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editor
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 Posted: Wed May 30, 2007 3:03 pm Post subject: |
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Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Paperback
By California Dreamer Joan Didion
| Quote: | ..One is standing on a highway in the middle of a vast hostile desert looking at an eighty-foot sign which blinks "STARDUST" or "CAESAR'S PALACE." Yes, but what does that explain? This geographical implausibility reinforces the sense that what happens there has no connection with "real" life; Nevada cities like Reno and Carson are ranch towns, places behind which there is some historical imperative. But Las Vegas seems to exist only in the eye of the beholder. All of which makes it an extraordinarily stimulating and interesting place but an odd one in which to want to wear a candlelight satin Priscilla of Boston wedding dress with Chantilly lace insets, tapered sleeves and a detachable modified train.
And yet the Las Vegas wedding business seems to appeal to precisely that impulse...All of these (wedding) services, like most others in Las Vegas (sauna baths, payroll-check cashing, chinchilla coats for sale or rent) are offered twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, presumably on the premise that marriage, like craps, is a game to be played when the table seems hot. (From Marrying Absurd, pgs. 60-61) |
More on this classic fare at Ramblin', Gamblin' '60s.
Last edited by editor on Sun Jun 03, 2007 12:12 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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| Posted: Sun Jun 03, 2007 12:02 pm Post subject: |
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Murder in Vegas
New Crime Tales of Gambling and Desperation
Paperback
Edited by Michael Connelly
| Quote: | "I'm not marrying your mother."
Amanda Duncan whipped her head away from the window, the full force of her icy glare hitting Ken Marvin in the face. He immediately regretted the words, and began concentrating intently on opening his in-flight packet of peanuts.
"She's been planning a church wedding for me for years," she explained, "and it's just easier to go along with her. Our running off to Vegas is killing her. She had such a fit when I told her, I'm surprised she even agreed to come. And please, don't tell her we're sharing a room tonight."
"They mighty Deacon Duncan in Sin City. I'm glad we brought a camera!"
"Ken, stop it! She's afraid your mother will tell everyone back home about this."
Both women attended The Mt. Hope Church of the Redeemed, Faith Through Works Synod, where his mother was choir director and hers served as deacon. Whenever they met, there was a subtle competition for recognition of good works, or as her father called it, gaudy business.
"Well, my mother will there too! They're flying in for the ceremony tomorrow, then on to help Habitat for Humanity in Atlanta."
"There, you see? She'll spread the rumor that while she rushed on to house the homeless, Mom stayed to gamble!" (Opening paragraphs of Death of a Whale in the Church of Elvis by Linda Kerslake at p. 177) |
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| Posted: Wed Jun 06, 2007 2:07 pm Post subject: |
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Sounds, Feelings, Thoughts:
Seventy Poems by 1996 Nobel Prize winner
Wislawa Szymborska
Translated and Introduced by
Magnus J. Krynski and
Rober A. Macguire
| Quote: | A Happy Love
A happy love. Is it normal,
is it serious, is it profitable -
what use to the world are two people
who have no eyes for the world?
Elevated each for each, for no apparent merit,
by sheer chance singled out of a million, yet convinced
it had to be so - as reward for what? for nothing;
the light shines from nowhere -
why just on them, and not on others?
Is this an offense to justice? Yes.
Does it violate time-honored principles, does it cast
any moral down from the heights? It violates and casts down.
Look at the happy couple:
if they'd at least dissemble a bit,
feign depression and thereby cheer their friends!
Hear how they laugh - offensively.
And the language they speak - it only seems to make sense.
And all those ceremonials, ceremonies,
those elaborate obligations toward each other -
it all looks like a plot behind mankind's back!
It's even hard to foresee how far things might go
if their example could be followed.
What could religions and poetries rely on,
what would be remembered, what abandoned,
who would want to keep within the bounds.
A happy love. Is it necessary?
Tact and common sense advise us to say no more of it
than of a scandal in Life's upper ranks.
Little cherubs get born without its help.
Never, ever could it populate the earth,
for it happens so seldom.
Let people who know naught of happy love
assert that nowhere is there a happy love.
With such faith, they would find it easier to live and to die. |
| Quote: | Milosc szczesliwa
Milosc szczesliwa. Czy to jest normalne,
czy to powazne, czy to pozyteczne -
co swiat ma z dwojga ludzi,
ktorzy nie widza swiata?
Wysyzszeni ku sobie bez zadnej zaslugi,
pierwsi lepsi z miliona, ale przekonani,
ze tak stac sie musialo - w nagrode za co? z nic;
swiatlo pada znikad -
dlaczego wlasnie na tych, a nie innych?
