Stéphane Mallarmé’s Un Coup de dés n’abolira jamais le hasard (c. 1898) is often referenced as if it were the mother of all neglected and obscure works. This may have been true in decades or centuries past, but in the 2010s it’s a claim that no longer holds water. Witness the following:
Mark Amerika’s CRAPSHOOT, which went live in 2015, a a generative, interactive hypertextual remix that mimics the form of Mallarmé’s poem.
Published in 2015 by Wave Books, Jeff Clark and Robert Bononno’s translation of the poem, supplemented by photographic images. They discuss their work on the translation and presentation here, at PoetrySociety.org. (At Amazon, a portion of the book is available for preview.)
My own 2015 translation of the poem and its preface, soon to be published in Vestiges, the print publication of Black Sun Lit.
At a Center for the Art of Translation event in 2012, Richard Howard read his translation of “Afternoon of a Fawn” and discussed why he declined — even for +$20,000 — to translate Un Coup de dés.
Lastly, though, if you really want to understand this work’s full significance, look to Quentin Meillasoux’s The Number and the Siren (originally published by Fayard, 2011; brilliantly — and I don’t mean that lightly — translated by Robin Mackay, 2012, available from Urbanomic). Text from the publisher’s website:
Un Coup de Dés jamais n’abolira le Hasard constitutes perhaps the most radical break in the history of modern poetry: the fractured lines spanning the double page, the typographical play borrowed from the poster form, the multiplication of interpolations disrupting reading. But the intrigue of this poem is still stranger, always resistant to full elucidation. We encounter a shipwreck, and a Master, himself almost submerged, who clasps in his hand the dice that, confronted by the furious waves, he hesitates to throw. The hero expects this throw, if it takes place, to be extraordinarily important: a Number said to be ‘unique’ and which ‘can be no other’.
The decisive point of the investigation proposed by Meillassoux comes with a discovery, unsettling and yet as simple as a child’s game. All the dimensions of the Number, understood progressively, articulate between them but one sole condition: that this Number should ultimately be delivered to us by a secret code, hidden in the Coup de dés like a key that finally unlocks every one of its poetic devices. Thus is also unveiled the meaning of that siren, emerging for a lightning-flash amongst the debris of the shipwreck: as the living heart of a drama that is still unfolding.
Lastly, and somewhat unrelatedly, but why the hell not, an ocean of links to drown in (– shipwreck that –)
Earlier this year (2015, magic year, magic number), soprano Marisol Montalvo sang Pierre Boulez’s “Pli selon pli” live with L’Ensemble Intercontemporain conducted by Matthias Pintscher. (“Pli selon Pli” is a set of five songs based on poems by Stéphane Mallarmé.)
I felt I had to read The Charterhouse of Parma (1839), but as a duty, an obligation; — I failed to foresee the abundance of pleasure and delight it would bring me, how fully I would be absorbed by this lovely, capacious, courtly romance that Stendhal (1783-1842) dictated — if you can believe it — in just fifty-two days in the fall of 1838. It is not dense, it is sprawling and magnificent though, an intrepid work with a bit of everything. Love and nobility of the soul are its two great themes, but it is also packed with action, architectural musings, political intrigue, psychological interiority, cruelty, wit and humour, and one fantastic escape. It is Stendhal’s last novel, and it was brought into the world seemingly fully-formed. I can’t recommend it highly enough. It will enlarge your heart and your soul, to say nothing of your attention. Fabrizio del Dongo is the book’s hero, a noble and naive young man, a prisoner and ecclesiastic, a fugitive lover, of whom his aunt rightly remarks, “If he hadn’t been so lovable, he would be dead”!
Richard Howard’s translation, published by the Modern Library in 1999, reads in a fluidly and flawlessly, and also includes an afterword by Howard; Honoré de Balzac’s 1840 review of the book; Stendhal’s letter to Balzac; and Daniel Mendelsohn’s 1999 review of Howard’s translation, which appeared initially in The New York Times Book Review. From these supporting documents I glean the following: Stendhal wrote to Balzac that, “Whilst writing the Chartreuse, in order to acquire the correct tone I read every morning two or three pages of the Civil Code.” – ! Also: Henri Beyle (Stendhal) used over 200 pseudonyms in his lifetime. (Certainly makes me feel like less of a nut for occasionally assuming an alias…)
Put this one on your reading lists.
Note: an improved-quality audio file (optimized for voice) replaced the original recording on Jan 9, 2013. — JS
Last week I traveled to New York City, to lower Manhattan, to hear Joseph McElroy read from his work. The reading took place at the New School. In attendance were the renowned translator and poet Richard Howard, as well as McElroy’s son, Boone, and his wife, artist Barbara Ellmann.
I also visited McElroy at his Tribeca apartment and spoke with him about the (then) impending election, about how his week had been since the flooding of parts of the city, about his forthcoming books, and more. I am presently preparing a summary of this exchange for publication.
For now, enjoy the recording of McElroy’s digressively “self-interrupted” reading of his work, including excerpts from Cannonball, his “water book” which he’s wrapping up, “Canoe Repair,” “The Campaign Trail,” and a brief commentary on Sigfried Giedion’s Space, Time, and Architecture.
All posts on this site about Joseph McElroy are archived here.