The Bottomless Bottle of Beer is available in a Kindle version by clicking HERE. The story originally appeared in Emanations: Second Sight, which can be viewed HERE.
|Professor Hodges, Master of Coquettish Understatement|
|Professor Hodges, Master of Coquettish Understatement|
Though based on Genesis 1, the poem in fact has no plot, no protagonists, no dialogues, no structure, sort of a stream of consciousness, or a movie made with scattered footage from documentaries. A surprising mix of descriptions and theories, theology and doubts, Renaissance culture/history (the Discovery of America) and biology, translations and autobiography, imagination and despair, and whatnot.Watch this space for news as this exciting project develops.
|A depiction of Tasso from a German encyclopedia, 1905.|
Saturday November 23, 2013 thru December 24, 2013Sunday thru Friday: 12:00-6:00 p.m.
RAISING FUNDS FOR BUILDING MAINTENANCESALE INCLUDES FINE ART, Vintage Clothes, & Collectibles.Featured items: Pool table, books, records, vintage band and other uniforms, African art, comic books, lamps, vintage clothing, and bric-à-brac.Have tea in the new period room created by the HBO TV series Boardwalk Empire!Plus for the readers, scholars and fine art collectors some special holiday gifts: postcards, books, giclee prints by the foremost living Paradise Lost illustrator Terrance Lindall, whose work is in the greatest Milton collections in the USA and abroad.Postcards and books and the Gold Scroll Giclee prints (paper version) can be purchased at the Art Center.
Giclee prints of the New Eden Series are by order only. Order New Eden Series by November 30 to arrive before December 24th:
"How can I live without thee, how forgoe
Thy sweet Converse and Love so dearly joyn'd,
To live again in these wilde Woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart; no no, I feel
The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh,
Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."
Book 9, Paradise Lost
Sent: Tue, Oct 8, 2013 4:28 pm
Subject: Re: Emanations
Well, it is most gratifying to receive an email like this. Read the Phllip Murray-Lawson interview with Michael Butterworth here: Part I Part IIHi Carter,
Have now received E3 (bought 5 copies from amazon.com).I find myself thrilled with it in all senses of the words. It is by far the best-looking of the three volumes, and another fat tome to boot stuffed with new and interesting work that probably excels the first two. It's no mean feat to achieve this level of excellence three times in a row.Very impressed with the latest Bronson serial! I think your fiction writing gets better and better.. . I thought the latest installment of this zany and original serial had a highly inventive and enjoyable narrative, fresh to the senses and teasing to the intellect.Turning to the other pieces, Philip Murrary-Lawson's story has a fine way of subverting itself with humour that raised a smile more than once, Elkie Riches' story has the power of Moorcock's 'Dancers' series, Hrodevert Conall's strange piece I liked, Jeffrey Falla's I liked but could not understand (and must come back to!), Li Li's 'Summer Breeze' I thought was excellent for a new young writer, Leslie McMurtry's 'The Guest' well done though more conventional.I very much enjoyed Gareth Jackson's two new pieces, which I hadn't read before. In terms of quality and ambition they could have come straight from the pages of New Worlds circa 1967-70. They read like collaborations between Sladek and Dr Christopher Evans, yet they speak with an entirely original voice. I thought the use of pseudonyms exactly right. I also thought your addition of the graphic, of a clay tablet inscribed with primitive writing, an inspired addition to 'An Abridge History'. It fit so well I thought initially that it must be Gareth's own choice of illustration, and I wondered how you had come by it.Your other 'found' illustrations scattered throughout the book all fit extremely well with their parent texts. I thought there were many good illustrations again, particular Kai Robb's and Dario's. We are so lucky to have them!I enjoyed my first reading of the poems, though I need to come back to them to fully appreciate the many individual voices. It was a lot to take in. I loved the visual poetry, and Richard Kostelanetz's amusing 'Lovings'. I very much liked the inclusion of prose-poems, an undervalued art.I'm now excitedly looking forward to making my way through 'Themes'. So far I have read Marielle Risse's absorbing piece.All in all, it is a great read that pushes the boundaries of imagination. We should all be very proud.Best wishes,Michael
"It's a visualisation of the phenomenon, it's not a proof," Genovese says of the experiment. "You should look to the universe itself for that."Now, consider the following from the on-line Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy article on Wittgenstein's Philosophy of Mathematics:
...apparent propositions are pseudo-propositions of various types and . . . all other uses of ‘true’ and ‘truth’ deviate markedly from the truth-by-correspondence (or agreement) that contingent propositions have in relation to reality. Thus, from the Tractatus to at least 1944, Wittgenstein maintains that “mathematical propositions” are not real propositions and that “mathematical truth” is essentially non-referential and purely syntactical in nature. On Wittgenstein's view, we invent mathematical calculi and we expand mathematics by calculation and proof, and though we learn from a proof that a theorem can be derived from axioms by means of certain rules in a particular way, it is not the case that this proof-path pre-exists our construction of it.Highlight this:
What will distinguish the mathematicians of the future from those of today will really be a greater sensitivity, and that will—as it were—prune mathematics; since people will then be more intent on absolute clarity than on the discovery of new games.