Czy to obraza sprawiedliwosc? Tak.
Czy narusza troskliwie pietrzone zasady,
straca ze szczytu moral? Narusza i straca.
Sporjrzcie na tych szczesliwych:
gdyby sie chociaz maskowali troche,
udawali zgnebienie krzepiac tym przyjaciol!
Sluchajcie, jak sie smieja - obrazliewie.
Jakim jezykiem mowia -zrozumialym na pozor.
A te ich ceremonie, ceregiele,
wymyslne obowiazki wzgledem siebie -
wyglada to na zmowe za plecami ludzkosci!
Trudno nawet przewidziec, do czego by doszlo,
gdby ich przyklad dal sie nasladowac.
Na co liczyc by mogly religie, poezje,
o czym by pamietano, czego zaniechano,
kto by chciat zostac w kregu.
Milosc szczesliwa. Czy to jest konieczne?
Takt i rozxadek kaza milczec o niej
jak o skandalu z wysokich sfer Zycia.
Wspaniale dziatki rodza sie bez jej pomocy.
Przenigdy nie zdotalaby zaludnic ziemi,
zdarza sie przeciez rzadko.
Niech ludzie nie znajacy mitosci szczesliwej
twierdza, ze nigdzie nie ma mitosci szczesliwej.
Z ta wiara lzej im bedzie i zyc, i umierac.
(From Wselki wypadek (There But for the Grace), 1972, at pgs. 144-145) |
More of our favorite Polish gambles and gamblers |
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| Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 3:09 pm Post subject: |
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The Midnight Verdict
Paperback
By Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney
| Quote: | Orpheus called for Hymen and Hymen came
Robed in saffron like a saffron flame
Leaping across tremendous airy zones
To reach the land of the Ciconians.
So Hymen did attend the rites, but no
Good luck or cheer or salutations, no
Auspicious outcome was to come of that.
Instead, the torch he carried smoked and spat
And no matter how he fanned it wouldn't flare.
His eyes kept watering. And a worse disaster
Than could have been predicted came to pass
For as the bride went roaming through the grass
With all her naiads round her, she fell down.
A snake had bit her ankle. She was gone.
Orpheus mourned her in the world above,
Raving and astray, until his love
Compelled him down among the very shades.
He dared to venture on the Stygian roads
Among those shadow people, the many, many
Ghosts of the dead, to find Persephone
And the lord who rules the dismal land of Hades;
Then plucked the lyre-gut for its melodies
And sang in harmony: 'O founded powers
Who rule the underearth, this life of ours,
This mortal life we live in upper air
Will be returned to you. To you, therefore,
We may speak the whole truth and speak it out
As I do now, directly: I have not
Transgressed your gloomy borders just to see
The sights of Tartarus, nor to tie all three
of the three-necked monster's snake-snarled necks in one.
I crossed into your jurisdiction
Because my wife is here. The snake she stepped on
Poisoned her and cut her off too soon
And though I have tried to suffer on my own
And outlive loss, in the end Love won.
Whether or not you underpowers feel
The force of this god, Love, I cannot tell,
But surely he prevails down here as well
Unless that ancient story about hell
And its lord and a ravaged girl's not true.
Was it not Love that bound the two of you?
(Opening stanzas from Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book X at pgs. 15-16) |
More on Orpheus's gamble with the Underworld at Impossible Odds.
More on the 'ancient story' from Week 2, Lecture 2, generously spoon-fed the University of Sheffield's liberal-minded Engligh Dept. |
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| Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2007 12:51 pm Post subject: |
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Harper's
Magazine Subscription
The Discreet Charm of M. Sarkozy
From an interview with Nicolas Sarkozy by
the philosopher Michel Onfray, published this
spring in issue 8 of Philosophie Magazine.
Sarkozy was elected president of France on
May 6. Onfray is the author of thirty-two books,
including Atheist Manifesto. Translated from the French
by Tobias Grey.
July, 2007
| Quote: | SARKOZY: Take Céline , for example, who was capable of writing a phrase like "Love is a poodle's chance of attaining the infinite." Everything rings true in this phrase: love will make a poodle out of you, and yet it's an absolute infinity.
