This title is printed to order. This book may have been self-published. If so, we cannot guarantee the quality of the content. In the main most books will have gone through the editing process however some may not. We therefore suggest that you be aware of this before ordering this book. If in doubt check either the author or publisher’s details as we are unable to accept any returns unless they are faulty. Please contact us if you have any questions.
Description
This book is addressed to the 19th century French poet Stephane Mallarme. Mallarme was a high school English teacher in France, and took after Baudelaire, by translating Edgar Allen Poe into French. At his first school, he has forced to move to a new one, as he had published some poems in a journal by the Parnassians, a frowned upon group including Paul Verlaine. Mallarme became well known during his lifetime.
This book is a work of prose poetry, and follows invocations to Mallarme, to then make its own way through associations of poetic imagery. The voice, is on the whole, one of the 19th century. The book questions Mallarme often, asking him about aspects of his life. The book is broader in scope than a simple book on Mallarme, which the author hopes will give it broad appeal.
About the Author
Paul Fearne holds a PhD from LaTrobe University, and a masters from Melbourne University. His first book was launched at the 2010 Melbourne Writers Festival. His second book, on Antonin Artaud, was launched at Readings in Carlton.
Paul’s poetry has been widely published, most recently in Australian Poetry Journal.
Paul has written books on Baudelaire and Rimbaud, both through chipmunkapublishing.
Paul has been on TV and radio a number of times.
Some of Paul Fearne’s books are listed under the name of ‘Fearne Paul’.
Book Extract
Mallarme, there was once a time, in the middle of this, that had fire and laughter, but now only has tears. But do not be afraid. There are more things here than we had dreamed. Do not be alarmed, there is much to do.
And then, in solemn night, there comes a blessing. It is not what the sands of hope had relin-quished, nor what the borrowed time had come to. It is more than all of this, all of this put to-gether.
Mallarme, do we see our strides as being of levity, or of silk? I have no sense of the day, so I cannot tell. There are new things to take in here. There are old things to be sure of. We must not walk here - we will run.
In the middle of a great sentence, we let go of our departure, and know the floor to be a thing cherished. Maybe there will be something more as a result of all this. Maybe, in time, some-thing will come to be cherished here.
