2011年5月23日 星期一

People: The Calloused Hand

People: The Calloused Hand

Monday, Oct. 23, 1950

Turinese Tailor Antonio Santomauro, who made the elaborately embroidered Mantle of Peace worn by Pope Pius XII for special ceremonies, was busily stitching away at two more peace jackets. One, of Tibet wool, double-breasted with four gold buttons and an embroidered globe carried by two small doves, will go to Harry Truman. To Joseph Stalin, courtesy of Tailor Santomauro, will go a single-breasted job, buttoned to the throat, with one embroidered dove.

In Manhattan, warming up for her debut as a pro, Gertrude ("Gorgeous Gussie") Moron modeled her latest play to the tennis galleries: leopard-skin panties. Undecided what to wear on her six-month tour of the country, she thought it would be "something simple, made out of better material than the dresses for amateur matches"—perhaps black velvet panties "completely covered except when I move."

In Chicago for a series of lectures, T. S. (The Cocktail Party) Eliot, 62, mused: "The years between 50 and 70 are the hardest . . . You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down . . . Basically I am a very lazy man . . . After Christmas I will try to get down to doing another play. I know that no one ever has two successes in a row, so I am writing the next play for a small out-of-the-way theater in London . . . You must go on living day to day, but you cannot go on . . . without hope. If there is not hope, then we would all lie down and expire."

Said Hollywood Tough Guy John Garfield: "I'm not tough . . . Hell, I haven't had a fight since I was 13."

James A. Farley, in Spain for his third visit since the war, had a 40-minute chat with Franco, failed to get official permission to enlarge his Barcelona Coca-Cola plant.

Home from the hospital, nursing his recently fractured thigh, George Bernard Shaw, 94, confided to a visitor: "I don't think I shall ever write anything more." Otherwise, said his doctors, their patient was doing well; he was allowed to leave his bed for 90 minutes a day to take wheelchair tours of his flower beds (see cut) and soak up the autumn sun.

The Yankees' pitching pride, Southpaw Eddie Ford, 21, was awaiting another decision: results of his second draft physical to find out whether an intestinal bug picked up in Mexico two winters ago had gone away.

The Furrowed Brow

Dosed with penicillin and fighting a cold, Marlene (the "World's Most Glamorous Grandma") Dietrich arrived in London 24 hours behind schedule to play a middle-aged film star in the film No Highway. She still had time to call a press conference and set reporters straight on a matter of figures. Said she: "I am 44, not 47."

Speaking at Western Reserve University, David Lilienthal, onetime boss of the Atomic Energy Commission, decried scaremongering, but conceded that "any person who wants to live a peaceful, quiet, uneventful life has just picked the wrong time to live."

Excited rumors ran through Paris that France's No. 1 Communist Maurice Thorez had been liquidated, but it turned out he was merely resting comfortably in his villa after getting treatment for high blood pressure, brought on, said his doctors, by "physical and intellectual overexertion."

Back in Boston for the first time since she declared war on Harvard ten years ago when the Lampoon voted her the movie star least likely to succeed, onetime Oomph Girl Ann Sheridan was in a mellow, forgiving mood. "I'm not worried any more about what Harvard University thinks of me ... By the way whatever happened to that editor? It would be interesting to know what he is doing in 1950."*

The Metropolitan Opera's Helen Traubel sounded a Wagnerian note for her home town when she announced that she had bought into the St> Louis Browns, perennial sad sacks of the American League. The deal was no gamble, said she: "I know they are going to do something . . . This is an investment in faith and in sentiment."

From a federal jail in Manhattan where he has served five months of his one-year sentence for contempt of Congress, pudgy Eugene Dennis, general secretary of the U.S. Communist Party, answered a query on the state of his health: "The carcass is scaled down somewhat . . . The mind is, of course, cogitating, and the spirit is fine. Everything is O.K. with me except for the loss of precious time."

A last-moment hitch developed in the well-laid wedding plans of Cinemactor Errol Flynn, 41, and Hollywood Dancer Patrice Wymore, 23, when a French Lutheran clergyman suddenly withdrew the use of his church. The twice-divorced groom scurried about, thought he had found another, an abandoned church in Beaulieu-sur-Mer. Other reported plans: a civil ceremony in Monaco with an army guard of honor, peasants dancing in the streets, followed by a one-day honeymoon, the shortest of Flynn's career.

Speaking of women in politics, Millicent Carey Mclntosh, dean of Barnard College, had a hunch that more girls would grow up to become Senators. But a lady President? Out of the question: "Other women wouldn't vote for her . . . Women themselves are extremely conservative about other women. They still prefer men doctors or lawyers or bosses."

Just Folks

The Illinois society of the Sons of the American Revolution polled its members to see who should get the annual Patriotism Award, found 9 to 1 in favor of the Chicago Tribune's Colonel Robert ("Bertie") McCormick, the state's "greatest patriot of this generation."

