Great 19 Century Poems Read in French: Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine & More

baudelaire

Here’s how Smith­son­ian Folk­ways describes this 1961 album now made avail­able by Spo­ti­fy. (If you need their free soft­ware, down­load it here):

Paul A. Mankin recites the most famous French poet­ry from the 19th Cen­tu­ry. Gérard de Ner­val, Vic­tor Hugo and Alphonse de Lamar­tine, the main poets from the roman­tic peri­od are rep­re­sent­ed, as well as pre­cur­sors of Sym­bol­ism, Paul Ver­laine and Stéphane Mal­lar­mé. In addi­tion, the album includes poems writ­ten by the tor­tured Charles Baude­laire and the unclas­si­fi­able Arthur Rim­baud.

Note: The image above is of Charles Baude­laire.  This album will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free. Oth­er albums fea­tur­ing Mank­in’s read­ings can also be found there, includ­ing:

  • Mul­ti­ple Authors — 20th Cen­tu­ry French Poet­ry, Nar­rat­ed by Paul Mankin — Spo­ti­fy
  • Mul­ti­ple Authors — French African Poet­ry, Read in French by Paul Mankin — Spo­ti­fy

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free French Lessons

13 Lec­tures from Allen Ginsberg’s “His­to­ry of Poet­ry” Course (1975)

Hear Bill Murray’s Favorite Poems Read Aloud by Mur­ray Him­self & Their Authors

 

New Animation Brings to Life a Lost 1974 Interview with Leonard Cohen, and Cohen Reading His Poem “Two Slept Together”

Leonard Cohen was graced with a dis­tinc­tive slow burn of a voice, a man­ly purr well suit­ed to the louche mys­ter­ies of his most famous lyrics.

His death prompt­ed a post-elec­tion out­pour­ing from his already crest­fall­en fans, who sought cathar­sis by shar­ing the myr­i­ad ways in which his music had touched their lives.

As Cohen remarked in a 1995 inter­view with the New York Times

Music is like bread. It is one of the fun­da­men­tal nour­ish­ments that we have avail­able, and there are many dif­fer­ent vari­eties and degrees and grades. A song that is use­ful, that touch­es some­body, must be mea­sured by that util­i­ty alone. ‘Cheap music’ is an unchar­i­ta­ble descrip­tion. If it touch­es you, it’s not cheap. From a cer­tain point of view, all our emo­tions are cheap, but those are the only ones we’ve got. It’s lone­li­ness and long­ing and desire and cel­e­bra­tion.

Rolling Stone dubbed Cohen the Poet Lau­re­ate Of Out­rage And Roman­tic Despair. It’s far from his only nick­name, but it man­ages to encom­pass most of the oth­er 325 that super fan Allan Showal­ter col­lect­ed for his Cohen­cen­tric site.

Have you used Cohen’s music to “illu­mi­nate or dig­ni­fy your court­ing” (to bor­row anoth­er phrase from that Times inter­view)?

If so, you deserve to know that those seduc­tive lyrics aren’t always what they seem.

For one thing, he nev­er got car­nal with Suzanne.

Dit­to the “Sis­ters of Mer­cy.” Turns out they real­ly “weren’t lovers like that.” Cohen var­ied the facts a bit over the years, when called upon to recount this song’s ori­gin sto­ry. The loca­tion of the ini­tial meet­ing was a mov­ing tar­get, and ear­ly on, van­i­ty, or per­haps a rep­u­ta­tion to uphold, caused him to omit a cer­tain crit­i­cal detail regard­ing the night spent with two young women he bumped into in snowy Edmon­ton.

The 1974 radio inter­view with Kath­leen Kendel, above—straight from the horse’s mouth, and fresh­ly ani­mat­ed for PBS’ Blank on Blank series—brings to mind that pil­lar of young male sex com­e­dy, the close-but-no-cig­ar erot­ic encounter.

PBS’ Blank on Blank ani­ma­tor, Patrick Smith, wise­ly employs a light­ly humor­ous touch in depict­ing Cohen’s wild imag­in­ing of the delights Bar­bara and Lor­raine had in store for him. Whether or not they looked like the Dou­blemint Twins is a ques­tion for the ages.

