#Delmore Schwartz

[power-chords]

Neil McCauley and Vincent Hanna are the only two people on the planet quite like each other. In the world of this picture, only the two of them are fully aware and conscious of who they are. And that understanding, when I had it during the writing of the last image of the picture, is what made the whole rest of the picture come together and that’s when I decided to make Heat. And I rewrote everything from that last moment. That is, in fact, the last frame of the movie. Working backwards, everything led to that moment of connection between the two of them. (I)

Looking in the mirror, Harry didn't like what he saw The cheeks of his mother, the eyes of his father As each day crashed around him, the future stood revealed He was turning into his parents The final disappointment

Stepping out of the shower, Harry stared at himself His hairline receding, the slight overbite He picked up the razor to begin his shaving And thought: “Oh, I wish I was different.”

I wish I was stronger; I wish I was thinner I wish I didn't have this nose These ears that stick out remind me of my father And I don't want to be reminded at all The final disappointment

Harry looked into the mirror, thinking of Vincent Van Gogh And with a quick swipe lopped off his nose And happy with that he made a slice where his chin was He's always wanted a dimple The end of all illusion Then peering down straight between his legs Harry thought of the range of possibilities A new face, a new life, no memories of the past And slit his throat from ear to ear

Harry woke up with a cough; the stitches made him wince A doctor smiled at him from somewhere across the room “Son, we saved your life, but you'll never look the same.” And when he heard that, Harry had to laugh Although it hurt, Harry had to laugh The final disappointment (II)

And now he felt for the first time how closely bound he was to these people. His separation was actual enough, but there existed also an unbreakable unity. As the air was full of the radio and unseen voices, so the life he breathed in was full of these lives and the age in which they had acted and suffered. (III)

Pop had carried him back to his side of the line, blood of his blood, the same thick body walls, the same coarse grain. Not cut out for a spiritual life. Simply not up to it. (IV)

Hard to comprehend that Pop, who was dug in for eighty-three years and had done all he could to stay, should now want nothing but to free himself. How could Woody allow the old man to pull the intravenous needles out? Willful Pop, he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. But what he wanted at the very last Woody failed to follow, it was such a switch. (IV)

Pop, whom Woody thought he had stilled, only had found a better way to get around him. Loss of heat was the way he did it. His heat was leaving him. As can happen with small animals while you hold them in your hand, Woody presently felt him cooling. Then, as Woody did his best to restrain him, and thought he was succeeding, Pop divided himself. And when he was separated from his warmth he slipped into death. [...] You could never pin down that self-willed man. When he was ready to make his move, he made it—always on his own terms. And always, always, something up his sleeve. That was how he was. (IV)

Heat (1995) & Heat 2 (2022) vs. I) Michael Mann director's commentary, 2005; II) Lou Reed, "Harry's Circumcision (Reverie Gone Astray)," from Magic and Loss, 1992; III) Delmore Schwartz, "America! America!," from The World is a Wedding, 1948; IV) Saul Bellow, "A Silver Dish," first published in the New Yorker, 1978

[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,"

[deadpanwalking]

LET'S GOOOOOOOO!

[lascitasdelashoras]

Escritores y poetas

[davidhudson]

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

[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

[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.

[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

--

[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]

[power-chords]

Delmore Schwartz by Stanley Moss, 1967

He heard God coughing in the next apartment, his life a hospital, he moved from bed to bed with us and Baudelaire, except he always had Finnegans Wake tucked in his pajamas, which must mean, sure as chance, the human race is God’s phlegm. Penitent, I say a prayer in God’s throat: “Mister, whose larynx we congest, spit us into the Atlantic or Hudson… let us be dropped into the mouth of the first fish that survived by eating its young— drink hot tea and honey Your mother brings You till You are rid of Your catarrh, well again. Let us swim back to our handiwork.”

Far from the world of Howth Castle, Delmore died in a bed-bugged hotel, unclaimed for three days. A week before, by chance, I saw him at a drugstore counter, doubled over a coffee, he moaned, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend, deceitful enemy kisses.” He held my hand too tight, too long. Melancholy Eros flew to my shoulder, spoke in Greek, Yiddish, and English: “Wear his sandals, his dirty underwear, his coat of many colors that did not keep him warm.”

[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.

[theblackestofsuns]

In Dreams Begin Responsibilities and Other Stories (1978)

Delmore Schwartz

New Directions

[wisdomofcheer]

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.

-Delmore Schwartz

[britneyshakespeare]

I am my father's father, You are your children's guilt. In history's pity and terror   The child is Aeneas again; Troy is in the nursery, The rocking horse is on fire. Child labor! The child must carry   His fathers on his back. But seeing that so much is past   And that history has no ruth For the individual, Who drinks tea, who catches cold, Let anger be general: I hate an abstract thing.

Excerpt from Delmore Schwartz (1913–1966), “The Ballad of the Children of the Czar”