In Paris, President Vincent Aurlol stocked his pantry with almond milk and other dainties to welcome a visitor, thorny, willful Sidi Mohamed Ben Youssef, Sultan of Morocco. After a dervish whirl of partygoing, the Sultan doffed his white burnoose, slipped into hunting knickers for a shooting party at Marly-le-Roi where he bagged 76 pheasants, ten hares, two partridges.

For the U.N. blood bank in Tokyo, Prince Takamatsu, younger brother of Emperor Hirohito, parted with 300 cc of his royal blood, then grinned broadly as he prepared to down a glass of apple juice.

Because English weather did not agree with his ailing mother, Queen Aliyah, Iraq's sloe-eyed boy King, Feisal II, 15, decided to change schools, checked out of Harrow and flew home to sunny Baghdad to enter the Iraqi Military College.

For a medical research benefit, a New York auction gallery held a famous-name rummage sale, bagged such customer-catching donations as a Paisley shawl from Irene Dunne, the bat Joe DiMaggio used for his home run in the last World Series, Sigmund Romberg's original score for When I Grow Too Old to Dream, a Toscanini baton, a self-portrait of Enrico Caruso.

Mohamed Reza Pahlevi, the Shah of Iran, divorced from beauteous Princess Fawzia, sister of Egypt's tubby King Farouk, announced that his next wife would be a commoner, pretty Soraya Esfandiari, 19, granddaughter of a tribal chief. The wedding date: Dec. 27, birthday of Mohamed.

In a three-car caravan with physician, secretary and seven servants, Belgium's King Leopold and his Princess de Rethy, who is expecting, arrived at Abano, Italy. He planned to join the rheumatics for some quiet mud baths; she would take some slow, countryside motor trips.

*The Lampoon's 1940 editor, W. Russell Bowie Jr., is now European research editor for the U.S. State Department's Intelligence Division.

Corner in Poetry (Time)

The Press: Corner in Poetry

Monday, Nov. 21, 1955

"Poetry," said William Wordsworth, "has never brought in enough to buy shoestrings." Neither has Poetry (circ. 5,000). In all its 43 years as a bellwether of U.S. belles-lettres, while printing such "firsts" as T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Carl Sandburg's Chicago, the monthly has struggled along with account books that would never scan. Last July Poetry seemed finally about to die. But last week, in poetry's biggest rescue operation since the Greeks went after Helen, Poetry piled up enough money to buy a carload of shoestrings.

The hero of the rescue was Chicago's Tycoon J. (for Joseph) Patrick Lannan, 50, whose enthusiasm for the poets' corner has been obscured until now by his zest for cornering corporate stocks (TIME July 25). Yet for years, Lannan has wooed the muse with unpublished verse and unpublicized donations to Poetry. When he learned that the magazine might succumb to an unpaid printer's bill he determined to give it all the benefits of high-pressure, big-business promotion. "I could have just given them $25,000 " he explained, "but that would have been the easy way."

Philistines. Instead, Lannan launched a thousand VIPs in a Poetry-saving drive He persuaded Robert Frost to come to Chicago to read his poetry as a prelude to a $50-a-plate champagne supper and literary auction this week, then lined up guests and sponsors to pay for the supper so that all the receipts would go to Poetry. He ran afoul of a few Philistines. Publisher Bennett Cerf refused to kick in declaring roundly that "Poetry is dead " but when Lannan let that be known among the literati, Cerf came around. Louis Untermeyer thought the whole idea vulgar" and Poetry not worth saving. ("He's nothing but an anthologist anyway," sniffed Lannan.) One Manhattan lawyer coldly refused to help, in the apparent belief that Poet Frost was some kind of subversive. "Don't you know there's a cold war on?" he asked in an angry letter.

But Lannan got impressive support elsewhere. Carl Sandburg called him "the St. John the Baptist that poets have been looking for since Harriet Monroe [the magazine's founder] died"—and agreed to do a fund-raising reading next year. Among the sponsors for the supper: Pierre du Pont III, William J. ("Wild Bill") Donovan, Daniel R. Topping, Charles Edison. Conspicuously absent was Adlai Stevenson's ex-wife Ellen Borden Stevenson, longtime Poetry Patroness who resigned from the magazine's board 18 months ago.

Lady Chatterley's Lover. The guest list swelled until Lannan's caterers had to send to their Manhattan supplier for more champagne, donated by Madison Square Garden President James Norris and Sports Promoter Art Wirtz. After supper, TV's Bergen ($64,000 Question) Evans auctioned off letters and manuscripts by such literary titans as John Masefield, George Bernard Shaw. Thomas Wolfe, Harry S. Truman. Lannan put up his own copy (published in Florence in a limited 1928 edition) of Lady Chatterley's Lover. In all, Lannan estimated the day's take at $25,000.