The ani­ma­tion kicks off with a read­ing of his 1964 poem, “Two Went to Sleep,” an ellip­ti­cal jour­ney into the realm of the uncon­scious, a set­ting that pre­oc­cu­pied Cohen the poet. (See the far less pla­ton­ic-seem­ing “My Lady Can Sleep” and “Now of Sleep­ing” for starters…)

You can hear the inter­view Blank on Blank excerpt­ed for the above ani­ma­tion in its entire­ty here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Leonard Cohen’s Final Inter­view: Record­ed by David Rem­nick of The New York­er

How Leonard Cohen’s Stint As a Bud­dhist Monk Can Help You Live an Enlight­ened Life

Ani­mat­ed Video: John­ny Cash Explains Why Music Became a Reli­gious Call­ing

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er, Leonard Cohen fan and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Edgar Allan Poe’s the Raven: Watch an Award-Winning Short Film That Modernizes Poe’s Classic Tale

In 1909, ear­ly cin­e­mat­ic auteur D.W. Grif­fith offered his sev­en-minute inter­pre­ta­tion of Edgar Allan Poe com­pos­ing his acclaimed and wide­ly-read poem “The Raven.” In 2011, film­mak­er Don Thiel offered his twelve-minute inter­pre­ta­tion of an encounter between a writer named Poe, appar­ent­ly young and not long out of the mil­i­tary, and a state­ly talk­ing raven — an encounter that takes place not in the mod­ern day, nor in the first half of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry dur­ing which the real Poe lived, but in the win­ter of 1959, over a cen­tu­ry after Poe died — and in a Hol­ly­wood room, no less.

Poe made his name on tales of mys­tery and imag­i­na­tion; Edgar Allan Poe’s the Raven adds anoth­er lay­er of mys­tery and imag­i­na­tion atop it all. The effort won the film sev­er­al awards, includ­ing Best Short at the H.P. Love­craft Film Fes­ti­val.

That might at first seem like an odd place for an adap­ta­tion of a poem of long­ing like “The Raven,” how­ev­er delib­er­ate­ly skewed, to earn its hon­ors. But you could see Love­craft, who launched his own life’s career in elab­o­rate explo­rations of dread beyond man’s direct com­pre­hen­sion almost exact­ly a cen­tu­ry ago, as Poe’s lit­er­ary heir.

But then, unlike Poe and “The Raven,” Love­craft nev­er claimed to have writ­ten any­thing delib­er­ate­ly and sin­gle­mind­ed­ly to max­i­mize the sat­is­fac­tion of the widest pos­si­ble audi­ence. Indeed, Love­craft’s work, how­ev­er influ­en­tial on that of lat­er imag­i­na­tive writ­ers, remains in the shad­owy realm of the “cult,” while Poe’s has ascend­ed onto the plane of required read­ing. Edgar Allan Poe’s the Raven, which envi­sions Poe’s most famous piece of work with booze, cig­a­rettes, yel­low­ing pat­terned wall­pa­per, lurid light­ing, eight-mil­lime­ter film, a Coro­na type­writer, and oth­er arti­facts of mid­cen­tu­ry dis­so­lu­tion, shows us that they’ve done so in part by tran­scend­ing time and place. Long­ing, it seems, nev­er gets old.

Edgar Allan Poe’s the Raven will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe: Macabre Sto­ries as Free eBooks & Audio Books

The First Biopic of Edgar Allan Poe: 1909 Film by D.W. Grif­fith Shows the Hor­ror Mas­ter Writ­ing “The Raven”

Edgar Allan Poe Ani­mat­ed: Watch Four Ani­ma­tions of Clas­sic Poe Sto­ries

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

Hear the 14-Hour “Essen­tial Edgar Allan Poe” Playlist: “The Raven,” “The Tell-Tale Heart” & Much More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An Immersive Audio Tour of the East Village’s Famed Poetry Scene, Narrated by Jim Jarmusch

Allen_ginsberg_erads howl

Image by Michiel Hendryckx, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

A peek at the pho­tos on a realtor’s list­ing for a New York City one bed­room apart­ment for­mer­ly occu­pied by Beat poet Allen Gins­berg is a dispir­it­ing reminder of how much the East Vil­lage has changed.

And that list­ing is over six years old!

