Darkscapes – Anne-Sylvie Salzman

Darkscapes

Darkscapes

Darkscapes
by Anne-Sylvie Salzman
Translated by William Charlton
Tartarus Press, 2013

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“Narrative and story can lead us to visions of that which is impossible — that which can drive us mad, or make us feel as if we already are mad. The horror story in particular offers the possibility of a temporary release from sanity and safety. The fifteen stories in ‘Darkscapes‘ by Anne-Sylvie Salzman, translated from the French by William Charlton, offer a literary taste of madness, an intense inversion of reason that is powerful, sometimes unknowable, and almost always unforgettable. Salzman is the perfect 21st-century bride for Edgar Allen Poe. ” (Rick Kleffel)
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Anne-Sylvie Salzman (aka Anne-Sylvie Homassel) is a Paris-based writer and translator. She co-directs Le Visage vert, a literary magazine and small press devoted to supernatural fiction. She is the author of Sommeil (José Corti), Au bord d’un lent fleuve noir (Joëlle Losfeld) and Lamont (Le Visage vert). Amongst other novels and collections, she translated Max Beerbohm’s Seven Men, Lord Dunsany’s The Sword of Welleran, Ernest Bramah’s Max Carrados and Arthur Machen’s Three Impostors—and some of W.S. Graham’s poetry, feats she is inanely proud of. She is currently working on a science-fiction novel.
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‘The Eternal Procession’ – Paul Stubbs reviews Yves Bonnefoy’s ‘The Arrière-pays’

The Arrière-pays
Yves Bonnefoy

Translated by Stephen Romer – Seagull Books, 2012

‘Yves Bonnefoy is first an abstract form, then a poet. Therefore a work such as The Arrièrepays is but a shadow giving notice of his shapes still to locate a sundial. He is what Jean-Paul Sartre said of  Baudelaire, that he had the posture of ‘a leaning man’ (‘d’un homme penché’); one acutely adrift of the comet of his own flesh and who, burning up in the drag of his own sentences, holds within his fist only the shredded remains of each exploded space. When Rimbaud wrote ‘To every being, several other lives seemed to me to be due’ he opened up in knowledge and in poetry the first true terror-pores of gnosis, allowing a poet like Bonnefoy to access his own unpurged mind, to conceive of what Yeats revealed in Vision—‘all things dying each other’s life, living each other’s death’. To witness the mirage of this elsewhere in time and space (this place which Bonnefoy names ‘the arrière-pays’ i.e. an imaginary hinterland born of what he calls the ‘unknown feeling’), this poet has first to return to Eden, to locate the one tree in which the fruit is still flesh, and whose bark, if peeled back, reveals only his own still unused bone.’
Paul Stubbs

To read the review

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