ONFRAY: Céline was a novelist who found an impassable, inimitable style, and at the same time could be read by everyone. It's not intellectualism on the Joyce scale, it's slap-bang in the people's tongue. He represents French genius - what is worst, too, like anti-Semitism. But he brings a language and a vision of the world that is at one with an era of mobs and crowds. (-- p. 24) |
Atheist Manifesto:
The Case Against Christianity, Judaism,
and Islam
Hardcover
By Michel Onfray
Journey to the End of the Night
Paperback
Classic novel by Louis-Ferdinand Céline
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| Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2007 1:19 pm Post subject: |
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About Alice
Hardcover
By New Yorker columnist Calvin Trillin
| Quote: | ...Even after I'd taken in most episodes of The Honeymooners, after all, it had never occurred to me to ponder the feelings Ralph Kramden must have had for Alice Kramden. Yet I got a lot of letters like the one from a young woman in New York who wrote that she sometimes looked at her boyfriend and thought, "But will he love me like Calvin loves Alice?"
The letter that made laugh was from Roger Wilkins. By the time of Alice's death, Roger occupied a chair of history and American culture at George Mason University, but in the seventies he had been on the editorial board of The New York Times. In that period, I'd sometimes join the regular lunches he had with the late Richard Harris - a remarkable investigative reporter for The New Yorker who had the aggressively unsentimental worldview often found among people in his line of work.
...In his condolence letter, Roger talked partly about that engaged quality in Alice, but he also got around to her appearance. "She was nice and she was concerned and she was smart and when she talked to you, she was thinking about you, and, also, she was so very pretty," he wrote in September of 2001, a few days after Alice died. "I always thought of you as a wonderful guy, but still I couldn't figure out how you managed to get Alice. Harris once told me it was just dumb luck." When I read that, I burst out laughing. Harris had nailed it again. (-- pgs. 6-10) |
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| Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2007 11:29 am Post subject: |
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The Very Best of Frank Sinatra
Audio CD
| Quote: | The Second Time Around
By legendary songwriters Sammy Cahn and
Jimmy Van Heusen
Love is lovelier, the second time around
Just as wonderful, with both feet on the ground
It's that second time you hear your love song sung
Makes you think perhaps that love, like youth, is wasted on the young.
Love's more comfortable the second time you fall
Like a friendly home the second time you call
Who can say, what brought us to this miracle weve found?
There are those who'd bet
Love comes but once - and yet
Im oh so glad we met
The second time around |
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=3092#3092 |
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| Posted: Tue Nov 27, 2007 2:25 pm Post subject: |
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Come On In!
Hardcover
New Poems
Still another posthumous collection
by Charles Bukowski
| Quote: | another high-roller
I went to Vegas last weekend
I had on that blue dress
low-cut and short
the one you like
and I wore my brown boots
and this guy at the crap table
he kept winning
and he kept feeding me chips
he said I brought him luck.
I won a few hundred but
I swear to Christ he must have
won 40 thousand dollars that
night.
he was a great guy.
he told me,
"don't go away, we're going to win
the world!"it was some night, believe me.
I'll never forget it.
you don't like Vegas, do
you? she asked.
I once got married there,
I said.
and what did you over the
weekend? she asked.
I waxed my car,
I told her.
(-- p. 106) |
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2007 3:01 pm Post subject: |
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Where There's a Will
Hardcover
By John Mortimer
| Quote: | ... One of the miracles of life is that few people pass through it without finding someone to love them. Awkward, even impossible people find love and it's a great convenience if they find it with each other. As someone said, it was very kind of God to arrange for Thomas Carlyle to marry Jane Carlyle, because 'it meant that only two people were unhappy instead of four.'
The mysterious forces which compel the most unlikely to dedicate their lives to each other can't be explained. I can only repeat that missed opportunities, in life and love, may haunt you for ever. Opportunities should be taken gratefully, even if the results may be somewhat bizarre. Long ago, in the distant days of Angus Steak Houses and Mateus Rose and Frankie Vaughan singing 'Give Me the Moonlight,' I took a new-found friend out to dinner. Later I drove her back to her flat in a London square in which the front doors were flanked by rows of bells for different apartments. She suggested I come up to hers after I'd parked the car. Before she left me she touched her hair and said, 'I'd better warn you. All this comes off.'
Left alone in the car, I came to the conclusion that what she had told me meant that she was bald. Did I want to go to bed with a bald-headed woman? No, I did not. Should I not then turn the car around and drive straight home without any further explanation? Perhaps. But wouldn't that be a cowardly, even a mean and unkind thing to do? It wasn't, after all, her fault that she was bald and it would be dreadful to remind her of the fact in such a dramatic fashion. I hit on another solution. I'd take my glasses off. My sight is so short that I wouldn't be able to see how bald she was.
... After I'd parked the car I rang the top bell, as I had seen her do beside the front door, and was rewarded by a deeply sexy voice saying, 'Come upstairs.' I obeyed, with my glasses off, and found the top flat's door opened by a blurred but distinctly bald figure wearing a dressing gown. I threw my arms round it, only to discover it was a bald-headed, quite elderly man and I was in the wrong house.
