By Pseudo-Leopardi, A Necrezuta, F Pilastru, I Imaculata
Pseudo-Leopardi. Cantos for the Crestfallen. Translated by way of A. Necrezută, F. Pilastru & I. Imaculată. ISBN-13: 978-0692218853. ISBN-10: 0692218858. gnOme, 2014. forty four pp. $10.00.
Pseudo-Leopardi’s Cantos for the Crestfallen, right here translated for the 1st time from the Romanian unique, is a breathless expiration of most unlikely pessimo-mystical wishes for the immanent past. In a series of thirty one verses channeling the spirits of Cioran, Dante, and the poet’s eponym, the Cantos testify to life’s senselessness, the need of being beheaded, and the affection of saints. it really is an intoxicated and uncompromising imaginative and prescient: The identify of you / Who adjust one atom of my sigh is now troubled from life.
“Not considering that Die Nachtwachen (The Nightwatches), released in 1804 less than the pseudonym of Bonaventura, a German Romantic of often-attributed but arguably nonetheless doubtful id, has there seemed this type of publication as Cantos for the Crestfallen. additionally written by way of an unknown hand, one sopping wet in a philosophy and poetics of an apocalyptic tone, the latter identify competitors its predecessor in either secret and depression. whilst that the authors of those works tear the masks from the darkish face of the inhuman comedy, they perform a reckless wit that makes the blackness of our lives blacker nonetheless. Cantos for the Crestfallen particularly flows with ugly conceits that vacant into an ocean of tears, finally drowning its reader faraway from the sight of land, of domestic, and of hope.” – Thomas Ligotti
“Like his namesake-by-declamatio, the writer of Cantos for the Crestfallen has controlled to condense all human afflictions into one solitary fusion of depression, a distress with tooth sufficient to chunk the hand off each nescient and conciliatory phantasm. And but to underpin this breathless, nearly throttled, ennui (his personal sigh even “drowning in air”) there's the get to the bottom of and the bitterness of a love affair long past unsuitable, the unrequited affections, the uncooked feels of the world’s interminable spurning; and it all a lie, a necrophile’s symphony tapped out via a center made ash of, a center crawling up a corkscrewed backbone to die inside of a brain.” – Gary J. Shipley
“Pseudo-Leopardi’s Cantos exhale a spirit of blackened occidental sufism that would make your head spiral.” – Pir Iqbal the Impaled
“From the enhaloed entrails of a forgotten pc comes those Cantos for the Crestfallen. those poems describe not anything and enact everything—litanies of a moldering sunlight refusal.” – Rasu-Yong Tugen, Baroness de Tristeombre
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Extra info for Cantos for the Crestfallen
For now, somewhere out there you too are sleeping, Heedless of my early thoughts. Or perhaps you are not, But awake like me, losing life to pointless contemplation. However you are, I hope that your happiness is greater Than mine. At least that gives me something to cling to In the senseless, boundless enormity of inexistent time. XXIII Today you will be with me in the paradise of never Having been. Today we mount the cross of ourselves, Bask for three black hours in requiem of the spheres. Do not ask what we are doing here.
Drive your head into the center of the earth. Fall head First into the core of this whole obscenely deep muck, This heavy stone mud. Be sure it plugs all the holes. Make sure the black mire seals your eyes and fills your Mouth. Fall so hard the very earth enters your little ears And snakes all the way up into your overused nostrils. Totally cover and cake your head in earth. Glue yourself To the earth with your heavy, thick head. Let this facing Of the total dark earth drive you mad. Bury your brains.
Anyone with the nerve to assume I want anything to do With them will spontaneously perish. The name of you Who alter one atom of my sigh is now stricken from life. XXIX Because we put off killing ourselves, something else Had to do it for us. Since I failed to number my sighs Someone has arrived and is calling me to account. Now a man we unsought is here, standing suddenly right Behind your skull, commanding I bow my head to none So that his sword will unveil more easily the final blow. Bend your necks my noble ones, my lovely aristocracies Of one!