Daniel Mau­r­er, the edi­tor of Bed­ford + Bow­ery, and a Gins­berg fan whom his­to­ry has com­pelled to take over a por­tion of his hero’s for­mer­ly sprawl­ing digs, wrote amus­ing­ly of shod­dy ren­o­va­tions and his upstairs neigh­bor, punk rock icon Richard Hell:

Orlovsky’s name is still on the mail­box – which is just about the only thing still around from his day. After his death, the place was gut ren­o­vat­ed with lux­u­ri­ous mod­ern ameni­ties like a mini fridge that comes up to mid-thigh and a stove that’s so tiny and inef­fec­tu­al I just use it for cook­book stor­age. Soon after I moved in I took a trip to Ikea and rec­og­nized my kitchen cab­i­nets there.

That’s why I was amused to read a piece in the Wall Street Jour­nal … in which my upstairs neigh­bor, Richard Hell, talked about his rent-sta­bi­lized two-bed­room apart­ment and its “funk­i­ness that you don’t find in Man­hat­tan much any­more.”

Hell describes his “worn unvar­nished wood floors that groan when you walk on them, cracks in the plas­ter walls, sag­ging orig­i­nal mold­ings.” That’s exact­ly what I was look­ing for in an apart­ment two years ago.

Mau­r­er is far from alone in the desire to edge clos­er to a bygone cul­tur­al moment. Radio pro­duc­er Pejk Mali­novski spent three years craft­ing Pass­ing Stranger, a site-spe­cif­ic audio tour of the East Vil­lage poet­ry scene, below.

A Dane who relo­cat­ed to New York in 2003, Mali­novs­ki was intrigued by the scene-relat­ed anec­dotes of his friend, poet Ron Pad­gett, who point­ed out his for­mer haunts on strolls about the neigh­bor­hood. His inter­est piqued, Mali­novs­ki immersed him­self in Daniel Kane’s All Poets Wel­come, The Low­er East Side Poet­ry Scene in the 1960’s, anoth­er his­to­ry that comes for­ti­fied with archival audio clips.

Film­mak­er Jim Jar­musch, a long­time Low­er East Side res­i­dent who stud­ied with poet Ken­neth Koch in his youth, was tapped to pro­vide the audio tour’s nar­ra­tion, with music com­pli­ments of com­pos­er John Zorn, the artis­tic direc­tor of The Stone, an exper­i­men­tal East Vil­lage per­for­mance space. Below, Jar­musch explains what attract­ed him to the project:

No mat­ter if geo­graph­ic con­straints pre­vent you from down­load­ing Malinovski’s tour for a two mile, 90 minute amble around the much-changed East Vil­lage. In some ways, the vir­tu­al tour is bet­ter. Rather than try­ing to take it all in in a sin­gle, pre-plot­ted ses­sion, you’re free to wan­der at will, enjoy­ing such inter­ac­tive fea­tures as maps and pho­tos, in addi­tion to inter­views, read­ings, and rem­i­nis­cences.

The 10th stop on the tour deposits you across the street from 437 East 12th Street, Ginsberg’s afore­men­tioned for­mer res­i­dence, on the steps of a church that no longer exists. Mary Help of Chris­tians Roman Catholic Church was demol­ished short­ly after Pass­ing Stranger hit the streets, but its mem­o­ry lives on thanks to its cel­e­brat­ed appear­ance in Ginsberg’s work:

Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writ­ing Let­ters

Pigeons shake their wings on the cop­per church roof 

out my win­dow across the street, a bird perched on the cross 

sur­veys the city’s blue-grey clouds. Lar­ry Rivers 

‘ll come at 10 AM and take my pic­ture. I’m tak­ing 

your pic­ture, pigeons. I’m writ­ing you down, Dawn. 

I’m immor­tal­iz­ing your exhaust, Avenue A bus. 

O Thought, now you’ll have to think the same thing for­ev­er!

- Allen Gins­berg, New York, June 7, 1980

Gins­berg him­self is brought to vivid life by his sec­re­tary and fel­low poet, Bob Rosen­thal, who recalls how vis­i­tors would call up from the street, then wait for Gins­berg to toss down keys, wrapped in a dirty sock. He also name checks Mr. Buon­giorno, the 437 East 12th St neigh­bor who served as Mary Help of Chris­tians’ bell ringer.

You can hear those bells in the back­ground of your Pass­ing Stranger tour, though pro­duc­er Mali­novs­ki uses ambi­ent sound spar­ing­ly, to avoid over­whelm­ing those using the tour on the noisy streets of the actu­al East Vil­lage.

