Word: shelleys
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...never quite cope with life's ludicrous little defeats. Wherever he slouched in front of an audience-last month on the bare bandstand of a Chicago nightclub, this week before the unforgiving cameras of Ed Sullivan's TV show-it seemed hardly probable that sad-sack Monologuist Shelley Berman could deliver...
...Shelley scarcely seems to try. He merely offers solemn, almost sorrowful comments on some of the irritating incongruities of modern life. Take air travel, says Shelley, with the carefully controlled tension of a man who has already taken altogether too much. "I never have the slightest doubt about my safety in a plane until I walk into an airport terminal and realize that there is a thriving industry in this building selling life insurance policies . . . What they do by this power of suggestion is that they plant the seed of doubts into an already chicken human being...
...Sixty-Six! Sixty-Six!" Pasternak escaped service in World War I because of an old leg injury, but worked in a chemical factory in the Urals. While the '20s brought him success, the late '30s imposed silence. During the Stalinist purges, Pasternak turned to translating Shakespeare, Goethe, Shelley-the only work of his by which he is known to a wide Russian public. Save for two wartime books of poetry, no volume of Pasternak's has been published in Russia for a quarter-century, although handwritten copies are privately circulated...
...poet, Robert William Service never sought the level of Percy Bysshe Shelley, would have been as out of place on Parnassus as Shelley in a Klondike saloon. The rhymes that made Service a millionaire w'ooed none of the nine Muses. They reek of male shenanigans and sweat, roar like a Yukon avalanche, teem with rude and lusty characters: Claw-Fingered Kitty, Chewed-Ear Jenkins. Muck-Luck Mag, Blasphemous Bill Mackie. Dangerous Dan McGrew. "Rhyming has my ruin been," Robert Service once wrote, falling unconsciously into the balladeer's inversion. "With less deftness I might have produced real...
Poet Pasternak, 68, distinguished Russian translator of Shakespeare, Goethe, Shelley, finished the novel in 1955, after almost a decade's work, and during a period of "thaw"' and official absentmindedness sent it to an Italian Communist publisher (TIME, Dec. 9). Before long the Reds did an ideological double take and demanded the manuscript's return, but the publisher refused. This English translation reveals the novel (which begins in 1903 and ends in 1929, with an epilogue carrying the action beyond World War II) as a biography of Pasternak's own generation, described by Poet Alexander Blok...