Okay, I can be a sport. Marigolds asked folks if they would list books they have in piles here and there and everywhere. At first, it seemed like too big of a job to list the books in even one of my piles, but then I looked next to my computer and realized, with horror and fascination, that Charles Bukowski and Eve Ensler were nestled together, and so I figured that was something the world needs to know. In this pile are books I have recently skimmed through in order to give advice to writers, would-be and is-be, to give myself strength to write something I needed to write, and books that wake up my imagination....
Franz Kafka, Max Brod
Magical Realist Fiction (Anthology)
Baptism of Desire, Louise Erdrich
Rites and Symbols of Initiation, Mircea Eliade
Albert Schweitzer: An Anthology
Robert Kennedy and His Times, Arthur M. Schlesinger, jr.
There is No Road, Antonio MacHado
Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl
Whale Rider, Witi Ihimaera
Novel & Short Story Writers Market, 2005
Remembrance of Things Past, Volume I, Marcel Proust
Men On The Moon: Collected Short Stories, Simon Ortiz
Summer On the Lakes in 1843, Margaret Fuller
Munching On Existence (literary anthology)
Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire
The Last Night of the Earth Poems, Charles Bukowski
The Vagina Monologues, Eve Ensler
The following excerpt from Proust is marvelous. What Proust says at the end of the paragraph: that is the way I feel about my books, that they give me the imminent joy "of going home."
I would ask myself what time it could be; I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now farther off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, showed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveller is hurrying towards the nearby station; and the path he is taking will be engraved in his memory by the excitement induced by strange surroundings, by unaccustomed activities, by the conversation he has had and the farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp, still echoing in his ears amid the silence of the night, by the imminent joy of going home.
14 comments:
Theresa, what a great collection. There`s a couple there that I have to check out, especially the Bukowski poems; I`ve never read that.
When I was in grad school, I had the honor of driving Frankl and his wife from his hotel to the university for an invited lecture.
V
Real easy for me. My pile is at the library.
That's quite a list. My pile is so junky right now, not in neatness, but junk content that it's more than a little embarassing.
Well, there's a diverse selection -- love it!
True story: Max Brod was napping on the sofa. Franz Kafka accidentally plowed into it. Brod stired. There was Kafka ... a finger to his nose. "Shhhh." he said. "Consider me a dream."
What a wonderful pile of treasures, Theresa! I have little piles of books all over the house, unorganized and a delightful surprise when I come across them, as in, "Oh! I forgot I had that! How great!"
I love the concept of coming home when they are discovered. I have always thought of them as a huge treat in store, something to wallow in like a warm bath or a deep massage or ice cream with chocolate sauce. But coming home is a lovely idea. I shall think on that one.
Vicky
http://www.livejournal.com/~vxv789/
And for some, going home habors no joy. Simple regret and heavy hearted mourning for sure....but not joy.
I seem to have lost my way home prehaps because they sold it or prehaps because the joy of it exsisted only in my soul. The light of youth still flickers in that mirror of life....the lines on my face deceive even me.
I am so happy to be back online and able to visit your journal!
just tell me this - are Proust and Baudelaire in French? then i'll really be impressed.
Okay, LES FLEURS DU MAL is half in French--left side French, right side English. I only read the English side! I had years and years of French and don't remember much. Proust is a challenge for me, even in English. I had to laugh when I saw your message, Marigolds. GOOD ONE.
That is some more list ... it seems that many of us that keep an online journal, feel quite passionately about our books! Thanks for sharing this.
*** Coy ***
I love that quote. And your book list gave me some ideas of stuff to look for next time at the library or bookstore.
Here are some quotes about home I like--
The poet Alan Shapiro said "Writing may be the only pleace where I've ever truly felt at home."
Judith Thurman, “The Hand of Distance”: Every dreamer knows that is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you’ve never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.
Ever felt that way??
thanks for owning up, in re the French authors you mentioned back in the book stacks entry. i'm with you on Proust, but Baudelaire is so delicious in French, read it out loud that way - you'll have to pick up a Gauloise and have a glass of vin rouge immediately.
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