Archive | February 2012

Another Fan

By Stéphane Mallarmé, trans. Peter Manson.

Of Mademoiselle Mallarmé

Dreamer, that I might plunge
into pure unguided delight,
learn, by a subtfle lie,
how to guard my wing in your hand.

A twilight coolness
comes your way with each beat
whose captive stroke delicately
pushes back the horizon.

Vertigo! see space
shivering like a great kiss
that, mad to have been born for no-one,
can neither break free nor calm down.

Do you feel the untamed paradise
slip like a buried laugh
from the corner of your mouth
to the base of the unanimous fold?

The sceptre of rose-coloured shores
stagnant on golden evenings, this is it,
this white closed flight you pose against
the fire of a bracelet.

Elsewhere: The Poems in Verse (2012), Peter Manson’s translation of the Poésies of Stéphane Mallarmé.
Still farther: Lady Windermere’s Fan, ed. N. Scargill (Pride Press, 2012)

New Publication

Peter Manson’s Mallarmé translations have just been published.

The Poems in Verse is Peter Manson’s translation of the Poésies of Stéphane Mallarmé. Long overshadowed by Mallarmé’s theoretical writings and by his legendary visual poem “Un coup de Dés jamais n’abolira le Hasard,” the Poésies are lyrics of a uniquely prescient and generative modernity. Grounded in a scrupulous sounding of the complex ambiguities of the original poems, Manson’s English translations draw on the resources of the most innovative poetries of our own time — these may be the first translations really to trust the English language to bear the full weight of Mallarméan complexity. With The Poems in Verse, Mallarmé’s voice is at last brought back, with all its incisive strangeness, into the conversation it started a hundred and fifty years ago, called contemporary poetry.”

“Peter Manson’s versions of Mallarmé are inspired: inventive but true, they capture the originals’ intoxicating mix of mystery and compression, recreating in English not just Mallarmé’s famous suggestiveness, but the concentration and precision of his language which have all too often been
lost in translation.”
– Patrick McGuinness

“In his current Mallarmé project, Peter Manson restores a sense of poetic power & dis-ease often missing in other works of translation – a reminder too of Mallarmé’s central place among the poètes maudits of the later nineteenth century. The Mallarmé presented here is both true to its original & a major work for our own time as well.”
– Jerome Rothenberg

“Manson’s technique is to embroider pieces of real modern English onto a base text that broadly follows the shape, sounds and syntax of the original French verse. The poems that result retain the vagaries of their models while creating a persuasive illusion of living speech, almost as if the language were being distorted for the purposes of original expression, and not translation.”
– Jeremy Noel-Tod

Elsewhere: Freebase Accordion.
Also just published: Certain Prose of ‘The English Intelligencer’ ed. by Neil Pattison, Reitha Pattison, Luke Roberts.

Subjective Effects of Nitrous Oxide

By William James.

Some observations of the effects of nitrous-oxide-gas-intoxication which I was prompted to make by reading the pamphlet called The anaesthetic revelation and the gist of philosophy (Blood, 1874), have made me understand better than ever before both the strength and the weakness of Hegel’s philosophy. I strongly urge others to repeat the experiment, which with pure gas is short an harmless enough. The effects will of course vary with the individual, just as they vary in the same individual from time to time; but it is probable that in the former case, as in the latter, a generic resemblance will obtain. With me, as with every other person of whom I have heard, the keynote of the experience is the tremendously exciting sense of an intence metaphysical illumination. Truth lies open to the view in depth beneath depth of almost blinding evidence. The mind sees all the logical relations of being with an apparent subtlety and instantaneity to which its normal consciousness offers no parallel; only as sobriety returns, the feeling of insight fades, and one is left staring vacantly at a few disjointed words and phrases, as one stares at the cadaverous-looking snow peak from which the sunset glow has just fled, or at the black cinder left by an extinguished brand.

