just been magnificently told by Ian Kelly see- http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/oct/05/mr-footes-other-leg-review. Sir William Golding lived nearby at Perranaworthal from 1985 until his death in 1993-where he became a great friend of the controversial novelist and translator of Russian Poetry, D.M.Thomas. He has recently published a poetry collection, Light and Smoke.http://www.dmthomasonline.net/

Samuel Foote
Samuel Foote

In St Ives, Mrs Havelock Ellis wrote Cornish Idyll in 1898. Much later, after the War in 1945 Norman Levine found the town conducive to his stories, poetry and travel writing. At Madron, the inspirational poet’s poet, penned his charmed verses:-http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/listen-put-morning

Listen. Put on morning.
Waken into falling light.
A man's imagining
Suddenly may inherit
The handclapping centuries
Of his one minute on earth.
And hear the virgin juries
Talk with his own breath
To the corner boys of his street.
And hear the Black Maria
Searching the town at night.

]Daphne Du Maurier arrived here in Penwith before her time at Menabilly -for more details see http://www.intocornwall.com/features/literature.asp