Word: parnassian
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...heroism of modern life" was At the Moulin Rouge, 1892-95. It is a gathering of Lautrec's tribe, his best male friends and the cabaret women who were the main characters of his art. It also seems to be Lautrec's most complete answer to the Parnassian pretensions of French artists' circles in the '90s-the kind of high-mindedness he had mocked as a student, ten years before, with an acrid parody of Puvis de Chavannes's Sacred Grove, into whose pallid scattering of muses he introduced a line of stray moderns from...
...mediocre, and seems more so today." Aside from "Prufrock," the magazine published only one other great poem: Wallace Stevens' "Sunday Morning," which survived even Harriet Monroe's rather highhanded editing and rearranging of its stanzas. But the value of The "Poetry" Anthology does not rest on its Parnassian heights. Flipping through its pages is like watching time-lapse photography of American literary taste...
...been there in one position or another since 1941, when he escaped from Paris to New York and was hired by Lucien Vogel, on whose illustrated magazine Vu he had worked in the '30s. Some Liberman critics claim that his art exists mainly on a level of Parnassian chic, that he is "uncommitted," a designer of objects rather than a maker of acts and images. Indeed, Liberman is the antitype of "the American artist," for he has always disdained to specialize. "The type I admire," he says, "is the ancient Chinese administrator who as a matter of course painted...
...with a harvest of honors that include the Pulitzer Prize, Notre Dame's Laetare Medal and more honorary degrees than she can remember (it's nine, she thinks). Although her métier is light verse, Poet W. H. Auden sets her high on the Parnassian hill. "Where do you place work like Pope's Rape of the Lock?" he asks. "You could equally call it light verse or marvelous poetry. There is a certain way of writing which one calls light, but underneath it can carry a great depth of emotion." The McGinley verse, says Poet...
Louis Michel Eilshemius, scrag-bearded, self-styled Mahatma, Supreme Parnassian and Grand Transcendent Eagle of Art, spent half a century painting in obscurity, writing letters of self-praise to editors, growing poorer, bitterer, more desperate. In 1932, when he was 68, fame and recognition came to the old man. Two Manhattan galleries held exhibitions of his paintings, the Metropolitan Museum bought one. Last week, from the musty, gaslighted Victorian brownstone house his father left him (on which he was unable to pay the mounting taxes), Eilshemius was taken to Bellevue Hospital, placed in the psychopathic ward...