Antal Szerb Update.

 

After publishing my post on this writer’s wonderful novel Journey by Moonlight, I received an Email from Pushkin Press, asking if I knew about the new cover for this book, as mine was quite an old version (2002). The obvious pride and passion concerning this detail of the book aroused my interest enough that I wanted to find out more. It turns out that not only does Journey by Moonlight, have a fantastic new cover, but that Pushkin Press have five books by this author all with matching imagery and all being published on the 06/06/2013, making these not just a great set of reads but a beautiful addition to any bookshelf.

Antal Szerb Update.

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In this classic 1930s novel, a businessman
struggles to reconcile his bourgeois duties
with an irresistible desire to resurrect
his lost youth among Hungary’s Bright
Young People. Szerb’s darkly comic
novel traces the effects of a socially and
sexually claustrophobic world on the
life of one man, torn between placid
normality and sensational adventure.

                 *************************************

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The restless King Oliver VII of Alturia,
an obscure Central European state
whose only notable exports are wine and
sardines, wants nothing more than an easy
life: so, plotting a coup against himself,
King Oliver VII escapes to Venice in
search of ‘real’ experience. There he
falls in with a team of con-men and ends
up, to his own surprise, impersonating
himself. His journey through successive
levels of illusion and reality teaches him
much about the world, about his own
nature and the paradoxes of the human
condition.

 

**************************************

 

At an end-of-the-London-season soirée,
the young Hungarian scholar-dilettante
Janos Batky is introduced to the Earl of
Gwynedd, a reclusive eccentric who is
the subject of strange rumours. Invited
to the family seat, Pendragon Castle in
North Wales, Batky receives a mysterious
phone-call warning him not to go …
Antal Szerb’s first novel The Pendragon
Legend is a gently satirical blend of gothic
and romantic genres, crossed with the
murder mystery format.

 

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In August 1785, Paris buzzed with
a scandal that had everything—an
eminent churchman, a female fraudster,
a part-time prostitute and the hated
Queen herself. Its centrepiece was the
most expensive diamond necklace ever
assembled, and the tangle of fraud, folly,
blindness and self-delusion it provoked.
Here, the great Hungarian novelist Antal
Szerb takes the narrative as a standpoint
from which to survey the entire age—
including aspects of it seldom considered
by more orthodox historians.

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Hungarian Antal Szerb is best known
in the West as the author of three
extraordinary novels, most notably
Journey by Moonlight (1937), and a highly
entertaining study of Ancien Régime
France, The Queen’s Necklace (1942). This
selection of his stories and novellas, set
variously in mythical times and in the
London and Paris of the twenties and
thirties, reflects his love of life and the
irrepressible irony that is his trademark.
This revised edition contains two stories
not originally included.

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Biography.

Antal Szerb – Wiki

kirjasto.sci.fi/szerb

Pushkin Press Catalogue

 

Journey by Moonlight ~ Antal Szerb.

“ON THE TRAIN everything seemed fine. The trouble began in Venice, with the back alleys.” This is our introduction to Mihaly a Hungarian businessman on his honeymoon in Venice. Mihaly has married his wife Erzi to escape from an adolescent rebellious nature and into the arms of conformity, part of the problem faced is his newly wed bride has married him as an attempt to escape the bourgeois conformity of her life prior to meeting him. As stated in the opening lines, the trouble began with those alleys, as one night Mihaly feeling out of sorts, meanders away from the hotel they are staying at and into those alleys and is still wandering at daybreak. This is like a trial run for what happens later. As not long into the honeymoon Mihaly goes AWOL (accidently enters the wrong train), this is followed by a series of misadventures across Italy as his past catches up with him.

We then follow the journey both of these individuals make, with Erzi heading off to Paris to visit an old friend and a series of characters, one of which is the man she left to marry Mihaly, at one point she seems to be offered as part of a business transaction involving a wealthy Persian. Whilst Mihaly wallows in a combination of self-pity, nostalgia and a sense of confusion that has him bouncing from point to point, bumping into people from his past.

Mihaly as a character shouldn’t inspire our sympathy, apart from his treatment of his bride, he is self-absorbed to the extent that he appears to believe no one else has an inner live, he’s vain, withdrawn, has a combination of amorality & yet appears to be guilt ridden, in fact it’s quite hard to find many redeeming  features at all and yet you’ll laugh at him, with him - you’ll want to shake him up just to wake him up, and then pick him up when he falls – as he will.