You can down­load the full walk­ing tour of Pass­ing Stranger—named for Walt Whitman’s open­ing salu­ta­tion in “To a Stranger”—here.

Explore Pass­ing Stranger’s triv­ia-filled inter­ac­tive website—featuring audio from Amiri Bara­ka, Het­tie Jones, Eileen Myles, and Jack Ker­ouac, among oth­ers—here.

Poems includ­ed on the Pass­ing Stranger audio tour of the East Vil­lage, in order of appear­ance:

Ken­neth Koch, “To my Audi­ence” (excerpt)

Frank O’Hara, Ode to Joy (To hell with it) (excerpt)

Ted Berrri­g­an “Dear Margie, Hel­lo”

Ron Pad­gett “Poe­ma del City from Tou­jours l’amour”

Walt Whit­man, “To a Stranger”

Tay­lor Mead, “Motor­cy­cles”

Bernadette May­or, “Son­net (You jerk, you did­n’t call me up)”

Diane Di Pri­ma, “Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Let­ters” (excerpt)

Gal­way Kin­nell, “The Avenue Bear­ing the Ini­tial of Christ” (excerpt)

Miquel Piñero, “A Low­er East Side Poem” (excerpt)

Jack Ker­ouac, “Amer­i­can Haiku” (excerpt)

Bill Berk­son / Frank O’Hara, “Song Heard Around St. Bridget’s”

John Ash­bery, “Just Walk­ing Around, from A Wave”

Joe Brainard, “I Remem­ber” (excerpt)

Alice Not­ley, “10 Best Com­ic Books”

WH Auden, “Sep­tem­ber 1, 1939” (excerpt)

Anne Wald­man, “Fast Speak­ing Woman” (excerpt)

Lewis Warsh, “Eye Con­tact” (excerpt)

Dick Gallup / Ted Berri­g­an, “80th Con­gress”

Abra­ham Lin­coln, “My Child­hood-Home I See Again” (excerpt)

Leroi Jones, “Bang, bang, out­ish­ly” (excerpt)

Het­tie Jones, “Ode to My Kitchen Sink”

Bren­da Coul­tas, “A Hand­made Muse­um” (excerpt)

ee cum­mings, ”i was sit­ting in mcsorley’s…”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Footage of Allen Gins­berg, Jack Ker­ouac & Oth­er Beats Hang­ing Out in the East Vil­lage (1959)

Hear Allen Gins­berg Teach “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”: Audio Lec­tures from His 1977 & 1981 Naropa Cours­es

Iggy Pop Con­ducts a Tour of New York’s Low­er East Side, Cir­ca 1993

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Aleister Crowley Reads Occult Poetry in the Only Known Recordings of His Voice (1920)

crowley-recording

Image by Jules Jacot Guil­lar­mod, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Last week, we brought you a rather strange sto­ry about the rival­ry between poet William But­ler Yeats and magi­cian Aleis­ter Crow­ley. Theirs was a feud over the prac­tices of occult soci­ety the Her­met­ic Order of the Gold­en Dawn; but it was also—at least for Crowley—over poet­ry. Crow­ley envied Yeats’ lit­er­ary skill; Yeats could not say the same about Crow­ley. But while he did not nec­es­sar­i­ly respect his ene­my, Yeats feared him, as did near­ly every­one else. As Yeats’ biog­ra­ph­er wrote a few months after Crowley’s death in 1947, “in the old days men and women lived in ter­ror of his evil eye.”

The press called Crow­ley “the wickedest man in the world,” a rep­u­ta­tion he did more than enough to cul­ti­vate, iden­ti­fy­ing him­self as the Anti-Christ and dub­bing him­self “The Beast 666.” (Crow­ley may have inspired the “rough beast” of Yeats’ “The Sec­ond Com­ing.”) Crow­ley did not achieve the lit­er­ary recog­ni­tion he desired, but he con­tin­ued to write pro­lif­i­cal­ly after Yeats and oth­ers eject­ed him from the Gold­en Dawn in 1900: poet­ry, fic­tion, crit­i­cism, and man­u­als of sex mag­ic, rit­u­al, and symbolism—some penned dur­ing famed moun­taineer­ing expe­di­tions.

