henry miller's "black spring"

so last night i tore through "black spring" by henry miller, one of his lesser-knowns (or so i believe) & found it to be intensely gratifying. as always, miller uses prose that makes me reticent to call it "prose," because of the intense lyricism of it. i've forced two copies of "tropic of cancer" onto unsuspecting friends this week (along with "justine," the curse continues, haha), and "black spring" sure doesn't compare to either 'cancer' or 'capricorn,' but i have to, right now, recommend to everyone in this little group of devouts, the short story "The Angel is My Watermark!"

henry miller never really speaks about his desire to paint (or maybe mentions it in passing in 'cancer,' i can't be sure), although he does speak frequently about the appearance of the "muse" in his life, which he refers to as "receiving dictation." one of my favourite lines in this short is when miller's been writing for three hours, then decides to go out for lunch. he then says,

"...and if the dictation starts again, tant pis. I'm out to lunch!"

his happiness is like Whitman's. he's not careful about his feelings. they just happen. everything just happens to him. he frequently speaks about the 'moment,' and the idea of the 'present' not existing. there's a gem of a line about that, too, but i can't remember it well enough to quote it. but back to my thought ... "The Angel is My Watermark!" is the piece which will stick with you, from this collection of thoughts & ruminations. i went back & read it again after i'd finished totally with the book. that, and this other piece about him being put in charge of delivering a half-crazy woman to the sanitarium, and to make sure they didn't know that the family could have afforded her admittance.

anyway. god, i can't write for crap today. you should read it. it's good. worthwhile.

next up!

swann's way, the moncrieff translation!