Having beaten a hasty retreat and apologetic retreat, I finally got to the right flat and found that my companion had perfectly acceptable hair which had been covered with a wig. It was, as I say, a bizarre evening but not one I've lived to regret. (From Chapter 22, Missed Opportunities, at pgs. 128-129) |
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Sat Dec 08, 2007 3:36 pm Post subject: |
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Paris 1919
Six Months that Changed the World
Paperback
By Frostback history champ Margaret Macmillan
| Quote: | Gertrude Bell was the only woman to play a key figure in the peace settlements in her own right. Thin, intense, chain-smoking, with a voice that pierced the air, she was accustomed to being out of the ordinary. Although she came from a rich, well-connected family, she had broken with the usual pattern of her class - marriage, children and society - by going to Oxford and becoming the first woman to receive a first-class degree in history. She climbed the Matterhorn and pioneered new routes in the Alps. She was a noted archaeologist and historian. She was also arrogant, difficult and very influential. In November 1919, when the British commander-in-chief in Baghdad held a reception for eighty notables, they left their seats to crowd around her.
With only her servants and guides for company, Gertrude Bell had traveled all over the Middle East before the war, from Beirut to Damascus and from Baghdad to Mosul. She loved the desert: "Silence and solitude fall around you like an impenetrable veil; there is no reality but the long hours of riding, shivering in the morning and drowsy in the afternoon, the bustle of getting into camp, the talk around Muhammad's fire after dinner, profounder sleep than civilization contrives, and then the road again. By 1914, she was widely recognized as one of Britain's leading work for British military intelligence and the only woman officially part of the British expedition to Mesopotamia.
... She loved passionately but never married. When her first great love turned out to be a gambler, her father refused his permission, and her second was already married. (footnotes omitted) (From Chapter 27, Arab Independence, pg. 399) |
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| Posted: Mon Dec 17, 2007 4:34 pm Post subject: |
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The Book of Guys
Audio CD
Narrated wonderfully by the author,
Prairie Home Companion radio host, humorist and
then some, Garrsion Keillor
Listen to him at the excellent
Writer's Almanac
Audio CD
The Book of Guys
Hardcover
| Quote: | "A life without a woman is the lonesomest life I can imagine," Figaro said with a sigh. "I would be miserable without Susanna."
Life is lonesome, said the Don, and lonesome isn't bad, compared to desperate. But of course a man should not live without women. Luckily, marriage is not a requirement. Nobody needs monogamy except the unenterprising. Hungry women are everywhere! Lonely housewives who advertise on recipe cards pinned to a bulletin board in the Piggly-Wiggly - wistful ladies at the copier, putting flesh to glass, faxing themselves to faroff officedom - fervid women sending out E-mail invites - hearty gals working out on the weight machine who drop a note in your street shoes - cocktail joints along the freeway, wall-to-wall with women whose lights are on and motors are funning! - Figaro, they're out there! No legal contract required. What could be better? (From Don Giovanni, pgs. 136-137) |
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| Posted: Mon Jan 21, 2008 11:52 am Post subject: |
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Sleeping Murder
The Agatha Christie
Mystery Collection
Hardcover
| Quote: | ... Erskine, in spite of his quietness, had personality. He talked of ordinary things in an ordinary manner, but there was something - that something that women are quick to recognize and to which they react in a purely female way. Almost unconsciously Gwenda adjusted her skirt, tweaked at a side curl, retouched her lips. Nineteen years ago Helen Kennedy could have fallen in love with this man. Gwenda was quite sure of that.
She looked up to find her hostess's eyes full upon her, and involuntarily she flushed. Mrs. Erskine was talking to Giles, but she was watching Gwenda, and her glance was both appraising and suspicious. Janet Erskine was a tall woman, her voice was deep - almost as deep as a man's. Her build was athletic; she wore a well-cut tweed with big pockets. She looked older than her husband, but, Gwenda decided, well might not be so. There was a certain haggardness about her face. An unhappy hungry woman, thought Gwenda.