Through­out his life Crow­ley was var­i­ous­ly a moun­taineer, chess prodi­gy, schol­ar, painter, yogi, and founder of a reli­gion he called Thele­ma. He was also a hero­in addict and by many accounts an extreme­ly abu­sive cult leader. How­ev­er one comes down on Crowley’s lega­cy, his influ­ence on the occult and the coun­ter­cul­ture is unde­ni­able. To delve into the his­to­ry of either is to meet him, the mys­te­ri­ous, bizarre, bald fig­ure whose the­o­ries inspired every­one from L. Ron Hub­bard and Anton LaVey to Jim­my Page and Ozzy Osbourne.

With­out Crow­ley, it’s hard to imag­ine much of the dark weird­ness of the six­ties and its result­ing flood of cults and eso­teric art. For some occult his­to­ri­ans, the Age of Aquar­ius real­ly began six­ty years ear­li­er, in what Crow­ley called the “Aeon of Horus.” For many oth­ers, Crowley’s influ­ence is inex­plic­a­ble, his books inco­her­ent, and his pres­ence in polite con­ver­sa­tion offen­sive. These are under­stand­able atti­tudes. If you’re a Crow­ley enthu­si­ast, how­ev­er, or sim­ply curi­ous about this leg­endary occultist, you have here a rare oppor­tu­ni­ty to hear the man him­self intone his poems and incan­ta­tions.

“Although this record­ing has pre­vi­ous­ly been avail­able as a ‘Boot­leg,’” say the CD lin­er notes from which this audio comes, “this is its first offi­cial release and to the label’s knowl­edge, con­tains the only known record­ing of Crow­ley.” Record­ed cir­ca 1920 on a wax cylin­der, the audio has been dig­i­tal­ly enhanced, although “sur­face noise may be evi­dent.” Indeed, it is dif­fi­cult to make out what Crow­ley is say­ing much of the time, but that’s not only to do with the record­ing qual­i­ty, but with his cryp­tic lan­guage. The first five tracks com­prise “The Call of the First Aethyr” and “The Call of the Sec­ond Aethyr.” Oth­er titles include “La Gitana,” “The Pen­ta­gram,” “The Poet,” “Hymn to the Amer­i­can Peo­ple,” and “Excerpts from the Gnos­tic Mass.” (Find a com­plete track­list at All­mu­sic.)

It’s unclear under what cir­cum­stances Crow­ley made these record­ings or why, but like many of his books, they com­bine occult litur­gy, mythol­o­gy, and his own lit­er­ary utter­ances. Love him, hate him, or remain indif­fer­ent, there’s no get­ting around it: Aleis­ter Crow­ley had a tremen­dous influ­ence on the 20th cen­tu­ry and beyond, even if only a very few peo­ple have made seri­ous attempts to under­stand what he was up to with all that sex mag­ic, blood sac­ri­fice, and wicked­ly bawdy verse.

Aleis­ter Crow­ley The Great Beast Speaks 1920 — 1936 is avail­able on Spo­ti­fy. If you need to down­load Spo­ti­fy’s soft­ware, get it here. It will be added to our list, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aleis­ter Crow­ley & William But­ler Yeats Get into an Occult Bat­tle, Pit­ting White Mag­ic Against Black Mag­ic (1900)

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Aleister Crowley & William Butler Yeats Get into an Occult Battle, Pitting White Magic Against Black Magic (1900)

crowley-yeats

Aleis­ter Crow­ley—Eng­lish magi­cian and founder of the reli­gion of Thele­ma—has been admired as a pow­er­ful the­o­rist and prac­ti­tion­er of what he called “Mag­ick,” and reviled as a spoiled, abu­sive buf­foon. Falling some­where between those two camps, we find the opin­ion of Crowley’s bit­ter rival, the Irish poet William But­ler Yeats, who once pas­sion­ate­ly wrote that the study of mag­ic was “the most impor­tant pur­suit of my life….. The mys­ti­cal life is the cen­ter of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.”

Crow­ley would sure­ly say the same, but his mag­ic was of a much dark­er, more obses­sive vari­ety, and his suc­cess as a poet insignif­i­cant next to Yeats. “Crow­ley was jeal­ous,” argues the blog Rune Soup, “He was nev­er able to speak the lan­guage of poet­ic sym­bol with the con­fi­dence of a native speak­er in the way Yeats def­i­nite­ly could.” In a 1948 Par­ti­san Review essay, lit­er­ary crit­ic and Yeats biog­ra­ph­er Richard Ell­mann tells the sto­ry dif­fer­ent­ly, dri­ly report­ing on the con­flict as its par­tic­i­pants saw it—as a gen­uine war between com­pet­ing forms of prac­ti­cal mag­ic.

