Dear Livejournal Genie
Mar. 3rd, 2006 11:13 pm1. Does anyone have a copy of Louise Gluck's poem "For Jane Meyers"? I want it and it seems to have disappeared off the Internets.
2. I am blanking on the name of the guy who perpetrated my favorite literary hoax in history. He started a rumor of a fictional book supposedly written by a former British military colonial official of his time in India-- a memoir of "lust" and such. The hoax was so succesful that the book was banned by numerous organizations and became the #1 bestseller on the New York Times bestseller list--and it didn't exist! What was the name of the guy? Please help!
Thank you
anthrochica
2. I am blanking on the name of the guy who perpetrated my favorite literary hoax in history. He started a rumor of a fictional book supposedly written by a former British military colonial official of his time in India-- a memoir of "lust" and such. The hoax was so succesful that the book was banned by numerous organizations and became the #1 bestseller on the New York Times bestseller list--and it didn't exist! What was the name of the guy? Please help!
Thank you
no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 05:30 am (UTC)Yes, of course, I, Libertine. Now I remember. Somehow I had blocked out two crucial things about it: the title and the fact that I learned about it while reading up on the guy who wrote "The Christmas Story" which I had just watched for the first time and absolutely loved.
Also I found myself talking about a Ray Bradbury story today, which I think resonated with me for the same reason, it also haunts me, sort of. It's "Fire and Ice" from one of his short story collections; maybe "R is for Rocket." do you know it?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 08:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 08:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 05:14 am (UTC)Not quite disappeared.
For Jane Meyers
Sap rises from the sodden ditch
and glues two green ears to the dead birch twig.
Perilous beauty-
and already Jane is digging out
her colored tennis shoes,
5
one mauve, one yellow, like large crocuses.
And by the laundromat
the Bartletts in their tidy yard-
as though it were not
wearying, wearying
10
to hear in the bushes
the mild harping of the breeze,
the daffodils flocking and honking-
Look how the bluet falls apart, mud
pockets the seed.
15
Months, years, then the dull blade of the wind.
It is spring! We are going to die!
And now April raises up her plaque of flowers
and the heart
expands to admit its adversary.
20
Louise Gluck
no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 07:32 pm (UTC)