The immense emotional sense of reconciliation which characterizes the “maudlin” stage of alcoholic drunkeness — a stage which seems silly to lookers-on, but the subjective rapture of which probably constitutes a chief part of the temptiaon to the vice — is well-known. The centre and periphery of things seem to come together. The ego and its objects, the meum and the tuum, are one. Now this, only a thousand-fold enhanced, was the effect upon me of the gas: and its first result was to make peal through me with unutterable power the conviction that Hegelism was true after all, and that the deepest convictions of my intellect hitherto were wrong. Whatever idea of representation occurred to the mind was seized by the same logical forceps, and served to illustrate the same truth; and that truth was that every opposition, among whatsoever things, vanished in a higher unity in which it is based; that all contraditions, so-called, are of a common kind; that unbroken continuity is of the essence of being; and that we are literally in the midst of an infinite, to perceive the existence of which is the utmost we can attain. Without the same as a basis, how could strife occur? Strife presupposes something to be striven about; and in this common topic, the same of both parties, the differences merge. From the hardest contradiction to the tenderest diversity of verbiage defferences evaporate; yes and no agree at least in being assertions; a denial of a statement is but another mode of stating the same, contradiction can only occur of the same thing — all opinions are thus synonyms, and synonymous, are the same. But the same phrase by difference of emphasis is two; and here again difference and no-difference merge in one.

It is impossible to convey an idea of the torrential character of the identification of opposites as it streams through the mind in this experience. I have sheet after sheet of phrases dictated or written during the intoxixation, which to the sober reader seem meaningless drivel, but which at the moment of transcribing were fused in the fire of infinite rationality. God and devil, good and evil, life and death, I and thous, sober and drunk, matter and form, black and white, quantity and quality, shiver of ecstasy and shudder of horror, vomiting and swallowing, inspiration and expiration, fate and reason, great and small, extent and intent, joke and earnest, tragic and comic, and fifty other contrasts figure in these pages in the same monotonous way. The mind saw how each term belonged to its contrast through a knife-edge moment of transition which it effected, and which, perennial and eternal, was the nunc stans of life. The thought of mutual implication of the parts in the bare form of a judgement of opposition, as “nothing–but,” “no more–than,” “only–if,” etc., produced a perfect delirium of the theoretic rapture. And at last, when definite ideas to work on came slowly, the mind went through the mere form of recognizing sameness in identity by contrasting the same word with itself, differently emphasized, or shorn of its initial letter. Let me transcribe a few sentences.

What’s mistake but a kind of take?
What’s nausea but a kind of -usea?
Sober, drunk, -unk, astonishment.
Everything can become the subject of criticism —
How criticise without something to criticise?
Agreement — disagreement!!
Emotion — motion!!!!
By God, how that hurts! By God, how it doesn’t hurt!
Reconciliation of two extremes.
By George, nothing but othing!
That sounds like nonsense, but it is pure onsense!
Thought deeper than speech…!
Medical school; divinity school, school! SCHOOL!
Oh my God, oh God; oh God!

The most coherent and articulate sentence which came was this: There are no differences but differences of degree between different degrees of difference and no difference.

But now comes the reverse of the medal. What is the principle of unity in all this monotonous rain of instances? Although I did not see it at first, I soon found that it was in each case nothing but the abstract genus of which the conflicting terms were opposite species. In other words, although the flood of ontologic emotion was Hegelian through and through, the ground for it was nothing but the world-old principle that things are the same only so far and not farther that they are the same, or partake of a common nature — the principle that Hegel most tramples under foot. At the same time the rapture of beholding a process that was infinite, changed (as the nature of the infinitude was realized by the mind) in to the sense of a dreadful and ineluctable fate, with whose magnitude every finite effort is incommensurable and in the light of which watever happens is indifferent. This instantaneous revulsion of mood from rapture to horror is, perhaps, the strongest emotion I have ever experienced. I got it repeatedly when the inhalation was continued long enough to produce incipient nausea; and I cannot but regard it as the normal and the inevitable outcome of the intoxication, if sufficiently prolonged. A pessimistic fatalism, depth within depth of impotence and indifference, reason and silliness united, not in a higher synthesia, but in the fact that whichever you choose it is all one — this is the upshot of a revelation that began so rosy bright.

Even when the process stops short of this ultimatum, the reader will have noticed from the phrases quoted how often it ends by losing the clue. Something “fades,” “escapes”; and the feeling of insight is changed into an intense one of bewilderment, puzzle, confusion, astonishment. I know no more singulr sensation than this intense bewilderment, with nothing left to be bewildered at save the bewilderment itself. It seems, indeed, a causa sui, or “spirit become its own object.”