Philosophical clarity will have the same effect on the growth of mathematics as sunlight has on the growth of potato shoots. (In a dark cellar they grow yards long.)
A mathematician is bound to be horrified by my mathematical comments, since he has always been trained to avoid indulging in thoughts and doubts of the kind I develop. He has learned to regard them as something contemptible and… he has acquired a revulsion from them as infantile. That is to say, I trot out all the problems that a child learning arithmetic, etc., finds difficult, the problems that education represses without solving. I say to those repressed doubts: you are quite correct, go on asking, demand clarification! (PG 381, 1932)
Anthony Burgess's posthumously published Byrne, though subtitled A Novel, is actually a poem in five parts. With the exception of the third part, which is measured in Spenserian stanzas, Byrne (written in 1993) is presented in Byron's adaptation of ottava rima, which has heroic lines of ten syllables. Burgess's mimicry artfully captures Don Juan's meandering whimsicality, earthy subject matter, and, of course, funny rhymes - Burgess describes a Germany "Of Schnapps, the joy of being drunk and Aryan / Though Hitler was a teetotalitarian."
Burgess's polyglot wordplay is masterful, his scholarship is excellent, and his sense of the interrelationship of history, art, and tragedy is crisp and revealing. He lacks, however, something of the deftness and lightness of touch that translates Byron's witty and adventurous yarns into expressions of a wonderfully gentle sensibility. Perhaps Burgess's shortcoming in this respect - if indeed it is a shortcoming - has much to do with the differences between the centuries in which the two poets lived and wrote. Where Byron is troubled or angry, Burgess is dazed and profoundly unsettled. Where Byron is sometimes dark, Burgess can be completely awful. The tenor of Burgess's poetics would have us believe these are bloodier times in which humor has moved still closer to the disposition of the graveyard.
Michael Byrne is a raging Anglo-Irish painter and composer who spends the 1930s living off of women, exhibiting his pornographic paintings, and writing music for the cinema. He eventually uses his talents to serve Nazi Germany. At war's end Byrne flees to Africa, and the story shifts forward to the 1990s, as Byrne's children, now in late middle age, are variously collapsing beneath the weight of life, profound doubt, and the wickedness of the times. Through Byrne, Burgess demonstrates the relationship of rampant modernism to fascism. By the end of the century even the grisly constant of this formulation is mere schoolman's nostalgia. Art has devolved into frequencies still lower than fascism. Chaos reigns supreme.
Meanwhile, Burgess presses on steadily in ottava rima as he describes Byrne's offspring making operas out of the life of Calvin and Wells's Time Machine. They sit as "Euro-delegates" on committees for the "House of Euroculture," an exposition of "great European contributors to European thought" sans W. S'peare. Elsewhere, Muslims riot in libraries and burn Dante for putting Mohammed in Hell.
Some readers may see in Byrne Neroesque fiddling or offbeat black comedy. The dizzying effect, however, is without sudden ironical upswings or jolly surprises. The poem culminates in a meeting between Byrne and his offspring. Through subjection to his art and music, his children are prepared - kneaded, softened, deadened - for his entry. The disembodied voice of John Gielgud rattles off a series of five sonnets of a dire and troubling aspect that impresses like falling lead. (One of these sonnets, in slightly different form, is presented in Burgess's autobiography as a work he composed while in the hospital in the late 1950s; it elicited a gloomy response from his physician.) Four Africans carry in Byrne on a sedan chair, as if Mr. Kurtz had been alive all these years. After two or three deathly quips from the old man, the children flee outside to an uncertain epiphany in an uncertain "filthy world" which is in the process of being blown to bits by terrorist bombs.
“Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure. Consider also the devilish brilliance and beauty of many of its most remorseless tribes, as the dainty embellished shape of many species of sharks. Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the world began.Supposing these startling lines to be specimens of legitimate natural history, moreover considering them in the wake of last night's aerial activities, one can't help but to wonder if the universe is playing an elaborate "trick or treat" on us?
Consider all this; and then turn to the green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half-known life. God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!