Literary Flaneurs: William Lychack

A guest series curated by Jeffrey Condran. Project intro here.

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East of Vienna: No Small Journey

by William Lychack

As a kind of prologue, I want to say that this story has absolutely nothing to do with my present-day life and work. I want to see this all as just a little detour my twenty-year-old self took to go find Dracula. I need to tell you how this little episode has no practical bearing on who I am today. And yet still, in some ways, I feel those days in Romania have everything to do with my life and work. In many ways, going to that castle defines who I have come to be.

It’s Winter, Vienna, 1986, my junior year abroad, and somehow Reed Thompson and I have gotten it into our heads to visit Dracula’s Castle. A lark, of course, a caper, a forbidden little spree for us, the adventure of Reed and I journeying behind the Iron Curtain, two of us taking the slow train east to Budapest, to Bucharest, to Bra?ov, tracing switchbacks high through the Transylvanian Alps, deep into the green heart of Ceau?escu’s Romania. We grow weary with travel, eat nothing but grim black bread, the constant rocking of the train carrying in our bodies after we step onto the small station platform in the middle of the night in the tiny village of Bran at last. Continue reading

Literary Flaneurs: Andrew Ervin

 

 

A guest series curated by Jeffrey Condran. Project intro here.

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Soles-on-the-Ground Time

by Andrew Ervin

 

For years I was obsessed with a place I’ve never been to. Over a decade ago, on our honeymoon, my wife and I took a long walk along the coast of Islay in Scotland’s Inner Hebrides. The rain is what I remember the most—there was no fighting it, no staying dry. Through the mist we could make out the next island over, the all but inaccessible Jura, which was where Orwell wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four. The fact that he had to get so far from the seats of political power to write about Big Brother remains a source of fascination to me. We were unable to get a ferry across in the limited time we had so we continued our walk along the embankment. I can still smell the peat smoke and see those hills—the so-called Paps of Jura—across the sound.

The not-quite-getting-there sensation of being so close to Jura gnawed at me for years afterward. I began to imagine what life was like there. I would catch myself inventing the people—or cartoonish versions of them, at least—and the houses and the glens I never saw. Those thoughts eventually congealed into a novel, Burning Down George Orwell’s House, which will be published next year. The book begins right there, on that embankment at the ferry port. Like Orwell, my protagonist escaped the bustling city—Chicago, in this case—and got off the grid. Or attempted to. Continue reading

Literary Flaneurs: Elise Levine

 

A guest series curated by Jeffrey Condran. Project intro here.

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Axioms of Euclid Avenue: herself, by herself

by Elise Levine

 

 

My mother in her beaver coat, me in skirts and cut-offs: a swagger never hurts.

The ways of walking never end: or they do: smile, nice ass.

 

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I’m eighteen, crossing Toronto’s Spadina at College on a sweltering August night.

I’ve fought with my mother: earlier that evening, in suburban Willowdale for a visit, having recently moved into the city: a top-floor one-room shared-bath hot-plate no-kitchen on Euclid: twenty bucks a week.

The fight: don’t go, I’m going, so go: who do you think you are you dirty: the ashtray flung: by her, me: no shit: we’ve always fought: always will until her last conscious day, nearly three decades later: the mouth on me, mouth on her. Continue reading

Literary Flaneurs: Stewart O’Nan

 

A guest series curated by Jeffrey Condran. Project intro here.

 

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The World That Matters

by Stewart O’Nan

 

 

When I’m writing a novel, I like to do location scouting as if I were shooting a movie.  If possible, at the very beginning, or at least early in the first draft, I go to the actual setting of the book and drive around taking pictures, looking for where I might set scenes.  As Laurie Anderson says, “Let’s put some mountains here so the characters have something to fall off of.”

It rarely happens that I find readymade settings.  Or maybe it’s that the ones in my head are better, more evocative than the ones I run across in real life.  It could also be that I’m a terrible location scout—impatient to get back to my desk and the world of the characters. Continue reading

Literary Flaneurs: Jeffrey Condran

 

A guest series at PANK Blog, curated by Jeffrey Condran

 

In 2001 Bloomsbury inaugurated a series called The Writer and the City. In the first book, Edmund White wrote about Paris.  The title was The Flaneur: A Stroll Through the Paradoxes of Paris.  White provides a helpful definition of flaneur: “A flaneur is a stroller, a loiterer, someone who ambles through a city without apparent purpose but is secretly attuned to the history of the place and in covert search for adventure, aesthetic or erotic.”  It is an idea that has always held for me an air of romance and mystery, and puts me immediately in mind of Henry Miller, who in his frequently impoverished state, wandered the Parisian streets in search of diversion and inspiration.   And so writers walking a place and gaining inspiration serves as the theme for the blog posts during the next two weeks at PANK.  Contributors Stewart O’Nan, Elise Levine, Andrew Ervin, Michelle Bailat-Jones, and William Lychack will join me in taking readers on an international tour of places where being a flaneur has had an impact on a particular writing project or on their careers as writers.  We will visit Prague, Paris, Toronto, an island in Scotland, a Japanese village, and Dracula’s castle.  Enjoy the ride! 

