Howard Moss (1922–1987)
Auteur van Instant Lives
Over de Auteur
Howard Moss (1922-87) was poetry editor at the New Yorker for almost forty years. He also wrote more than a dozen books of poetry, plays, and criticism, and a book of arch parody-microbiographies of cultural figures, Instant Lives, illustrated by Edward Gorey. Damson Searls is the author of What We toon meer Were Doing and Where We Were Going (stories) and has written for Harper's, Bookforum, n+1 and The Believer. As a translator-of authors including Marcel Proust (On Readings-he received a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2012. toon minder
Werken van Howard Moss
The Magic Lantern of Marcel Proust: A Critical Study of Remembrance of Things Past (1963) 83 exemplaren
Finding them lost, and other poems / Howard Moss 4 exemplaren
A winter come, a summer gone; poems 1946-1960 4 exemplaren
THE NONSENSE BOOKS OF EDWARD LEAR 2 exemplaren
Wound and The Weather, The 1 exemplaar
Magic Lantern of Marcel Proust, The 1 exemplaar
Chekhov 1 exemplaar
Travel: A Window 1 exemplaar
Making A Bed 1 exemplaar
Finding Them Lost and other Poems 1 exemplaar
Gerelateerde werken
Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, and Drama (1995) — Medewerker, sommige edities — 922 exemplaren
Fierce Pajamas: An Anthology of Humor Writing from The New Yorker (2001) — Medewerker — 712 exemplaren
The Sophisticated Cat: A Gathering of Stories, Poems, and Miscellaneous Writings About Cats (1992) — Medewerker — 100 exemplaren
New World Writing: Third Mentor Selection - Poetry, Fiction, Drama, Criticism (1953) — Medewerker — 6 exemplaren
Fiction, Volume 2, Number 3 — Medewerker — 1 exemplaar
Antaeus No. 34, Summer 1979 — Medewerker — 1 exemplaar
South Dakota review : the symposium: ten poets: fiction and poetry, volume 5, number 3 (autumn 1967) — Medewerker — 1 exemplaar
Tagged
Algemene kennis
- Geboortedatum
- 1922-01-22
- Overlijdensdatum
- 1987-09-16
- Geslacht
- male
- Nationaliteit
- USA
- Geboorteplaats
- New York, New York, USA
- Plaats van overlijden
- New York, New York, USA
- Woonplaatsen
- New York, New York, USA (birth|death)
- Opleiding
- University of Michigan
- Beroepen
- poet
editor
critic
playwright - Organisaties
- American Academy of Arts and Letters (Literature ∙ 1971)
The New Yorker - Prijzen en onderscheidingen
- Fellowship of the Academy of American Poets (1986)
American Academy of Arts and Letters Academy Award (Literature, 1968)
Leden
Besprekingen
Lijsten
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Gerelateerde auteurs
Statistieken
- Werken
- 33
- Ook door
- 14
- Leden
- 490
- Populariteit
- #50,416
- Waardering
- 3.8
- Besprekingen
- 5
- ISBNs
- 36
He took a dim view, if, indeed, a view, in all consciousness, could be considered one, when the very act of its perception was, by definition, barely discernible, of biography, that addiction to "truth-seeking" that so often cloaked, when it did not, more accurately, mask, a predilection for poking into corners best left un-poked, for lifting up stones heavy enough, one would have thought, to crush existence itself out of the low and wriggling forms of life that secreted themselves, ever so hopefully, ever so persistently, in pursuit of a safety indubitably not to be vouchsafed, beneath the mossy sides of their seemingly permanent shelters…That he, the author of What Maisie Knew, should be asked to offer sacrifices at the altar of a God he did not worship, neither as communicant nor convert, to act, doubly the slave, as the servitor of Mammon, a "deal"—as the American traders, ever hot in the pursuit of profit, might say—seemed to him not only to rub salt into an old wound but to be a special form of affront, as insulting as if, laid hands on by the misinformed, a first edition were to be used merely for the swatting of flies. He would not, no…
Or James Joyce:
Being a broth of a poi, cod-lei but Chile, to whom Doubloom seized to half charm, eggs isle seemed puf-ferable. He Christ the Iris zei, he crossed the Ingres flannel and maid his weigh a broad. Zoo rich! Elps! EEEEEEEEEEk! Them Swiss miss misses me. Watch out, Montaignes, and them Edel (Weiss) Leon? Ted? Price? Ah, my Tyne is come, said the looney.
Here is Mary Shelley:
…There was a pounding at the door. My God! Could it be Percy Bysshe? If he found out she'd been "experimenting" again, it would kill him.
"Just one moment, please," she said, trying to shove the monster back into the darkness of the attic.
"Get back into a recess . . . back! . . . back!" Mary whispered hoarsely.
The monster looked at her. "That's easier Sade than Donne . . ."
Even in this intolerable moment of panic, Mary could not resist a tiny rush of pride. Whatever she had created, it was far more literate than she had guessed . . .
… (meer)