Oct 3, '07 3:57 PM
for loretta's contacts
A very strange thing happened to me today. I decided to sort out my books and pack some up for the charity shop. I always find sorting through books difficult because no matter how resolute my intention it inevitably ends with me sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by open books, deeply engrossed in at least one of them. This time was slightly different. I was sat, as predicted, in the midst of half open books when one book, with no provocation or encouragement what so ever, quite literally threw itself from the top shelf of the bookcase and landed, face up and open in my lap.
This book was a very old paperback. This book was just about the first 'serious' book I ever read. And there, in my lap, sat the original copy of the book I had bought in the early 70's. I was still young and impressionable with a mind ripe for education. This book changed the way I think, it introduced me to my long term all time favorite author. I have not read his work for so long. But, as I sat reading this, every thing I felt then just came flooding back. And the strange thing is, this particular passage is just so apt.............this is how I feel when I try to write
''However, the more pages I read of my handwriting, the less did I like the manuscript. Even in my former most despondent hours it had never seemed so futile and absurd to me as now. Everything seemed so confused and stupid; the clearest relationships were distorted, the most obvious forgotten, the trivial and the unimportant pushed into the foreground. It must be written again, right from the beginning. As I continued reading the manuscript, I had to cross out sentence after sentence, and as I crossed them out, they crumbled on the paper, and the clear, sloping letters separated into assorted fragments, into strokes and points, into circles, small flowers and stars, and the pages were covered like carpets with graceful, meaningless, ornamental designs. Soon there was nothing more left of my text; on the other hand there was much unused paper left for my work. I pulled myself together. I tried to see things clearly.''
Just a small excerpt from
'The Journey to the East', Herman Hesse, pub Panther Books 1972. (this particular version has an introduction by Timothy Leary which is worth reading too)
I had forgotten the pleasure of reading Hesse. I don't think so many people read his books now. So.... now rather than packing books up for the charity shop I have sorted out all my old Hesse books with the intention of re-reading ASAP.
Tags: 360 import, hesse, literature
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