This is one of those books that although a lot happens, nothing really changes, it was first published in 1937. According to Nicholas Lezard, it is "one of the greatest works of modern European literature”. In some ways it reminds me of the writing of Henry Green, it has that sharp bright intellect, but is warmer, funnier and wears it’s intelligence lightly.

~~~

Antal Szerb (May 1, 1901, Budapest - January 27, 1945,) was a noted Hungarian scholar and writer. He is recognized as one of the major Hungarian literary personalities of the 20th century. He was born to assimilated Jewish parents, but baptized Catholic. He studied Hungarian, German and later English, obtaining a doctorate in 1924. From 1924 to 1929 he lived in France and Italy, also spending a year in London, England.

As a student he published essays on Georg Trakl and Stefan George, and quickly established a formidable reputation as a scholar, writing erudite studies of William Blake and Henrik Ibsen among other works. Elected President of the Hungarian Literary Academy in 1933 - aged just 32 -, he published his first novel, The Pendragon Legend, the following year. His second and best-known work Journey by Moonlight, came out in 1937. He was made a Professor of Literature at the University of Szeged the same year. He was twice awarded the Baumgarten Prize, (1935 and 1937).

In 1941 he published a History of World Literature which continues to be authoritative today. He also published a volume on novel theory and a book about the history of Hungarian literature. Given numerous chances to escape anti-Semitic persecution (as late as 1944), he chose to remain in Hungary, where his last novel, Oliver VII, was published in 1942. It was passed off as a translation from the English, as no 'Jewish' work could have been printed at the time. Szerb was deported to a concentration camp late in 1944, and was beaten to death there in January 1945, at the age of 43.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

The Picador Book Of Love Poems

Edited by John Stammers.

 In the introduction to this Anthology, the poet and editor John Stammers states “The poetry of love is unlike any other”. He goes on to say that “no other poetry has it’s singularity of focus” and that it is “the dominant theme of most western poetry since the renaissance” and where English poetry finds it’s most characteristic and celebrated expression, whether in the sonnets of Shakespeare or the poets of the the present day. One individuals love for another is typified, if not defined by Eros, following all it’s myriad journeys, travails, its false starts & failed endings.

“Since feeling is first”

since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things

will never wholly kiss you;

*****************

wholly to be a fool

while spring is in the world

****************

my blood approves,

and kisses are a far better fate

than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry

--the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids’ flutter which says

********************

we are for each other: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think no parenthesis

E.E. Cummings

What makes this particular anthology different from the rest, is the way the award winning poet John Stammers has compiled the chosen poetry. Instead of just arranging them in some arbitrary fashion, he has sort to arrange them into pairs, placing some of the greatest love poems of the  past with their  modern counterparts, creating a dialogue between the poems, which in turn reflects the two-way nature of love itself. Also, by pairing them in this particular way, poets such as Spenser, Herrick and Donne  brush up against contemporary poets such as Duffy, Neruda and Hughes, throwing new and interesting light on an age old subject, reflecting the many ways love can be expressed in all it’s ambiguous, concrete, obscure and distinct nature. To be honest, like relationships themselves, not all the pairings work, some sit harmoniously together, others jar and argue, whilst others appear to have nothing in common, yet the majority create a dialogue that leads to more than the individual pieces alone, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." one of my favourite pairings is the two shown here.

First Love.

I ne’er was struck before that hour

With love so sudden and so sweet,

Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

and stole my heart away complete.

My face turned pale as deadly pale

My legs refused to walk away,

And when she looked, what could I ail?

My life and all seemed turned to clay.

**************************************

And then my blood rushed to my face

And took my eyesight quite away,

The trees and bush round the place

seemed midnight at noonday.

I could not see a single thing,

Words from eyes did start -

They spoke as chords do from the string,

And blood burnt round my heart.

**************************************

Are flowers the winter’s choice?

Is love’s bed always snow?

She seemed to hear my silent voice,

Not love’s appeals to know.   

I never saw so sweet a face

As that I stood before.

My heart has left its dwelling-place

And can return no more.

John Clare

John Stammers (Wiki)

Picador

John Stammers (Poetry,Int’)

Picador (Wiki)

John Stammers was born in London in 1954. His first collection Panoramic Lounge-bar (Picador, 2001) won the Forward Prize for Best First Collection 2001, was shortlisted for the Whitbread Poetry Award 2001, and was a Poetry Book Society Recommendation. A second collection Stolen Love Behaviour (Picador, 2005) was a Poetry Book Society Choice. It was shortlisted for the TS Eliot Prize 2005, and the Forward Prize for Best Collection 2005. He won third place in the 2009 National Poetry Competition.

 