Hav­ing been eject­ed from the occult Theo­soph­i­cal soci­ety for his mag­i­cal exper­i­ments, writes Jamie James at Lapham’s Quar­ter­ly, Yeats joined the Her­met­ic Order of the Gold­en Dawn, “an even more exot­ic cult, which claimed direct descent from the her­met­ic tra­di­tion of the Renais­sance and into remote antiq­ui­ty.” At var­i­ous times, the order includ­ed writ­ers Arthur Machen and Bram Stok­er, Yeats’ beloved Irish rev­o­lu­tion­ary Maud Gonne, and famous magi­cians Arthur Edward Waite and Crow­ley. (Just below, see a page from Yeats’ Gold­en Dawn jour­nal. See sev­er­al more here.)

yeats-journal

“When Crow­ley showed a ten­den­cy to use his occult pow­ers for evil rather than for good,” Ell­mann writes, “the adepts of the order, Yeats among them, decid­ed not to allow him to be ini­ti­at­ed into the inner cir­cle; they feared that he would pro­fane the mys­ter­ies and unleash pow­er­ful mag­ic forces against human­i­ty.” Crow­ley’s ouster lead to a con­fronta­tion in 1900 that might make you think—depending on your frame of reference—of the war­ring magi­cians on South Park or of Susan­na Clark’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Nor­rell, or both. “Crow­ley refused to accept their deci­sion,” writes Ull­mann, and after some astral attacks on Yeats,

.… in Highlander’s tar­tan, with a black Crusader’s cross on his breast… Crow­ley arrived at the Gold­en Dawn tem­ple in Lon­don. Mak­ing the sign of the pen­ta­cle invert­ed and shout­ing men­aces at the adepts, Crow­ley climbed the stairs. But Yeats and two oth­er white magi­cians came res­olute­ly for­ward to meet him, ready to pro­tect the holy place at any cost. When Crow­ley came with­in range the forces of good struck out with their feet and kicked him down­stairs.

This almost slap­stick van­quish­ing became known as “the Bat­tle of Blythe Road” and has been immor­tal­ized in a pub­li­ca­tion of that very name, with accounts from Crow­ley, Yeats, and Gold­en Dawn adepts William West­cott, Flo­rence Farr and oth­ers. But the war was not won, Ell­mann notes, and Crow­ley went look­ing for converts—or victims—in Lon­don, while Yeats attempt­ed to stop him with “the req­ui­site spells and exor­cisms.” One such spell sup­pos­ed­ly sent a vam­pire that “bit and tore at his flesh” as it lay beside Crow­ley all night. Despite Yeats’ super­nat­ur­al inter­ven­tions, one of Crowley’s tar­gets, a young painter named Althea Gyles, was “final­ly forced to give way entire­ly to his bale­ful fas­ci­na­tion.”

kuntz-the-battle-of-blythe-road

Ellmann’s both humor­ous and unset­tling nar­ra­tive shows us Crow­ley-as-preda­tor, a char­ac­ter­i­za­tion the wealthy Eng­lish­man had appar­ent­ly earned, as “respon­si­ble gov­ern­ments exclud­ed him from one coun­try after anoth­er lest he bring to bear upon their inhab­i­tants his hos­tile psy­chic ray.” [Bren­da Mad­dox at The Guardian gives a slight­ly dif­fer­ent account of the Bat­tle, in which “Yeats, with a bounc­er, saw him off the premis­es, called in the police and end­ed up (vic­to­ri­ous) in court.” ] Yeats and the oth­er mem­bers’ dis­taste for Crow­ley sure­ly had some­thing to do with his preda­to­ry behav­ior. But the rival­ry was also indeed a poet­ic one, albeit extreme­ly one-sided.

