If There Were Anywhere but Desert: The Selected Poems of Edmond Jabès

by Edmond Jabès, Keith Waldrop (Translator)

This first collection of poetry by the influential French/Egyptian/Jewish writer, known for a powerful poetic prose of his own invention (The Book of Questions, etc.), contains early and late poems, consistently exhibiting styles and themes closely related to the prose: economy of reference, passionate lyricism, aphoristic tendencies, preoccupation with the act of writing itself, and the ever-present theme of exile. Masterfully translated in a bilingual edition with important contributions by Robert Duncan and Paul Auster.

Genres: Poetry, France

140 pages, Hardcover

First published March 1, 1988

About the author

Edmond Jabes was a major voice in French poetry in the latter half of this century. An Egyptian Jew, he was haunted by the question of place and the loss of place in relation to writing, and he was one of the most significant thinkers of what one might call poetical alienation. He focused on the space of the book, seeing it as the true space in which exile and the promised land meet in poetry and in question. (This is summarized from the reader's description in A New History of French Literature, ed. Denis Hollier.) Very many of Jabes's books of prose and poetry have been translated into English, including The Book of Dialogue ( Wesleyan, 1987) and The Book of Margins (Chicago, 1993), both translated by Rosmarie Waldrop.

Reviews

[Edita · Rating 4 out of 5]

When we get our memory back,
love will finally learn its age.

[Terresa Wellborn · Rating 3 out of 5]

Nicely written and recommended, but if you have limited time, I'd suggest to read his The Book of Questions instead of this slim book of verse.

Here are some of my favorite lines/quotes:


^^^^^^^
I would now celebrate trees,
if there were anywhere but desert.

^^^^^^^
Mason of water of air of shadow
I recognized him by the breadth of his shoulders
by the tunnel of his deep hands
transparent here and there
like patches of day on the water.

^^^^^^^
In a poem, the echo is as important as silence.

^^^^^^^
Head down the feet lose all purpose in life
except to break through clouds

^^^^^^^
There is time only for waking.

^^^^^^^
Peace lies in the key
of contradictions in the sulfur
of fleeting lights You are there
for an instant Blue desert
with dunes of rain Thirst is granted
Space is a breach You burn in the night
whose walls are down I see by your oil
by the wick in the middle where a flame blossoms
I see by your love Peace young magpie
with the varicolored joy of our eyes
after the deluge

^^^^^^^
We no longer know where
we are to where we radiate…
I run with the
sound of my running which rings with
a borrowed name…
^^^^^^^

[EIJANDOLUM · Rating 2 out of 5]

To read over what one has written: to find oneself alone again, in the decorated hall, the day after the ball.

-

Does one write with the blood of the word mixed with one’s own?

I adore Edmond, but the entire selection is okay. The translation is impeccable though.

[Abigail Scholar Bangs · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the most beautiful books of poetry I have ever read.