Maintenant #42: Aase Berg
We were completely asocial. We mixed the philosophy and methods of the French Surrealists with drug experiments and political happenings. After a while we started to take interest in contemporary natural science, or, we interpreted it poetically, I should say, since we didn’t understand much in a proper way. But nowadays I look back and realize that we lacked the feministic perspective. The surrealist group of Stockholm as it was in those days, and also the original surrealist movement, are almost the opposite of my feministic point of view today… During a period of time, for several years I was quite ashamed of that collection. It’s very kitschy, immature, even childish. But now, I like it again. I like the violence of it. It’s too much. I had no idea whatsoever what I was doing, but I was angry from the depths of my body, I completely hated this society and that affects the language in a fascinating way. I was the opposite of humble. I like that attitude from a young woman.
For the 42nd in the Maintenant series, SJ Fowler interviews the Swedish poet Aase Berg.
Eight Poems
A glass deer here
branches break, thigh bones
Autumn leaves gather around the body here
an ice creek courses close
Red foxes smell shadow,
shadow untouched the glass deer here
An ice creek licks bones,
autumn leaves gather cold at the site
A thigh flute breaks and bursts
By Aase Berg.
3:AM Cult Hero: Jean Shepherd
By Robert O’Connor Jean Shepherd (WOR, 1966. Flicklives.com) When writing the profile of George Ade, I came across a collection of his stories with an introduction by Jean Shepherd. In it, he writes well of Ade, but the highlight of it is how he writes of the Midwestern United States. Shepherd has […]
The Missing Links
“Lean on Pete is half the length of Freedom but twice the novel…Should we be wringing our hands for Roth and DeLillo? Could anyone seriously claim that Freedom is better or even within a mile of Underworld? Hardly.” Battersby on why Franzen is the perfect illustration of the triumph of hype over literary merit. * […]
Jeffrey Bernard doesn’t do Christmas
The Spectator dig into their archives to reprint a Jeffrey Bernard ‘Low Life’ column on having to endure the festive season: Speaking as a man with little faith I find this whole business of Christmas one hell of an inconvenience. It must be even worse for a turkey. One of the things that annoys me […]
Uptown Sinclair
Via the unofficial official Iain Sinclair website, footage of last year’s LSE Literary Festival, featuring Iain himself and also Patrick Wright.
3:AM Cult Hero: Harvey Pekar
By Robert O’Connor (Everett Collection) Harvey Pekar was an ordinary man whose love of jazz and books helped him have an extraordinary life. And in the process he helped make ordinary life more tolerable for everyone else. Pekar was born to Polish immigrants in Cleveland. His father owned a grocery store and he […]
Here We Go Again
I am here watching this pathetic man I once loved drone on with his views on politics with his views on music with his views on work with his views on housework with his views on television with his views on women with his views on men with his views on friendship with his views on money with his views on alcohol with his views on family with his views on books with his views on health with his views on fitness with his views on children with his views on travel with his views on cooking with his views on charity with his views on relationships with his views on himself with his views on me . . .
By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.
Pretty Hate Machine
One of the most remarkable aspects of Garcia’s extremely impressive novel is how he collapses the barrier between emotional lives and the public philosophical positions of the characters. Garcia (who has himself written a book of philosophy) is equally adept at sketching intimate moments, such as the heartbreaking depiction of Willie, publicly out-of-favour having been defamed by Leibo and Doume, abandoned by friends, dying from AIDS at a hospital, visited only by Elizabeth and occasionally his mother who has shut her eyes to his homosexuality. Willie’s convinced and railing that he’s the only one without AIDS, that AIDS is a health-board plot transmitted via meds to contain the ‘threat’ of homosexuality. Since he doesn’t take the meds he can’t have AIDS. Elizabeth can’t bare to dispel his delusion.
Colin Herd on Tristan Garcia‘s Hate: A Romance.
Bandit
With each new suggestion, I feel more like a parent who doesn’t inoculate their child against disease. No one can stop the sky from falling, but there’s no excuse for being unprepared when it does. This is my fault. I’ve let him down. I pound the cupboard door, and the noise startles Bandit to his feet. He wobbles for a few seconds, then his legs buckle and he crashes back to the floor. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry, buddy.” I stroke his fur, and a lump begins to form in my throat. “Jesus, he can’t even walk.” When I turn away, my gaze lands on the photo of Bandit that’s stuck to the refrigerator. It was taken last Christmas. He’s wearing a Santa Clause hat.
By Chris Lewis Carter.