Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Christopher MiddletonNotes on a Viking Prow
(PN Review 10)
Next Issue Kirsty Gunn re-arranges the world John McAuliffe reads Seamus Heaney's letters and translations Chris Price's 'Songs of Allegiance' David Herman on Aharon Appelfeld Victoria Moul on Christopher Childers compendious Greek and Latin Lyric Book Philip Terry again answers the question, 'What is Poetry'
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This report is taken from PN Review 23, Volume 8 Number 3, January - February 1982.

The Aim of Aims Stefan Themerson
[Various fragments of this text by STEFAN THEMERSON, writer and founder-editor of Gaberbocchus Press, were read by the author at: The National Poetry Centre, London, June 1976; GLC Dial-a-writer, London, April 1978; France Culture, Poésie Ininterrompue, Paris, November 1978; De Populier, Amsterdam, December 1979; and Radio Gdansk, May 1981.]

I.

You asked me to read to you. This invitation, so nice and flattering, made me go to a park and sit on a bench and reflect, made me walk through the streets and reflect, made me lie on my couch and reflect, and the reflection, both melancholy and not sad, was like the hand of a watch, moving round and round and round, always forward, and always coming back to its point of departure. Hence melancholy; because questioning the essence of progress.

I wanted to grow a crystal, and bring it to you as a gift. I wanted to wrap it nicely in words, and give it to you tonight. Alas . . . and it is not that I'm not capable of putting forms in symmetries of rhymes and rhythms . . . but crystals grow from undisturbed tranquillity, and this I couldn't find in myself.

Thus, I got up from my bench, I stopped in the middle of the pavement, I jumped out of my dream : what I shall bring you is a flaming torch, a loudhailer, an Allons, Citoyens! Fortunately . . . and it is not that I'm ...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image