That covered Poetry's annual deficit—and Lannan plans to make his fund-raising drive an annual event. Beyond that, he sees the task of putting the slim, pale monthly on a moneymaking basis. First step will be to hire a firm of management consultants to study the magazine's operation, possible markets and the future of poetry in the U.S. "Just as you would," explained a Lannan associate, "if you were thinking of buying into a machinery plant."

2011年5月22日 星期日


Influence has long been Bloom’s abiding preoccupation, and the one that established him, in the 1970s, as a radical, even disruptive presence amid the groves of academe. This may surprise some who think of Bloom primarily as a stalwart of the Western canon, fending off the assaults of “the School of Resentment” and its “rabblement of lemmings,” or as a self-confessed Bardolator, swooning over “Hamlet” and “Lear.”

Not that Bloom abjures these subsequent selves. There is much canon fodder in this new book, along with re­affirmed vows of fidelity to Shakespeare, “the founder” not only of modern literature but also, in Bloom’s expansive view, of modern personhood and its “infinite self-consciousness.”

“For me, Shakespeare is God,” he declares at one point, and in other places he says much the same thing, in much the same words, a reminder that to read Bloom once is in a sense to reread him, so often does he repeat himself. Twice he asserts that Shakespeare’s greatest creations are Falstaff, Hamlet, Iago and Cleopatra; twice that “The Tempest” and “The Winter’s Tale” are tragicomedies and not ro­mances; three times that “Titus Andronicus” parodies the tragedies of Shakespeare’s defeated rival Marlowe. Prospero, Bloom shrewdly observes, “is one of those teachers who is always convinced his auditors are not quite attentive.” So too Bloom, himself a “professional teacher” for 55 years now, has perhaps learned that the most efficient way to get your point across is to keep making it, the classroom sage’s version of staying on message.

Engraving of Shakespeare: the term "bardolatry" derives from Shaw's coinage "Bardolator", combining the words "bard" and "idolatry" by refers to the excessive adulation of Shakespeare.[1][2]

Timeline of Shakespeare criticism is a

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/timeline-of-shakespeare-criticism#ixzz1N4Ras8qg

2011年5月17日 星期二

Hamlet, Joseph, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver, Mr. Pecksniff, and Alice,




To include Don Quixote in English Literature is a piece of
impudence, though a lesser one than the inclusion in it of a
religious anthology of the Jews, collected by them during a
period of a thousand years, called the Bible. But though Don
Quixote has taken his place with Hamlet, Joseph, Robinson
Crusoe, Gulliver, Mr. Pecksniff, and Alice, his true character is
not yet recognised either in his own country or that of his
adoption. Of the work of Cervantes more than that of any
other, are Goethe's words true, that a poet has to be taught his
own meaning. The genius is hardly aware of the significance
of his performance, since so much of it is the God that speaks
through him as a mouthpiece. In the case of Don Quixote this
is further complicated by the fact that Cervantes, in the Second
Part of Don Quixote, destroys, unconsciously, his own creation
in the First Part.

問題是 Joseph 是誰

Martin Chuzzlewit - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

- [ 翻譯這個網頁 ]

While with the Pecksniffs, the younger Martin meets and befriends Tom Pinch, who is in some ways the true protagonist of the novel. Pinch is a gentle, ...
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Chuzzlewit - 頁庫存檔 - 類似內容

Pecksniff | Define Pecksniff at Dictionary.com

- [ 翻譯這個網頁 ]
a person of Pecksniffian attitudes or behavior: a virtuousness that only a pecksniff could aspire to. Use pecksniff in a Sentence · See images of pecksniff ...


Martin Chuzzlewit - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

- [ 翻譯這個網頁 ]
While with the Pecksniffs, the younger Martin meets and befriends Tom Pinch, who is in some ways the true protagonist of the novel. Pinch is a gentle, ...
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Chuzzlewit - 頁庫存檔 - 類似內容

Pecksniff | Define Pecksniff at Dictionary.com

- [ 翻譯這個網頁 ]
a person of Pecksniffian attitudes or behavior: a virtuousness that only a pecksniff could aspire to. Use pecksniff in a Sentence · See images of pecksniff ...

[形]偽善的な, 猫をかぶった. ▼C. Dickensの作品Martin Chuzzlewit(1843-44)の登場人物Seth Pecksniffの名から.

a person of Pecksniffian attitudes or behavior: a virtuousness that only a pecksniff could aspire to.

Peck·sniff·i·an  /pɛkˈsnɪfiən/ Show Spelled[pek-snif-ee-uhn] Show IPA –adjective ( often lowercase ) hypocritically and unctuously affecting benevolence or high moral principles.

Joseph Andrews - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia - [ 翻譯這個網頁 ]But while Shamela started and finished as a sustained subversion of a rival work
, in Joseph Andrews Fielding merely uses the perceived depravation of ...
The Oxford Companion to English Literature


Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics/禪與...

HAMLET To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Act 3, Scene 1
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 蒙上了慘白的一層思慮的病容
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.