Christian Molenaar

Tag: dalkey archive

  • 2025

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    I started the year with no greater plans than a set at the Brown Building alongside Amy Cimini and Sean Jones playing my songs for voice and cello. Somehow that turned into a full twelve months of gigging and recording, the busiest year I’ve had post-lockdown. Below, the highlights (and lowlights): Read more

  • November 6, 18—

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    They (writers) publish books for the pleasure of seeing them printed and bound, without remembering the saddest aspects of their lives will end up contained in those pages. Read more

  • The Great Flood

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    Rilke was eternally someone’s houseguest. Once he had fifty different addresses in four years. Read more

  • October 7, 1849

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    At forty, in Baltimore. Filthy, starving, drunk and/or with delirium tremens, crying out at unseen creatures. Read more

  • September 28

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    Poet, critic and “father of imagism” T. E. Hulme died 108 years ago today. Read more

  • Not Something I Ever Knew

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    Andrea senza errori, he was also called. What that means is that he never made a single mistake, when he was drawing. Read more

  • Quitting Time

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    Today I left the job at which I’ve worked for the last two years, one of the more dysfunctional I’ve held besides the barbecue place boasting a back-of-house fight club, though of course I’d be lying if I pretended the last few weeks at the up-to-present job haven’t been pleasant, though of course I’d be Read more

  • Should He Remember?

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    May 30, 1593. Eleanor Bull’s Tavern, Deptford Strand. Read more

  • May 19, 18—

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    “I’m thinking about writing a book,” I said, “a book that would be a sort of symptomatic journal of my disease that could serve as a source of information for doctors and literary types both. This idea came knocking at my door as twilight fell… I let it seduce me as though I were just Read more

  • April 24, 18—

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    Have I already mentioned that I had a myopic relative who worked as an eye doctor and who fished with a tall reed, looking through opera glasses? His near-sightedness imposed a necessary punctiliousness to his movements and even intentions. As a result, he was meticulous in all things. I inherited his enormous delight in neatness. Read more

Thought:

“‘Since mountains sink to vales, and valleys die,
‘And seas and rivers mourn their sources dry;
‘When my old cassock,’ says a Welsh divine,
‘Is out at elbows, why should I repine?’”

Richard Porson | “The Bathos”

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