As Crow­ley biog­ra­ph­er Lawrence Sutin writes, “the earnest­ness of the young Crow­ley could not com­pen­sate, in Yeats’ mind, for the tech­ni­cal dif­fi­cul­ties and rhetor­i­cal excess­es of his verse.” Yeats’ opin­ion “infu­ri­at­ed Crow­ley,” who indulged in the mag­ic of pro­jec­tion, writ­ing “What hurt him [Yeats] was the knowl­edge of his own incom­pa­ra­ble infe­ri­or­i­ty.” Crow­ley’s remarks are both “ridicu­lous,” Sutin com­ments, and apply “far more con­vinc­ing­ly to Crow­ley him­self.” Nev­er­the­less, Crowley’s “Mag­ick,” con­tin­ued to make Yeats uneasy, and he may have invoked Crow­ley in his famous line about the “rough beast” slouch­ing toward Beth­le­hem in 1919’s “The Sec­ond Com­ing.”

While the mag­i­cal bat­tle between them might pro­voke more laugh­ter than curios­i­ty about their dif­fer­ent brands of mag­ic, Sutin notes a cru­cial dif­fer­ence that dis­tin­guish­es the two men: “where­as Crow­ley placed him­self in the ser­vices of the Antichrist ‘the sav­age God’ of the new cycle, Yeats’s fideli­ty was to ‘the old king,’ to ‘that unfash­ion­able gyre.’” The gyre, so cen­tral an image in “The Sec­ond Com­ing,” stands for Yeats’ the­o­ry of time and his­to­ry, and it belongs to an old mys­ti­cism and folk­lore that for him were syn­ony­mous with poet­ry.

Crow­ley viewed the occult as a source of per­son­al power—his rev­e­la­tions filled books devot­ed to explain­ing the phi­los­o­phy of Thele­ma (“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the law, love under will); ” Yeats was cer­tain­ly more of an “orga­ni­za­tion man… in his occult activ­i­ties,” writes Mad­dox, and sought to prac­tice mag­ic as a holis­tic activ­i­ty, ful­ly inte­grat­ed into his social, polit­i­cal, and aes­thet­ic life. His “pub­lic phi­los­o­phy,” as he called it, writes James, “pro­pounds an extra­or­di­nar­i­ly con­vo­lut­ed sys­tem that aims to inte­grate the human per­son­al­i­ty with the cos­mos.”

To under­stand Crowley’s mag­i­cal think­ing, we can prob­a­bly skip his poet­ry and attempt as best we can to the deci­pher his sev­er­al arcane, tech­ni­cal books full of invent­ed terms and sym­bols. To under­stand Yeats, as much as that’s pos­si­ble, we need to read his poet­ry, the purest expres­sion of his mys­ti­cal sys­tem and sym­bol­ic thought.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Rare 1930s Audio: W.B. Yeats Reads Four of His Poems

W.B. Yeats’ Poem “When You Are Old” Adapt­ed into a Japan­ese Man­ga Com­ic

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hear Bill Murray’s Favorite Poems Read Aloud by Murray Himself & Their Authors

I’d be wary of any movie star who invites me to his hotel room to “read poet­ry” unless said star was doc­u­ment­ed poet­ry nut, Bill Mur­ray.

Ear­li­er this year, Leigh Haber, book edi­tor of O, The Oprah Mag­a­zine, reached out to Mur­ray to see if he’d share some of his favorite poems in cel­e­bra­tion of Nation­al Poet­ry Month. In true Mur­ray-esque fash­ion, he wait­ed until dead­line to return her call, sug­gest­ing that they meet in his room at the Car­lyle, where he would recite his choic­es in per­son.

Such celebri­ty shenani­gans are unheard of at the Chateau Mar­mont!

Murray’s favorite poems:

What the Mir­ror Said” by Lucille Clifton

At the top of the page, Mur­ray reads the poem at a ben­e­fit for New York’s Poets House, adopt­ing a light accent sug­gest­ed by the dialect of the nar­ra­tor, a mir­ror full of appre­ci­a­tion for the poet’s wom­an­ly body. Clifton said that the “germ” of the poem was vis­it­ing her hus­band at Har­vard, and feel­ing out of place among all the slim young coeds. Thus­ly does Mur­ray posi­tion him­self as a hero to every female above the age of … you decide.

Oat­meal” by Gal­way Kin­nell

Kin­nell, who sought to enliv­en a drea­ry bowl of oat­meal with such din­ing com­pan­ions as Keats, Spenser and Mil­ton, shared Murray’s play­ful sen­si­bil­i­ty. In an inter­view con­duct­ed as part of Michele Root-Bernstein’s World­play Project he remarked:

… it doesn’t seem like play at the time of doing it, but part of the whole con­struct of the work, and even though the work might be extreme­ly seri­ous and even morose, still there’s that ele­ment of play that is just an insep­a­ra­ble part of it.

