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Devotion (Why I Write)

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Arte não é para ser mantida em um patamar do sagrado, ela folheia aquelas páginas com cuidado e respeito, mas vendo a organização do pensamento de Camus ela quer fazer algo com aquilo. Sevdiğimiz filmleri tekrar tekrar izliyor, bazı sahneleri gerçek hayatta da yeniden yaratmaya uğraşıyoruz. We travel through the South of France to Camus's house, and visit the garden of the great publisher Gallimard where the ghosts of Mishima, Nabokov, and Genet mingle. Camus's daughter invites her there, and Smith gets to stay in Camus's room, have lunch with Camus's daughter and spend time with Camus's granddaughter, take in the same views Camus took in, and even look at Camus's last manuscript, handwritten and complete with his crossouts and insertions.

This is what Smith does to her devoted readers—she provokes memory, isolation, and the desire to make something out of the mundane. When a mutual respect between author and reader is secured, she adds words that describe her unconscious thoughts. E o trabalho no caso de quem cria não é somente ficar em frente à página em branco da tela ou do caderno mas prestar atenção aos detalhes do dia a dia, aos sonhos, às conversas mais banais, aos filmes que se vê, livros, séries. Besides being a beautifully phrased phrase, her humility before other great works of literature is quite winning.Escrever alguma coisa sublime, que seja melhor do que eu e que justifique as minhas provações e os meus erros. A creative, graceful and uncommonly beautiful little book about writing from the poet and singer who has, in maturity, become an even richer and more complex artist than she was at her greatest fame.

These include poetry, theatre, essays, short stories, novellas and novels (the lengthier works are usually parceled out over several issues).Payments made using National Book Tokens are processed by National Book Tokens Ltd, and you can read their Terms and Conditions here. Patti Smith, a National Book Award-winning author, first presents an original and beautifully crafted tale of obsession—a young skater who lives for her art, a possessive collector who ruthlessly seeks his prize, a relationship forged of need both craven and exalted. Smith imagines an Estonian girl having escaped Stalin's purges who comes to live in Western Europe where she becomes the lover of an older man who mentors her ice-skating dreams. These cookies help provide information on metrics the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc. Why fictionalize a story that offers no purpose, and refuses to acknowledge one of our greatest human aspects, that is to hope against all hope?

No entanto, tudo me pareceu muito cenográfico e genérico, as deambulações por Paris e sua psicogeografia batida, uns insights em pontos óbvios, ainda que haja um ou outro ponto de vivacidade aqui e ali. Smith tracks down Simone Weil’s grave in a lonely cemetery, hours from London, and winds through the nameless Paris streets of Patrick Modiano’s novels. It wasn't terrible or anything, but there is nothing about it that would make me recommend it to anyone. It is also convenient when the translation is from English so that I will likely have easy access to the original for comparison. I listen to all of her albums, I bought a copy of Just Kids, I devotedly like all of her Instagram posts.Most often the alchemy that produces a poem or a work of fiction is hidden within the work itself, if not embedded in the coiling ridges of the mind. Smith goes to the house of the daughter of Camus, where she looks through the manuscript Camus was working on, The First Man, when he died in a car accident.

If only all of her musings and introspection on the mystical processes of birthing a piece of writing could have produced something worth reading. The right book can serve as a docent of sorts, setting a tone or even altering the course of a journey. We travel through the South of France to Camus’s house, and visit the garden of the great publisher Gallimard where the ghosts of Mishima, Nabokov, and Genet mingle.Years ago I read Patti Smith’s Just Kids and fell in love with her writing, her story and her ability to weave the loves, sorrows and joys of her life together so effortlessly. While I often say that my love of Patti Smith's writing is massive and boundless, I may now have to qualify that to say that my love of Patti Smith's nonfiction is boundless. The final reflections on writing on the last two pages are well worth the thirteen pounds Sterling I paid for this at London's Rough Trade East and the time I spent reading it at the 10 Bells pub while hiding out from the rain--a pub once frequented by ladies of the evening, at least two of whom were dismembered by Jack the Ripper's carving knife. In her late-life self discovery as a prose master, Patti Smith may have found yet another masterful voice. She told us all about what she had been reading and watching and doing at the time, sang a few songs, and gave us a lovely evening.

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