He is—wait, I know what he is, he’s a cunt, a cunt with a pen. She kept trying to recall a remark, with three adjectives in crescendo, something like: “Ezra Pound was arrogant, outrageous and unspeakable.” But she couldn’t get the adjectives straight. Enfeebled, she became humble and was converted. indifferent self-effacement of a guard in a museum.When I recall the changes which gradually rendered Renée more understandable, I believe I can link these with certain gestures at first, then with some words that threw a different light on her. I did not believe that this meeting in this luxurious fiat submerged in darkness could result in any real friendship with this tall young woman who tossed off her drink with the obliviousness one sees in bridesmaids at a country wedding.Among the beverages that she raised to her lips was a cloudy elixir in which floated a cherry harpooned on a toothpick.
I gathered that her intention was not to criticize Pound, whom she liked, but to fix him in a phrase.George Antheil she remembered as a tiny little man, like a monkey, with a tiny little wife; she wondered if they had ever had any children. In spite of my old friend Hamel (called Hamond, in the “I don’t know.

Renée Vivien en particulier fait construire une maison à Mytilène, sur l'île de Lesbos. She, too, refused to “talk shop.” Whenever she gave me any of her books, she always hid them under a bouquet of violets or a basket of fruit or a length of Oriental silk. The more sensitive the lunatic, the less able is he to resist this prying interest of the normal human being. . “It’s . La poésie, en plus d'être intemporelle, éveille tous nos plus beaux rêves et tous nos sens aussi, un peu à l'image d'un parfum que l'on sent et tout de suite on s'évade. . May I be excused for having included as an element of "all this nonsense” the word “poetry.” Renée Vivien has left a great many poems of unequal strength, force, merit, unequal as the human breath, as the pulsations of human suffering. As usual when she ventured out into the streets, Renée was a bit overdressed. The unnamed “master” mentioned here is commonly assumed to be a Baroness van Zuylen, née Rothschild. It took some twenty years before she realized that I had not been all along mildly afflicted with some form of persecution mania.Madame Bergery spoke glowingly of Natalie as a wonderful presence, always gracious and amusing, with extraordinary sparkle and gaiety.

Occasionally I used this facility. And at what hours? Quick, maladroit, stumbling against the furniture, Renée was constantly calling out for help to . Aimer cuisiner conduit souvent à expérimenter de nouvelles saveurs... A vous de les découvrir dans ce menu original que Catherine nous a concocté à base de poésie, jeux d’esprit, fantaisie et humour ! Eugene Jolas, who published transition, sometimes came. Je dis oui pour ce magnifique poème qui n’est qu’un mélange d’espoir et de nostalgie.Ce poème m’a inspirée beaucoup… Tendresse et émotion, amourQuelqu’un saurait la date de ce poème ? She looked like a carefully wrapped doll in that expensive hotel drawing room (she had been living in the Hotel Meurice as an invalid for the past two years, though her faithful housekeeper Berthe still lived at her old home at 20 rue Jacob) with its vases of tall expensive flowers—not at all the setting in which she had lived her life—but there was still a spark of animation behind the vague look in her eyes.She was not very good at answering questions but quite lucid in asking them and particularly acute in questioning me about my private life. It is an under statement to say that I was stifled in that gloom. .Adjoining the bathroom, in a small room that substituted as a linen closet, her docile chambermaid sat sewing. “Natalie gave you a feast of reason, a seasoning of wit and a flow of words.’’She didn’t read much when Madame Bergery knew her— she preferred to have people read to her—though she must have read a great deal at one time. At that time the magazine There she was, this extraordinary survival from another era, this fabled creature, once a legendary beauty who defied convention, now ancient and shrunken, wrapped in a pale blue dressing gown to match her pale blue eyes and very fine white hair. She then yawned behind her hand and explained the reasons for her lassitude in terms so clear that I could not believe my ears. .She was constantly giving things away: the bracelets on her arms opened up, the necklace slipped from her martyr’s throat. But next day her embarrassed laugh was apologetic and she thrashed the air around me with her long arms, maladroit and affectionate, as if she were looking for a way into my confidence. In fact, Madame Bergery once visited the Duncan Academy with Natalie, who was dressed in a grey suit with a grey toque like any correct American society lady.There were never crowds of people at the salon, even before the war. Voluptuaries, consumed by their senses, always begin by flinging themselves with a great display of frenzy into an abyss. Some one came to intercede for her. Ariel was a person who experimented.