Sorry I haven’t written anything for about ten days. I have been a bit busy lately. Anyway, it is Saturday afternoon and I thought I ought to write something to get back into it. I had an appointment in Bath yesterday afternoon. When that was finished, I had a quick walk around town. I thought I might treat myself to some new music in HMV, but did not find anything that I particularly wanted to buy. Then I had a browse in the Oxfam bookshop. I was very pleased to find a nice copy of the first UK edition of Henry Miller’s Book Of Friends published in 1978. I started reading it on the train on the way home. There was a time about forty years ago when Henry Miller was almost my favourite writer. I named this blog page Quiet Days after Henry’s book Quiet Days In Clichy. I think I have read most of his major works, The Colossus Of Marrousi about his time in Greece was my favourite travel book of all time. You don’t hear a lot about Henry Miller these days. I think he should be rediscovered.
A lot of people think of him as a writer of dirty books, but they don’t understand him. I like him because he was a seeker after truth and fearless in saying what he thought. He might be unpopular these days because his language isn’t politically correct. One of the many things I liked about him is that he was a great admirer of Jiddu Krishnamurti which puts him on my wavelength. He said about Krishnamurti, “His language is naked, revelatory and inspiring. It pierces the clouds of philosophy which confound our thought and restores the springs of action. He initiated no new faith or dogma, questioned everything, cultivated doubt and perseverance, freed himself of illusion and enchantment of pride, vanity, and every subtle form of dominion over others. . . . I know of no other living man whose thought is more inspiring”.
The first story in his book of friends is called Staisu and is about his friendship with a Polish kid who lived in his neighbourhood in Brooklyn. It is brilliant, inspirational and moving. One of these days I might have a go at writing about the street I grew up in. We shall see if I get around to doing it.
1 comment:
Dear Stranger,
Your writing is beautifully profound and your perspective is that of a Romantic of life. Your love for Miller makes me want to go skinny dipping into his world of literature. I was reading the poetry collection of Arthur Rimbaud yesterday and at the end of the book (it's published by modern classics, the cover is in red with 4 boxes consisting the same picture of Rimbaud in each) there was an excerpt from Miller's ’The Time of the Assassins: A Study of Rimbaud’ it read how Miller was introduced to Rimbaud's Poetry and how it was all along there in his life chasing him but it was not yet his time to be introduced to him and I was mesmerized by how Miller found and thought of Rimbaud, How ironically Rimbaud met Miller (figuratively) at the same age Rimbaud died (37) and how coincidentally Miller was born the same year Rimbaud died (1891). The work of Literature is no different from that of a Magical one. I came across your blog especially because you mentioned How Miller felt about Krishnamurthi, Being an Indian I have a profound appreaction for Krishnamurthi's works and Whosoever can understand them can live a fulfilled and peaceful life but What blew my mind was your view on how people have the wrong idea about Miller's Writing being filled up only with Lust. I didn't know much about Miller but when for the first time I read a quote by Miller which read “ There's nothing wrong with the world. What's wrong is our way of looking at it.” It changed my thought process altogether. Miller is one of the most important literary figures for centuries to come. It felt great reading your blog friend, keep it up!!
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