#Delmore Schwartz

[guy60660]

Delmore Schwartz

[davidhudson]

Delmore Schwartz, December 8, 1913 – July 11, 1966.

[key-cat]

Time is the school in which we learn.Time is the fire in which we burn.

時は我々が学ぶ学校だ。時は我々が身を焼く火だ。

Delmore Schwartz デルモア・シュワルツ

[mournfulroses]

Delmore Schwartz, from Gods & Mortals: Modern Poems on Classics; "Psyche Pleads with Cupid,"

[omg-rodents]

Existentialism means that no one else can take a bath for you

[deadpanwalking]

LET'S GOOOOOOOO!

[bluecorners]

Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

- Delmore Schwartz

[lascitasdelashoras]

Escritores y poetas

[rastronomicals]

10:01 PM EDT August 4, 2024:

Delmore Schwartz - "The Repetitive Heart, Part IX" From the album   The World's Behind You: A Velvet Underground Companion (April 2023)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Absolutely free Free Free! with the June 2023 Mojo

--

[flavia-draws]

you know how people were always telling lou that they started doing drugs because of him, and it kinda freaked him out because he didn't mean to be interpreted that way? well i wish i could have told him i started reading delmore schwartz because of him, because i think that would have made him very happy

[theshatterednotes]

Delmore Schwartz, US poet

[davidhudson]

Delmore Schwartz, December 8, 1913 – July 11, 1966.

[hayleylovesjessica]

I got a couple books today! Regarding the Delmore Schwartz book, Farrar, Straus and Giroux published his collected poems earlier this year, prompting a resurgence of interest in his work and something of a critical revaluation of it. I'll get the poetry later. First, I wanted to explore his fiction. In particular, his short story "In Dreams Begin Responsibilities," the eponymous story in this collection, is supposed to be a modernist classic. With Debby having more or less calmed down in my immediate vicinity, I drove out to my local Barnes and Noble, from which I had ordered the book, and I picked it up, as it came in earlier today.

Also, after finishing Rachel Yoder's Nightbitch a couple weeks ago, I am now in my dog lit era. I wanted this Penguin Classics book with Jack London's The Call of the Wild and White Fang, but I didn't want the most recent edition, which is in the terrible 2019 PC design. I made a point of finding a nice copy of the book in the old 2001 PC design online; plus, as an added bonus, the older edition features an introduction by James Dickey, the poet-novelist best known for Deliverance. Anyway, the book came in the mail today, but I don't think Potato is impressed, LOL.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

And Now, We Enter The Time Of The Hungry Ghost: (Guillaume Gris)

* * * *

WHO DO YOU LOVE?

“the hungry, beating brutish one in love with candy, anger and sleep….” ~ Delmore Schwartz

* "It has a slow and dark birth, more mysterious than the birth of the body. When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of language, nationality, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets." [From A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man]

[alive on all channels]

[thesefevereddays]

In the Green Morning, Now, Once More

By Delmore Schwartz

In the green morning, before

Love was destiny,

The sun was king,

And God was famous.

The merry, the musical,

The jolly, the magical,

The feast, the feast of feasts, the festival

Suddenly ended

As the sky descended

But there was only the feeling,

In all the dark falling,

Of fragrance and of freshness, of birth and beginning.

[arboladentro]

Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day

By Delmore Schwartz

Calmly we walk through this April’s day,   

Metropolitan poetry here and there,   

In the park sit pauper and rentier,   

The screaming children, the motor-car   

Fugitive about us, running away,   

Between the worker and the millionaire   

Number provides all distances,   

It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,   

Many great dears are taken away,   

What will become of you and me

(This is the school in which we learn ...)   

Besides the photo and the memory?

(... that time is the fire in which we burn.)

(This is the school in which we learn ...)   

What is the self amid this blaze?

What am I now that I was then

Which I shall suffer and act again,

The theodicy I wrote in my high school days   

Restored all life from infancy,

The children shouting are bright as they run   

(This is the school in which they learn ...)   

Ravished entirely in their passing play!

(... that time is the fire in which they burn.)

Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!

Where is my father and Eleanor?

Not where are they now, dead seven years,   

But what they were then?

                                     No more? No more?

From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,   

Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume

Not where they are now (where are they now?)   

But what they were then, both beautiful;

Each minute bursts in the burning room,   

The great globe reels in the solar fire,   

Spinning the trivial and unique away.

(How all things flash! How all things flare!)   

What am I now that I was then?   

May memory restore again and again   

The smallest color of the smallest day:   

Time is the school in which we learn,   

Time is the fire in which we burn.