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The Exquisite Corpse - A Journal of Letters and Life
Edited by Andrei Codrescu
ec chair poetick kultur anti-amthropomorphism
gallery zounds the making and unmaking of person
new economics of late capitalism
diaries and memoirs translation and her retinue
working class sweat
the corpse reads classics letters the book of revelations and epiphanies
the making and unmaking of person

No Bullshit Reviews: Sanders, Kerouac, Céline, Topp
by Christian Prozak

1968: A History in Verse
Ed Sanders, Black
Sparrow Press
Santa Rosa

Renaissance fugger
historian poet
novelist politico
Sanders has

laid out one long bardsong
in a lyrical tempest
of CHAOS Cong
Joplining Hendrix
Hoffmaning stew
w/ Manson too

plus Pantherism, terrorism
& yippie hippy flwr chldrn!

tho most appealing in these pages:
the action-packed I-witnessings
of '68 Demo Convention
tear gas harmonium
skullsmash brew

starring Ginsberg Burroughs Jean Genet
then sadly Kerouacy
drunk on Buckley

Sanders translating it all into English
et al into English

as brutifully apt
as the bare breasts
of death.

Orpheus Emerged
Jack Kerouac
ibooks (Simon &
Schuster), NY

Nevermind that Jack
never wanted you to read
this instance of green youth

Pariah Sampas (self-proclaimed
"Protector of the Trust")
has just made another million bucks
"for his hundreds of Greek relatives"
Kerouac didn't want "to get
another bloody cent"

story okay
characters so-so
intriguing to see preboheme

includes a creepy Creeley intro
plus rehashed trash
on Beats & bio

not to mention
revisionist biblio
& timeline lacking
Jan & Joan

plus free CD, wow-wee!
see fancy graphiced
"interactive links"
working sporadic
w/ loads o'

the whole deal
a damn

Fable for Another Time
Louis-Ferdinand Céline
Translated by Mary Hudson
University of Nebraska Press

11:58 pm, drunk:

Fable is a significant book in the Céline corpus, mostly because it is one of the two remaining untranslated-into-English novels (up till now). And for a good reason: it's competition: the best of the fiction was Death on the Installment Plan because it was the most cartoony. The second best was Journey to the End of the Night because it was epically poetic. Most readers of popfroglit think the latter's the best. It isn't. It's dark and depressing, ends with suicide, war, the fucked-up state of history, ourselves.
     Then there are all those war novels like Castle to Castle, North, etcetera, BLAM BLAM VROOOMING away for 3000 pages with endless endnotes on fascist happenings of the 40's via the manic/paranoid voice of someone on the lam (ie, an anti-Semitic insomniac who just won't shut up).
     This the category Fairytale falls into.
     It must've been a sickly tedious work for Mary Hudson to grind this mofo out. She must've wanted to kill herself at least a hundred times. That's what Bernard Frechtman did, but only once. He was Genet's main translator, till he took a shoddy shot at Céline. Ralph Manheim got the funny stuff and handled it like the master he was, but I don't know about the content Hudson had to work with. Or her handling of it.
     Her intro mentioned every single Célinian novel ever written, yet failed to recognize Dalkey Archives' London Bridges. One wonders if she stopped to research the other books while thoroughly and intensively studying something totally incoherent (it must've taken ten years to decipher it). One also wonders what sort of scholar can render such a text accessible while failing to demonstrate a basic knowledge of the subject. A saint, perhaps. Maybe a fool. Or perhaps someone with a decade to burn.
     While her annotations are as impressive as hell, her intro is full of sloppy typos that do not boost her authority. Also, the cover of the book is cheaply done (it is dumb and simple and embarrassingly artless), so does not lend itself to the literary importance of such a highly awaited bellyflop. This does not compute.
     A hundred people know what I mean. They too have suffered the mad rantings of Céline. I am tired of his relentless yakking. He shot his wad in the first thirty pages, which Spitzer and Green did with much more flair (see Cyber Corpse 5/6). After 118 pages of Hudson's clinical but accurate traduction, I (representing you) could no longer stand the mad ramblings of Céline. The book is a waste. There's not enough to laugh at.
     Andrei asked me to be nice, but I can't recommend a book that makes me want to shoot myself in the motherfucking head. Because seriously folks, this book is nothing but a raving egomaniac rotting in some Danish prison, waiting for his execution, so trying not to do himself in. Where's the Brautigan at?

Happy Ending
chpbk by Mike Topp
Future Tense Books

Citizens of Peoria
it's your privelege
so make a statement:
fill your shoes with applesauce
and pass through airport




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diaries and memoirs translation and her retinue
the book of revelations and epiphanies working class sweat
the making and unmaking of person the corpse reads classics letters

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