it's amazing how little can happen in one day, watching it pass before me. set my hair, mop the floors, wash some clothes, make a sandwich, write some letters, check the mail, read my books, eat dinner with my roommates, do a facial, chat with my mama... the day has passed.
i am on the last chapter of my book, memoirs of montparnasse, by john glassco. i'm a bit heartbroken. it has been the most ideal, effortless, escapist work i've read in a long time. as an eighteen year old, glassco & his best friend left montreal by freight ship & arrived & lived in paris from 1928-1930, planning to be writers, but mostly leading the ultimate romantic expatriate life possible at the time-- cafes, parties, parisian nightlife told from a real-life perspective. he references spending time with so many artists & writers, i'm only familiar with perhaps half of them & i'm still completely enthralled with the work. i'd like to go back & look up everyone he mentions. it's so amazing to me that such a brief time period could have been so saturated with creativity & excitement. it often leads me to wonder where that place exists in the present & what brings it about. in decades will people speak of a past heyday of artists & lovers converging in the great city of portland, oregon? hm.
last week at the bins i picked up a guide to trees & plants in oregon, which i have slowly been absorbing. i think i will walk to laurelhurst park tomorrow or the next day & see how many trees i can identify. this edition of the book was published in 1974 but most of the illustrations look like they're from the original edition from the 1940s. there are funny little cartoon captions on some pages... a grand fir stands smiling with a speech bubble that says "pulp mills would like me!" etc.
i would like to cultivate a little cactus garden, but i haven't done any research yet. i'm a bit doubtful that any little cactus friends are going to be particularly pleased with the moderate west-facing sunshine my bedroom provides for a small portion of the day. succulants, perhaps. i might have to resolve to finding cactus art & leave it at that. at this bar on burnside, the standard, there is a wall-size illustration of the desert, a vintage drawing of sorts, & patsy, lia, & i enjoy going there just to sit in front of it & sip some tequila.
i should mention that my last little post of ladies-with-cacti was gathered with inspiriation for the halloween costume i'm fantasizing about making. if everything works out properly, i should be able to visit tucson for the weekend of the all souls procession, & if my wallet somehow fattens a little, i am creating a dress ala the original cactus girl, sparkly, full length-- i'm very excited, though nervous as i'm always a bit over-ambitious about these things. i'll certainly keep you posted.
2 comments:
Always nice to learn of others discovering Memoirs of Montparnasse. It is a wonderful book - seemingly seemless, practically flawless. Fellow Montreal poet Louis Dudek once described it as the best book of prose by a Canadian that he had ever read. I can't help but agree.
If you are interested in looking into the lives behind the names (and the truth behind the memoir), might I suggest the second edition published by Oxford University Press Canada in 1995? You'll find annotations, photos and an excellent new introduction by Glassco's friend Michael Gnarowski.
thanks for the suggestion! the oxford university edition i have is from 1970 & the introduction is fairly no-frills. the newest edition from new york book review classics has many pictures too, i'm wishing now that i'd just paid the few extra dollars for it. i'll be sure to check out the michael gnarowski intro. i would like to make the experience of this work last as long as possible-- such a great feeling upon finding literature like that.
Post a Comment