My conclusion is that the togetherness of things in a common world, the law of sharing, of which I have said so much, may, when perceived, engender a very powerful emotion; that Hegel was so unusually susceptible to this emotion throughout his life that its gratification became his supreme end, and made him tolerably unscrupulous as to means he employed; that indifferentism is the true outcome of every view of the world which make infinity and continuity to be its sessence, and that pessimistic or optimistic attitudes pertain to the mere accidental subjectivity of the moment; finally, that the identification of contradictories, so far from being the self-developing process which Hegel supposes, is really a self-consuming process, passing from the less to the more abstract, and terminating either in a laugh at the ultimate nothingness, or in a mood of vertiginous amazement at a meaningless infinity.

Three Publications

+ We Are Real: A History (2012) by Colleen Hind & Pocahontas Mildew
– £3 / €5 / $6
– “Relevant Interlude” by Sub-Commandante Picante
– containing “Squick” (Love in a Time of Hollering) & “Trigger Warning” (Precision Riot Mirror)
– written 2008 to 2011

+ Frances Kruk’s A Discourse on Vegetation & Motion (2008 / reprinted 2012)
– £3 / €5 / $6
– “today is Throat Seal Liquid”
– “today I occupy Shidane Arone”

+ Francis Crot’s Xena Warrior Princess: The Seven Curses (2008 / reprinted 2012)
– £6 / €8 / $11
– Annotations by Nourm Obamarak
– Stephen Rodefer: “Not since William Burroughs met the pubescent Leonardo DiCaprio has literary lunch been this naked and succulent.”

From “Total War 2006”

By Simon Pearson.

The Islamic Alliance had spent years studying and learning Nato’s air assault techniques, always searching for weaknesses. The Egyptians and Saudis had all been taught first hand. No wonder they were able to give the first wave such a bloody nose. From Hardy’s Cyprus package thirty-seven aircraft were shot down. The other three packages and two Israeli equivalents had fared almost as badly in similarly sprung traps. A total of 106 Nato jets and 22 Israeli jets were lost. The silence of the air defences and the patience of the commanders had been richly rewarded. For the second time in a week the air campaign was suspended. With the loss of a total of five Death Stars, even the operations of the B-2s and F-117s were halted, their invisibility now very much past tense and clouded with uncertainty, while the way ahead was considered. The Islamic Alliance had moved every single SAM between dusk on the 30th and dawn on the 31st. ‘Air supremacy’ was replaced by ‘air denial’. The Alliance had won another round.

The roots of this failure could be traced back to a combination of the information revolution of the 1990s and a complacency about the problems posed by a sizeable opponent that was more reactive and flexible than the Iraqis in 1991, and the North Koreans and Serbs in 2002. The West had singularly failed to heed the warning signals. While more and more money was spent on tactical, operational and strategic information-gathering systems the complementary infrastructure required to sift, assimilate and then disseminate to the decision-makers and war-fighters remained woefully inadequate. The generals remained bullish, repeating worn-out phrases such as ‘Information is power’. What they failed to see was that the whole system was creaking under a flood of information. Throwing more computers and complex software at the problem actually slowed the whole process down as the information had to pass through an increasing number of interested parties before getting to where it was needed in a timely fashion. The revolutionary idea of a ‘military information buffet (much like a cybercafé)’, where all information and intelligence was freely and immediately available to all end-users, who would be able to take exactly what they required for their missions when they required it, were rejected on grounds of security.

Two New Titles from Tipped Press

Tipped Press is pleased to announce its own existence as well as the publication of its first two pamphlets:

John DeWitt

Ends was written in Montevideo, Uruguay, in 2011, and is John DeWitt’s first poetry pamphlet.

Laura Kilbride

Errata was written in Cambridge, UK, in 2011, and is also Laura Kilbride’s first poetry pamphlet.

Previous poems have appeared in C-Leaves, Hi Zero!, and the CLR.

Both pamphlets are printed on recycled paper, measure approximately 148mm by 170mm, and are hand-stitched. Each pamphlet costs £3 + £2 (p&p), or your estimated equivalent in an alternative currency. They are available from

From “Tales of Power”

By cris cheek.

[…] Interviewing front men like me and the pussy inside me […]

Previously: bugged costumes.