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همهی وجودش حلاوتی وحشی و ناب ساطع میکند که در تاريکی جنگل با جيغهای کوتاه و گوشنواز در مأموريتی مرموز میپرد. همچنين هالهای از زوال و ملال اين موجود کوچک و سادهدل را احاطه کرده. طی قرنها بارها و بارها رها شده است، در کوچههای شهر پذيرای مرگ شده است، در زمينهای خالی ظهری سوزان، تکههای ظروف سفالی، گزنهها، ديوارهای گِلي ويران. بارها و بارها به عبث در طلب کمك گريسته است؛
106 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1986
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3904 people want to read
About the author
William S. Burroughs
449 books7,009 followersWilliam Seward Burroughs II, (also known by his pen name William Lee) was an American novelist, short story writer, essayist, painter, and spoken word performer.
A primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major postmodernist author, he is considered to be "one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innovative artists of the 20th century".
His influence is considered to have affected a range of popular culture as well as literature. Burroughs wrote 18 novels and novellas, six collections of short stories and four collections of essays.
Five books have been published of his interviews and correspondences. He also collaborated on projects and recordings with numerous performers and musicians, and made many appearances in films.
He was born to a wealthy family in St. Louis, Missouri, grandson of the inventor and founder of the Burroughs Corporation, William Seward Burroughs I, and nephew of public relations manager Ivy Lee. Burroughs began writing essays and journals in early adolescence. He left home in 1932 to attend Harvard University, studied English, and anthropology as a postgraduate, and later attended medical school in Vienna. After being turned down by the Office of Strategic Services and U.S. Navy in 1942 to serve in World War II, he dropped out and became afflicted with the drug addiction that affected him for the rest of his life, while working a variety of jobs. In 1943 while living in New York City, he befriended Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, the mutually influential foundation of what became the countercultural movement of the Beat Generation.
Much of Burroughs's work is semi-autobiographical, primarily drawn from his experiences as a heroin addict, as he lived throughout Mexico City, London, Paris, Berlin, the South American Amazon and Tangier in Morocco. Finding success with his confessional first novel, Junkie (1953), Burroughs is perhaps best known for his third novel Naked Lunch (1959), a controversy-fraught work that underwent a court case under the U.S. sodomy laws. With Brion Gysin, he also popularized the literary cut-up technique in works such as The Nova Trilogy (1961–64). In 1983, Burroughs was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, and in 1984 was awarded the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France. Jack Kerouac called Burroughs the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift", a reputation he owes to his "lifelong subversion" of the moral, political and economic systems of modern American society, articulated in often darkly humorous sardonicism. J. G. Ballard considered Burroughs to be "the most important writer to emerge since the Second World War", while Norman Mailer declared him "the only American writer who may be conceivably possessed by genius".
Burroughs had one child, William Seward Burroughs III (1947-1981), with his second wife Joan Vollmer. Vollmer died in 1951 in Mexico City. Burroughs was convicted of manslaughter in Vollmer's death, an event that deeply permeated all of his writings. Burroughs died at his home in Lawrence, Kansas, after suffering a heart attack in 1997.
A primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major postmodernist author, he is considered to be "one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innovative artists of the 20th century".
His influence is considered to have affected a range of popular culture as well as literature. Burroughs wrote 18 novels and novellas, six collections of short stories and four collections of essays.
Five books have been published of his interviews and correspondences. He also collaborated on projects and recordings with numerous performers and musicians, and made many appearances in films.
He was born to a wealthy family in St. Louis, Missouri, grandson of the inventor and founder of the Burroughs Corporation, William Seward Burroughs I, and nephew of public relations manager Ivy Lee. Burroughs began writing essays and journals in early adolescence. He left home in 1932 to attend Harvard University, studied English, and anthropology as a postgraduate, and later attended medical school in Vienna. After being turned down by the Office of Strategic Services and U.S. Navy in 1942 to serve in World War II, he dropped out and became afflicted with the drug addiction that affected him for the rest of his life, while working a variety of jobs. In 1943 while living in New York City, he befriended Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, the mutually influential foundation of what became the countercultural movement of the Beat Generation.
