#Seagull Books

[garadinervi]

Roland Barthes, Signs and Images. Writings on Art, Cinema and Photography, Essays and Interviews, Volume 4, Translated by Chris Turner, Seagull Books, London, 2016

(on the way of Barthes Studies, via Jeremy Fernando)

[thomasbernhard]

Parents. Childhood and everything after it. The process of isolation. Fragments of despair.

—Thomas Bernhard, ‘On the Ortler’, in: The Rest Is Slander (translation by Douglas Robertson)

[roughghosts]

The revolution isn’t a rocket but a river that flows and pours forth: Passage to the Plaza by Sahar Khalifeh

The revolution isn’t a rocket but a river that flows and pours forth: Passage to the Plaza by Sahar Khalifeh, translated by Sawad Hussain

Each summer night in Nablus was just like the next: breezes pregnant with the scent of jasmine, dew and whiffs from the sewers. The municipality went to great pains: every morning the marketplace smelt like a freshly cut bouquet of the most fragrant flowers; however, by the time the afternoon rolled round—when the hustle and bustle had died down and the shops had closed and the rugs and carts had…

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

secrets of farming (1863) - john w. large

"yeowch augh taking damage ough eurgh"

[lovesmartyr]

If I were a 'static, given nature', I would be limited by fixed laws, some things necessarily bringing me pain and others joy. By putting me in play, nature pitches me outside of itself—outside the limits and laws that cause the humble to praise it. The fact of being gambled with makes of me a possibility that did not previously exist. I move beyond all that is given in the universe and I set nature in play.

At the heart of immensity, I am the extra, the exuberance. The universe could get along without me. My strength, my impudence derive from this superfluous character.

[martyncrucefix]

Greedy alpha-creatures: the poetry of Ulrike Almut Sandig

I’m shocked to realise that it is a full year since I posted my review of the stunning long poem, Porcelain, by the contemporary German poet, Durs Grünbein, in Karen Leeder’s equally impressive translation (Seagull Books, 2020). That review was originally commissioned for, and published in, Patricia McCarthy’s penultimate issue of Agenda (those who follow such things will know that Patricia has…

[kaggsy59]

"… a pure translucency, a purely passive thing…" #FrenchFebruary #ReadIndies @seagullbooks

We’re getting perilously close to the end of #ReadIndies month, and it’s become clear to me that I’m not going to fit in all the books I wanted to read and cover. However, I was really keen to include something which as well as being indie also qualified for MarinaSofia’s #FrenchFebruary challenge; hence this extra weekend post! Finding a French indie looked like it might be problematic when I…

[laurenillustrated]

A young mermaid having a chat with a seagull

[incorrect-tbs-quotes]

Paige: I don't have a library card but mind if I check you out? *grins*

Arcturus: come with me

Paige, grinning even wider: and where are we going?

Arcturus: to get you a library card

[tanyaluca]

Acceptance…

Tanya Luca

[beljar]

I feel as if I had been in the world a thousand years, and I trail my life behind me like an endless scarf.

Anton Chekhov, from The Seagull, 1895

[garadinervi]

Robert Walser. The Poems, Translated into English by Daniele Pantano, Seagull Books, Kolkata, 2022

[thomasbernhard]

We ask, but we receive no answer. We keep asking. Life in its entirety consists of nothing but questions, because we only ever exist where we keep asking questions but keep receiving no answers.

—Thomas Bernhard, ‘Ungenach’, in: The Rest Is Slander (translation by Douglas Robertson)

[roughghosts]

Rain like this doesn’t wash away the filth: Hawa Hawa and Other Stories by Nabarun Bhattacharya

Rain like this doesn’t wash away the filth: Hawa Hawa and Other Stories by Nabarun Bhattacharya, translated by Subha Prasad Sanyal @seagullbooks

The gleaming wet road, the rusty tin roof of a motorcar repair garage, behind it an old paint-peeling stunned-still old house and a chimney precariously propped up with haphazard wires—the sky can see all this. And, not as clearly, the burnt-black tin-backed shops and buses and the in-between blocks of darkness that were Matador sheds and not the half-rotten bellies of fish but the shells of…

[she-anemone]

an oc of mine, Millie the Seagull

[whats-in-a-sentence]

The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them; before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever and ever on the beach.

"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" - C. S. Lewis