More Bolts from Cupid’s Quiver.

Love Poems – Erich Fried

Collected Love Poems – Brian Patten

Two Pomes for Valentines Day

Winners Of The Serbian Poetry Competition

 

An initiative launched by

The Serbian Library in London

 

 

On Saturday the  2nd of February The Serbian Library announced the Winners of “First Poetry Competition in Serbian Diaspora in Britain”. The aim of this competition, as previously mentioned here on The Parrish Lantern, is to encourage poets to write in their mother tongue, as well as others who are happy to write in either language, thus enabling the Serbian community in Britain to be able to enjoy an on-going relationship with their language, it’s culture and heritage. The Serbian Library also hopes, by bringing together poets and writers, to create a data base which will enable regular reporting on the developments and events regarding literature, poetry, literary evenings, the publication of new books and publishing initiatives in both Britain and Serbia,

and perhaps in time the wider world.

Enough of my Waffle, Over to the Judges                               ***************************

Sonja Besford, well published and translated    writer and poet, also the President of the Association of Writers and Artists Abroad.

Dr Vesna Goldsworthy, Professor of Literature and Creative Writing at Kingston University, also well published and translated poet and author, winner of the literary prizes.

Susan Curtis-Kojaković, Chief Editor from Istros Books, experienced publisher who focuses on East European Literature and less known but high quality authors.

and the Results………………..

The winners in the Serbian language:

Overall First Prize: Nikola Čobić, London

Second Prize: Dajana Grujić, London

Third Prize: Dr Suzana Louth, Reading

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The Winner of this categories poem Tobacco Tales, with Translation by the poet, Nikola Čobić.

Duvanske priče.

Mrtvački kovčeg komšije sa četvrtog sprata

Su danas izneli u dvorište

Iz stana u kojem su nekada rasli korov i deca.

Njegov pas, kralj okolnih ulica

Je cvileo pred stepeništem.

***********************************************

Taj čovek koji je ucrtavao

Golfsku struju na čelo,

Je umro sočno – od moždane kapi

Manje od mesec dana po penzionisanju

Zato što ga se ovaj svet zasitio.

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Pozdravljao me je u liftu

Taj ljubitelj krupnih naslova u novinama

I izmišljenih priča o ratu

U kojem je lagao da je bio ranjen;

Taj doživotni čiviluk za mantil

Sa najlon kesom u ruci.

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Nekada bi pričao sa štapom

Kao sa sinom koga se odrekao.

Sve što mu je pripadalo je

Brod u flaši i pepeo u lavabou.

Žvakao je duvan i smrdeo na osamu.

******************************************

Nisam ga sažaljevao ni kada sam čuo

Da je dva dana grgotao na podu,

Samo sam se setio kako je

Nekoj deci izbušio loptu

Kojom su mu razbili prozor.

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Na posletku, voleo sam ga iskreno,

Jer je bio deo mog odrastanja,

A umro je ne sanjajući da će ga svet,

Sa kojim je večito kuburio,

Održavati živog kroz duvanske priče.

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Tobacco Tales

They brought the coffin with my 4^th floor neighbour

Out into the yard today

From the flat where children

And weeds once grew.

His dog, the king of nearby streets,

Whined in front of the staircase.

****************************************

That man who drew in

The Gulf current on his forehead,

Died neatly – of stroke

Less than a month after retiring

Because this world was fed up with him.

*******************************************

He used to greet me in the lift,

That admirer of large print headlines

And made up stories of war wounds

That lifelong coat hanger

With a nylon bag in his hand.

***********************************************

Sometimes he would talk to his walking stick

As to a son whom he disowned;

All that belonged to him were

Boat in a bottle and ashes in the sink.

He chewed tobacco and stank of seclusion.

************************************************

I didn’t pity him even when I heard

That for two days he gurgled on the floor,

I only recalled how he

Punctured a ball with which

Some children broke his window.

**********************************************

In the end, I loved him truthfully

For he was a part of my growing up,

And yet he died, never dreaming that the world,

With which he eternally wrestled,

Will keep him alive in tobacco tales.

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In the picture on the left is Susan Curtis-Kojaković, reading Nick Cobic’s poem Duvanske priče (Tobacco tales).

***********************************************************

As the writers had the choice of whether to write in their mother-tongue or English, we have another category for those who chose to write in English - The Winners in the English Language category are

***********************************************************

Overall First Prize: Miloš Jakovljević, London

Second Prize: Dajana Grujić, London

*******************************************

Here is the English language Winning poem,

written by Miloš Jakovljević.

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Luncheon on the Grass by Milos Jakovljevic

The old drifter walks into plain view
and plants himself in the centre of the park
like a big brown lotus flower. The overflowing
of his bags, the colourful rags, his foot-long beard
and gravitational cigarette smoke
make for a comfy mobile swamp.
The sun adds a Manet twist to it
and I find myself ecstatic to be alive.
Entering a title into my memo on my Samsung
Galaxy Ace touch screen: 'The Lotus Man'.