Much of Burroughs's work is semi-autobiographical, primarily drawn from his experiences as a heroin addict, as he lived throughout Mexico City, London, Paris, Berlin, the South American Amazon and Tangier in Morocco. Finding success with his confessional first novel, Junkie (1953), Burroughs is perhaps best known for his third novel Naked Lunch (1959), a controversy-fraught work that underwent a court case under the U.S. sodomy laws. With Brion Gysin, he also popularized the literary cut-up technique in works such as The Nova Trilogy (1961–64). In 1983, Burroughs was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, and in 1984 was awarded the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France. Jack Kerouac called Burroughs the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift", a reputation he owes to his "lifelong subversion" of the moral, political and economic systems of modern American society, articulated in often darkly humorous sardonicism. J. G. Ballard considered Burroughs to be "the most important writer to emerge since the Second World War", while Norman Mailer declared him "the only American writer who may be conceivably possessed by genius".
Burroughs had one child, William Seward Burroughs III (1947-1981), with his second wife Joan Vollmer. Vollmer died in 1951 in Mexico City. Burroughs was convicted of manslaughter in Vollmer's death, an event that deeply permeated all of his writings. Burroughs died at his home in Lawrence, Kansas, after suffering a heart attack in 1997.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 391 reviews
March 11, 2018
This book is not going to change your life, that's for sure. It's not one of those once-in-a-lifetime reads that blow your mind and help you shape your intellect. It's neither an essential nor a revutionary milestone in literature.
But it's just so nice to read it. These few pages bring such a breath of fresh air that the reader's mood hightens in delight. It's a collection of short paragraphs in which William Burroughs, the author of "Naked Lunch" (one of the most controversial works in all-time literature) talks about his lifelong experience with his beloved cats; any faithful reader of his will be utterly astonished by this book, almost forgotten by the critic.
Forget about Burroughs' recurrent themes: sexual macabre fantasies, drug addiction, visionary worlds, fear, filthy nightmarish urban settings. This book is the sweetest declaration of love from a man who unravels himself and his most intimate nature.
It's everyday's life what Burroughs depicts here; life with all its trivialities and simplicity. Dream and reality are often mixed in his vision - it's old Billy, after all - but the absolute protagonists are the cats, the creatures he sees as "psychic companions" of mankind since they first were tamed. Notions of ancient symbolism and mysticism are well known to the author, who's acquainted with scientific disciplines as well. As a matter of fact, cats have always been unfathomable in their mysterious aloofness: no cat will ever be completely tamed by the contact with the human environment.
As for dogs, they live on an entirely different plane of existence. They've been made servants, the guardians (or hangmen?) of human civilization:
"I am not a dog-hater. I do hate what man has made of his best friend. A dog's snarl is ugly, a red-neck lynch-mob snarl, of someone got a ' Kill a Queer for Christ ' sticker on his heap, a self-righteous snarl. When you see that snarl you're looking at something that has no face of its own. A dog's rage is not his. It is dictated by his trainer."
On the other side,
" The cat does not offer services. The cat offers himself. Of course he wants care and shelter. You don't buy love for nothing."
His cats are different in character and needs. They're often foundlings he met by chance: whether he found them or was found by them is an unanswerable question though. Ruski, for instance,
"...saw me from fifty feet away and ran up, giving the special little squeaks I never heard from another cat, and jumped into my lap, nuzzling and purring and putting his little paws up to my face, telling me he wanted to be my cat."
A dialogue that needs no words... a miracle any cat-owner experiences every day.
The most poetic paragraphs are possibly the iconic descriptions of his home cats feeding their kittens. It's an epiphany of Nature what Burroughs witnesses looking at the mother cat sheltering them, humble and proud at the same time for having accomplished her function.
Cats serve as Familiars, sensitive screens for their owners' self-projections. That's something any devoted cat-lover will unconditionally approve. A cat has an individuality no other animal, tamed or wild, could ever achieve: relationships between men and cats are actually lived on a plane of equality - two souls consciously meeting and liking (or disliking) each other. A cat is not bound by instinct to befriend a man. It's a choice, a deliberate act of trust and love.
All in all, this book is an allegory. Cats help us reveal our true selves, our attitude toward each other; they're catalysts of feelings we usually don't acknowledge when dealing with human beings, affected as we are by the lack of communication and contact in our life.
In Burroughs' words,
"We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place."
I read this book in one hour, cuddling my cat. As I turned the last page I looked down at him. He opened one eye; meowed; stretched himself, turned and fell asleep again.
A real man.