"I bet she gives him hell," she said to herself. (From Chapter XVI, A Mother's Son, pgs. 108-109) |
The last Miss Marple story in a long series of first-rate murder mysteries by the master!
| Quote: | Sleeping Murder
Audio CD
Narrated by British actress Stephanie Cole
Probably the superior recording, but we have yet to lay hands on it. Please check back soon for an updated review. |
| Quote: | Sleeping Murder
BBC Full Cast Dramatization
Audio CD
Although BBC generally lives up to its reputation for quality, these full cast dramatizations are occasionally disappointing - too many competing voices of varying tone or too many musical interludes. We haven't yet heard this one. Please check back soon for our review. |
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| Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2008 4:40 pm Post subject: |
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From - alas - Losing Streak:
Loving
Poetry and Art
Edited by Charles Sullivan
| Quote: | A PITY - WE WERE SUCH A GOOD INVENTION
Yehuda Amichai
TRANSLATED FROM hEBREW BY ASSIA GUTMANN
They amputated
Your thighs off my hips.
As far as I'm concerned
They are all surgeons. All of them.
They dismantled us
Each from the other.
As far as I'm concerned
They are all engineers. All of them.
A pity. We were such a good
And loving invention.
An aeroplane made from man and wife.
Wings and everything.
We hovered a little above the earth.
We even flew a little .
(--p. 15, proceeding a photo of The Fall of Man and The Expulsion from the Garden of Eden by Michalangelo. 1508-12. Fresco, from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, The Vatican, Rome) |
| Quote: | TONIGHT I CAN WRITE THE SADDEST LINES
Pablo Neruda
TRANSLATED FROM SPANISH BY W.S. MERWIN
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest liunes.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are lno longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
(-- pgs. 12-13) |
Link to this entry
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Last edited by editor on Tue Jun 10, 2008 3:14 pm; edited 2 times in total |
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| Posted: Tue Feb 12, 2008 11:09 am Post subject: |
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Memories of My Melancholy Whores
Hardcover
Cruel, offensive story by Gabriel García Márquez
in his usual elegant style due, no doubt, in large
measure to Spanish translator Edith Grossman
| Quote: | The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin. I thought of Rosa Cabarcas, the owner of an illicit house who would inform her good clients when she had a new girl available. I never succumbed to that or to any of her many other lewd temptations, but she did not believe in the purity of my principles. Morality, too, is a question of time, she would say with a malevolent smile, you'll see. She was a little younger than I, and I hadn't heard anything about her for so many years that she very well might have died. But after the first ring I recognized the voice on the phone, and with no preambles I fired at her:
"Today's the day."
... And so, on the eve of my ninetieth birthday, I had no lunch and could not concentrate on reading as I waited to hear from Rosa Cabarcas. The cicadas were chirruping as loud as they could in the two o'clock heat, and the sun's journey past the open windows forced me to move the hammock three times. It always seemed to me that my birthday fell at the hottest time of the year, and I had learned to tolerate it, but my mood that day made this difficult. At four o'clock I tried to calm my spirit with Johann Sebastian Bach's Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello in the definitive performance by Don Pablo Casals. I consider them the most accomplished pieces in all of music, but instead of soothing me as usual they left me in an even worse state of prostration. I fell aslepp during the second, which I think lags somewhat, and in my sleep I confused the cello's lament with that of a melancholy ship that was leaving. At almost the same time the telephone woke me, and the rusted voice of Rosa Cabarcas brought me back to life. You have a fool's luck, she said. I found a little thing even better than what you wanted, but there's one drawback: she just turned fourteen. I don't mind changing diapers, I said as a joke, not understanding her motives. I'm not worried about you, she said, but who's going to pay me for three years in jail? (Opening paragraph and pgs. 16-17) |
J.S. Bach
Solo Cello Suites
Audio CD
Featuring the legendary Pablo Casals
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Tue Feb 12, 2008 11:48 am Post subject: |
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Art & Love
An Illustrated Anthology
of Love Poetry
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Selected by Kate Farrell
| Quote: | A CHILD IS SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN
A child is something else again. Wakes up
in the afternoon and in an instant he's full
of words,
in an instant he's humming, in an instant warm,
instant light, instant darkness.
A child is Job. They've already placed their
bets on him
but he doesn't know it. He scratches his body
for pleasure. Nothing hurts yet.
They're training him to be a polite Job,
to say "Thank you" when the Lord has given,
to say "You're welcome" when the Lord has
taken away.
A child is vengeance.
A child is a missile into the coming generations.
I launched him: I'm still trembling.
A child is something else again: on a rainy
spring day
glimpsing the Garden of Eden through the
fence,
kissing him in his sleep,
hearing footsteps in the wet pine needles.
A child delivers you from death.
Child, Garden, Rain, Fate.
Yehuda Amichai, Israeli. b. 1924
(-- p. 19, adjacent to First Steps. Vincent Van Gogh, Dutch, 1853-1890. Oil on canvas, 1890.) |
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http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=3513#3513 |
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