I Love You Sweat­h­eart” by Thomas Lux

Mur­ray told O, which incor­rect­ly report­ed the poem’s title as “I Love You Sweet­heart” that he expe­ri­enced this one as a vibra­tion on the inside of his ribs “where the meat is most ten­der.” It would make a ter­rif­ic scene in a movie, and who bet­ter to play the lover risk­ing his life to mis­spell a term of endear­ment on a bridge than Bill Mur­ray?

Famous” by Nao­mi Shi­hab Nye

Alas, we could find no footage of Nye read­ing her love­ly poem aloud, but you can read it in full over at The Poet­ry Foun­da­tion. It’s easy to see why it speaks to Mur­ray.

via O, The Oprah Mag­a­zine

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bill Mur­ray Reads Poet­ry at a Con­struc­tion Site: Emi­ly Dick­in­son, Bil­ly Collins & More

Bill Mur­ray Reads Great Poet­ry by Bil­ly Collins, Cole Porter, and Sarah Man­gu­so

Bill Mur­ray Gives a Delight­ful Read­ing of Twain’s Huck­le­ber­ry Finn (1996)

Bill Mur­ray Reads Poet­ry at a Con­struc­tion Site: Emi­ly Dick­in­son, Bil­ly Collins & More

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Hear Christopher Walken’s Wonderful Reading of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”

Christo­pher Walken, writes Ari­fa Akbar in the Inde­pen­dent, is a “sin­is­ter-look­ing man who has made a liv­ing from look­ing — and act­ing — sin­is­ter,” but he did­n’t start out that way. His “career tra­jec­to­ry – start­ing benign­ly enough in chil­dren’s com­mer­cials, musi­cals, and dance – took a dark­er turn two years after his near-miss with Star Wars,” when he’d almost land­ed the Han Solo role that went to Har­ri­son Ford. Instead he played “the emo­tion­al­ly dec­i­mat­ed Viet­nam vet­er­an in Michael Cimi­no’s The Deer Hunter, and was immor­tal­ized in the ‘Russ­ian roulette’ scene as a gaunt, bug-eyed mad­man aim­ing a shak­ing revolver to his own head. The role won him an Oscar and led to assem­bly-line cast­ing in an array of deranged, demon­ic parts.”

Of course, when an actor becomes syn­ony­mous with a grim but art­ful inten­si­ty, he must soon­er or lat­er inter­pret the work of a writer syn­ony­mous with grim but art­ful inten­si­ty: Edgar Allan Poe. And so on this day, the 167th anniver­sary of Poe’s death under still-unex­plained cir­cum­stances, we give you Walken’s per­for­mance of “The Raven.”

The 1845 poem stands today as Poe’s best-known work by far, as he seemed to intend: he wrote it, so he lat­er claimed in a mag­a­zine essay, with “the inten­tion of com­pos­ing a poem that should suit at once the pop­u­lar and the crit­i­cal taste” and pack an emo­tion­al punch as well.

Walken, for his part, has var­i­ous­ly appealed to both pop­u­lar and crit­i­cal tastes in the rough­ly 130 roles he has played over his six­ty-year career, some­how earn­ing both respect as a seri­ous dra­mat­ic actor and almost instinc­tive audi­ence laugh­ter as a fig­ure of fun. At his best, Walken’s dark­ness con­tains a light­ness and his light­ness a dark­ness, all of which you can hear in his nine-minute recita­tion, accom­pa­nied by music and sound effects, of the words of this name­less man tor­ment­ed by a talk­ing bird while pin­ing for his lost love Lenore. If any­body can cred­i­bly stare into the abyss Poe’s work opens up, Christo­pher Walken can — after all, he knows what it means not to fear the reaper.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Great Stan Lee Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”

Christo­pher Lee Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and From “The Fall of the House of Ush­er”

James Earl Jones Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

John Astin, From The Addams Fam­i­ly, Recites “The Raven” as Edgar Allan Poe

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

Hear the 14-Hour “Essen­tial Edgar Allan Poe” Playlist: “The Raven,” “The Tell-Tale Heart” & Much More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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