But it's just so nice to read it. These few pages bring such a breath of fresh air that the reader's mood hightens in delight. It's a collection of short paragraphs in which William Burroughs, the author of "Naked Lunch" (one of the most controversial works in all-time literature) talks about his lifelong experience with his beloved cats; any faithful reader of his will be utterly astonished by this book, almost forgotten by the critic.
Forget about Burroughs' recurrent themes: sexual macabre fantasies, drug addiction, visionary worlds, fear, filthy nightmarish urban settings. This book is the sweetest declaration of love from a man who unravels himself and his most intimate nature.
It's everyday's life what Burroughs depicts here; life with all its trivialities and simplicity. Dream and reality are often mixed in his vision - it's old Billy, after all - but the absolute protagonists are the cats, the creatures he sees as "psychic companions" of mankind since they first were tamed. Notions of ancient symbolism and mysticism are well known to the author, who's acquainted with scientific disciplines as well. As a matter of fact, cats have always been unfathomable in their mysterious aloofness: no cat will ever be completely tamed by the contact with the human environment.
As for dogs, they live on an entirely different plane of existence. They've been made servants, the guardians (or hangmen?) of human civilization:
"I am not a dog-hater. I do hate what man has made of his best friend. A dog's snarl is ugly, a red-neck lynch-mob snarl, of someone got a ' Kill a Queer for Christ ' sticker on his heap, a self-righteous snarl. When you see that snarl you're looking at something that has no face of its own. A dog's rage is not his. It is dictated by his trainer."
On the other side,
" The cat does not offer services. The cat offers himself. Of course he wants care and shelter. You don't buy love for nothing."
His cats are different in character and needs. They're often foundlings he met by chance: whether he found them or was found by them is an unanswerable question though. Ruski, for instance,
"...saw me from fifty feet away and ran up, giving the special little squeaks I never heard from another cat, and jumped into my lap, nuzzling and purring and putting his little paws up to my face, telling me he wanted to be my cat."
A dialogue that needs no words... a miracle any cat-owner experiences every day.
The most poetic paragraphs are possibly the iconic descriptions of his home cats feeding their kittens. It's an epiphany of Nature what Burroughs witnesses looking at the mother cat sheltering them, humble and proud at the same time for having accomplished her function.
Cats serve as Familiars, sensitive screens for their owners' self-projections. That's something any devoted cat-lover will unconditionally approve. A cat has an individuality no other animal, tamed or wild, could ever achieve: relationships between men and cats are actually lived on a plane of equality - two souls consciously meeting and liking (or disliking) each other. A cat is not bound by instinct to befriend a man. It's a choice, a deliberate act of trust and love.
All in all, this book is an allegory. Cats help us reveal our true selves, our attitude toward each other; they're catalysts of feelings we usually don't acknowledge when dealing with human beings, affected as we are by the lack of communication and contact in our life.
In Burroughs' words,
"We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place."
I read this book in one hour, cuddling my cat. As I turned the last page I looked down at him. He opened one eye; meowed; stretched himself, turned and fell asleep again.
A real man.
December 16, 2023
A very strange trip - but worth the fall! I must confess that I really don't think I understand WSB - that being said there is a strange (almost dreamlike) way that his writing pulls you in; some of the lines are hauntingly poetic. I will try to read further works by him to see if I can try to find a way to 'decode' what he is really saying.
January 17, 2023
The cat does not offer services. The cat offers itself.
Cats may be my last living link to a dying species.
A poem. A dream diary. An allegory. A paean to and a memoir of a life with cats. This peculiar little book contains all this and more. I read through it in an hour while my noble, black, mini-panther Obi lounged dreaming next to me on my desk. It is a thing unique — a gentle literary offering from William Burroughs.
Of course, Burroughs is still Burroughs. Folded into this memoir of living with cats are bizarre dream-like episodes imagining fantastical cat breeds that never were and feline-human chimeras:
I am cast in the role of the Guardian, to create and nurture a creature that is part cat, part human, and part something as yet unimaginable, which might result from a union that has not taken place for millions of years.
He also indulged his mystical proclivity, as when he challenged the accepted history of cat domestication:
Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function.
So much of what is familiar in Burroughs is present here — mystical musings, bizarre dream sequences, caustic wit and social commentary — yet all somehow softened, mellowed through the agency of his beloved feline friends. This little known gem is a treasure for Burroughs admirers and cat lovers alike.
Cats may be my last living link to a dying species.