 

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Prague is Silent

by Jeffrey Condran

The moment I emerged from the subway in Wenceslas Square, I understood that Prague was a city meant to be seen on foot.  Perhaps it was the human scale of the place—no breaking your neck looking up at skyscrapers as in New York—what Henry Miller called those “beautiful white prisons.”  No, Prague’s architecture is 500 or 1000 years old, mostly, miraculously, untouched by the 20th century wars that destroyed so much of the rest of Central Europe.  It has a time capsule feeling about it, even now, despite the ravages of two decades of capitalism.  You feel it’s almost possible to take a good running leap and hover just a few stories—a handful at most—off the ground and see everything.  Continue reading

I Call, You Respond

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “Ballad”

Sonia Sanchez is one of the most important writers of the Black Arts Movement and is the author of 16 books. She’s the recipient of the Robert Frost Medal for distinguished lifetime service to American poetry and the Langston Hughes Poetry Award. The lyric poem “Ballad” is from Sanchez’s book, Homegirls & Handgrenades.

 

Ballad
(after the spanish)

forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.

the rain exploding
in the air is love
the grass excreting her
green wax is love
and stones remembering
past steps is love,
but you. you are too young
for love
and i too old.

once. what does it matter
when or who, i knew
of love.
i fixed my body
under his and went
to sleep in love
all trace of me
was wiped away

forgive me if i smile
young heiress of a naked dream
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.

 

RESPONSE #2: by Rafael Dosman

I chose this video because I feel nature in all of its glory is very symbolic. Most of us have a love-hate relationship with nature but will never fully realize or be able to understand the power that is Mother Nature. We cry to release the joy of great happiness or the pain of great sorrow but will never fully realize or understand the gift of being able to feel those emotions is truly love.


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Rafael Dosman is originally from Almirante, Panama and self-proclaimed night owl who resides in hipster haven of Fishtown Philadelphia, where he spends most of his late nights pondering the essence of humanity, mental balance and kindness.

I Call, You Respond

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “Ballad”

Sonia Sanchez is one of the most important writers of the Black Arts Movement and is the author of 16 books. She’s the recipient of the Robert Frost Medal for distinguished lifetime service to American poetry and the Langston Hughes Poetry Award. The lyric poem “Ballad” is from Sanchez’s book, Homegirls & Handgrenades.

 

Ballad
(after the spanish)

forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love. Continue reading

I Call, You Respond

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

Call and Response: “The Days”

The late, great Jon Anderson used poetry as a vehicle for stark (and possibly uncomfortable) self-reckoning: “My prime motive for writing is self-confrontation, and I find poems the best way to employ language to do this. My poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s for people like myself who want to contend with themselves. I think of my poems as intimate conversations with close friends, to whom I’m not afraid to reveal my vulnerabilities and loneliness.” The poem, “The Days” comes from In Sepia, which was Anderson’s third book of poems. His poetry is spare and controlled – but movingly precise in emotion and observation.

 

The Days

All day I bear myself to such reward:
I close my eyes, I can’t sleep,
The trees are whispering flat as water. Continue reading

I Call, You Respond

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Days”

The late, great Jon Anderson used poetry as a vehicle for stark (and possibly uncomfortable) self-reckoning: “My prime motive for writing is self-confrontation, and I find poems the best way to employ language to do this. My poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s for people like myself who want to contend with themselves. I think of my poems as intimate conversations with close friends, to whom I’m not afraid to reveal my vulnerabilities and loneliness.” The poem, “The Days” comes from In Sepia, which was Anderson’s third book of poems. His poetry is spare and controlled – but movingly precise in emotion and observation.

 

The Days

All day I bear myself to such reward:
I close my eyes, I can’t sleep,
The trees are whispering flat as water. Continue reading

I Call, You Respond

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Days”

The late, great Jon Anderson used poetry as a vehicle for stark (and possibly uncomfortable) self-reckoning: “My prime motive for writing is self-confrontation, and I find poems the best way to employ language to do this. My poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s for people like myself who want to contend with themselves. I think of my poems as intimate conversations with close friends, to whom I’m not afraid to reveal my vulnerabilities and loneliness.” The poem, “The Days” comes from In Sepia, which was Anderson’s third book of poems. His poetry is spare and controlled – but movingly precise in emotion and observation.

 

The Days

All day I bear myself to such reward:
I close my eyes, I can’t sleep,
The trees are whispering flat as water. Continue reading