Or rather: 'the lorus mab'.

************************************************
Over the perky clip of the leather case of the Galaxy,
I see the man-flower is staring at me, and so I stare back.
He detects my pluck and drops a generous smile down his petal
like an over-sized sea-shell pearl. It rolls over the field
to my hipster shoes and I observe, geek glasses and all,
as it overbalances on green oil canvas like a white roulette ball.
Opening mouth and mesmerizing. Symbolizing...
Hovering tinsel.

****************************************************
Suddenly, a cloud shifts and the light dims
and there is a spotlight on my June Ewing (1926-2009) Loved this Park
throne-like bench. The pearl vanishes, the lotus closes like a flytrap
and the swamp compartmentalizes itself into one
biodegradable shield. Tap me on the shoulder
and make me drop a Galaxy. A ghostly sigh
played backwards.

******************************
It's June, in the middle of July.

 

There are few opportunities in Great Britain for poets from countries such as Serbia to showcase their poetry to the wider public, nor is there an annual public event at which poets and writers can meet, exchange experiences and get to know other poets from around the country. Events such as this would not only be inspirational, but would also bring people together via a greater understanding of their own culture, allowing the public a chance to familiarise themselves with new developments in poetry and to follow the emotional and creative journeys of their favourite poets. It would also create a platform to promote new and wonderful writers to individuals such as myself, who have little knowledge of this nation’s heritage, a chance to learn more and gain a greater understanding.

With this is mind, I offer my heartiest thanks to the promoters, poets & judges, for the honour bestowed on me, by allowing me my small place in this fantastic initiative and also my hope this this event goes forward and grows.

For further information about the poets, the copyrights or publishing the winning poetry, please contact

Vesna Petković serbianlibrary@yahoo.com Tel: 07801130806

or Olga Gaković Tel: 0208 740 4109

Pomesallsizes.

 

 

 

The Crooked God Machine ~---> Autumn Christian.

 

“Before Daddy started stuffing road kill in the living room, I almost thought everything would turn out all right. My Daddy’s hands were like burnt maps. He said if we wanted to learn how to conquer the world, all we had to do was look at his hands. After working at the factory he used to sit at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey and the after dinner cigar that Momma always gave him. He kicked off his boots and lit the cigar and said “Hey Kids you want to hear a story?” Then he’d lay those black scarred hands, palms up, on the kitchen table for us to touch. I still remember their texture, like cool braised metal. When Sissy and I were small and baby brother hadn’t yet started  to eat his fingers Daddy picked us up and held us above his head so we could fly”.

This was before Charlie’s Dad, the one rock solid point of refuge in a world of hell, lost his job and with it any claim to his sanity. This was before his Dad ran out the house one night with a stuffed deer under one arm.

Charles lives on the Black Planet, a world terrorized by a masked God that screams and curses from the television where, to go outside, risks a confrontation with swamp witches, plague machines or to be picked up by the hell shuttles. A world where salesmen sale tranquillity that clinicians hotwire into the brain.

One day Charles meets a women named Leda, who claims to have escaped from hell, this mysterious women offers hope that there is life beyond the rule of the God. Then she vanishes, and Charles leaves his town to find her with the help from his ex – a stripper who’s been hotwired and is now a deadhead. Along the way he will meet others like Leda, and he will slowly open his eyes to the realities of the Black Planet, uncovering it’s truths, which brings him into a confrontation with it’s God.

 

Without revealing more of the book to you, it’s hard to describe what’s going on. This book could have labels chucked at it all day -  Horror, Dystopian, Fantasy, Surreal Absurd even Sci-Fi, it has elements of all of these, in places it had a disturbing quality that would make you pause, as you gasped at the violence & perversity of this God’s world. This is a book where unsettling images impale your sensibility, leaving you adrift from your commonplace bearings, where darkness is the norm and light is a stranger, that could be friend or foe. If this was all this book was it would be fine - it would be ok, but like Charles it drags itself out of the morass, because of the love story that forms it’s essence. This dark story of religious intolerance & inherent corruption, has a desolate and yet charming love story, that, in the sadness of its telling, reminded me of Shane Jones’s Light Boxes, that makes The Crooked God Machine,  a strangely beautiful, dark tale that has the power to enchant the reader whilst it’s twisted logic drills deep into the psyche.

 

 Autumn Christian is a horror writer who lives in the dark woods of the southern United States, with poisonous blue flowers in her backyard and a set of polished cow skulls on her mantel.
She has been a freelance writer, an iPhone game designer, a cheese producer, a haunted house actor, and a video game tester. She considers Philip K. Dick, Ray Bradbury, Katie Jane Garside, the southern gothic and dubstep as main sources of inspiration, although you could easily add Clive Barker & Steven King to that list. The Crooked God Machine is her first published novel.

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