A poem. A dream diary. An allegory. A paean to and a memoir of a life with cats. This peculiar little book contains all this and more. I read through it in an hour while my noble, black, mini-panther Obi lounged dreaming next to me on my desk. It is a thing unique — a gentle literary offering from William Burroughs.
Of course, Burroughs is still Burroughs. Folded into this memoir of living with cats are bizarre dream-like episodes imagining fantastical cat breeds that never were and feline-human chimeras:
I am cast in the role of the Guardian, to create and nurture a creature that is part cat, part human, and part something as yet unimaginable, which might result from a union that has not taken place for millions of years.
He also indulged his mystical proclivity, as when he challenged the accepted history of cat domestication:
Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function.
So much of what is familiar in Burroughs is present here — mystical musings, bizarre dream sequences, caustic wit and social commentary — yet all somehow softened, mellowed through the agency of his beloved feline friends. This little known gem is a treasure for Burroughs admirers and cat lovers alike.
January 8, 2019
Perché la vita é molto più triste senza quell’elegante flessuoso felino che con la sua camminata di grazia e naturalezza scatena ondate di endorfine in chi lo guarda
Con quegli occhi spalancati, a un tempo gialli verdi o blu oltremare che per narrarli ci vorrebbe una nuova tavolozza di colori, e pupille nere come ebano mobile che si dilatano e restringono al ritmo delle sue emozioni e della poca luce intorno,
E quel pazzerello furioso che inventa inutili agguati e si spaventa da solo e gioisce nel farlo, a giocare fino a farsi male, noncurante di sé in quella sua inutile foga a rincorrere una pallina di argilla, come fosse la più temibile delle prede,
Animale fedele e amante ma per scelta, non per paura.
Cantato da poeti sommi, e Baudelaire a paragonarlo alla sua donna
LE CHAT
Charles Baudelaire
Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon cœur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.
Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,
Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête,
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,
Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum,
Nagent autour de son corps brun
IL GATTO
(trad. di Gesualdo Bufalino)
Bel gatto, vieni sul mio cuore ardente:
ritira l'unghie e lasciami
annegar nel tuo occhio rilucente
d'un lume d'oro e d'agata.
Quando si perdon le mie dita lente
nel tuo capo e l'elastica
schiena ti palpan voluttuosamente,
come per trarne un brivido,
rivedo la mia donna: ha nello sguardo,
come te, bestia amabile,
un taglio freddo e pungente di dardo,
e tutt'intorno al bronzeo
suo corpo un'aria fine, un infingardo
pefido effluvio naviga
Perché il gatto non offre servizi, il gatto offre se stesso, e naturalmente vuole cura e un tetto. Non si compra l'amore con niente, ma in fondo vale anche per gli umani. Ma le cose inutili, quelle, sono spesso le uniche per cui vale anche un po’ la pena di vivere.
Con quegli occhi spalancati, a un tempo gialli verdi o blu oltremare che per narrarli ci vorrebbe una nuova tavolozza di colori, e pupille nere come ebano mobile che si dilatano e restringono al ritmo delle sue emozioni e della poca luce intorno,
E quel pazzerello furioso che inventa inutili agguati e si spaventa da solo e gioisce nel farlo, a giocare fino a farsi male, noncurante di sé in quella sua inutile foga a rincorrere una pallina di argilla, come fosse la più temibile delle prede,
Animale fedele e amante ma per scelta, non per paura.
Cantato da poeti sommi, e Baudelaire a paragonarlo alla sua donna
LE CHAT
Charles Baudelaire
Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon cœur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.
Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,
Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête,
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,
Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum,
Nagent autour de son corps brun
IL GATTO
(trad. di Gesualdo Bufalino)
Bel gatto, vieni sul mio cuore ardente:
ritira l'unghie e lasciami
annegar nel tuo occhio rilucente
d'un lume d'oro e d'agata.
Quando si perdon le mie dita lente
nel tuo capo e l'elastica
schiena ti palpan voluttuosamente,
come per trarne un brivido,
rivedo la mia donna: ha nello sguardo,
come te, bestia amabile,
un taglio freddo e pungente di dardo,
e tutt'intorno al bronzeo
suo corpo un'aria fine, un infingardo
pefido effluvio naviga
Perché il gatto non offre servizi, il gatto offre se stesso, e naturalmente vuole cura e un tetto. Non si compra l'amore con niente, ma in fondo vale anche per gli umani. Ma le cose inutili, quelle, sono spesso le uniche per cui vale anche un po’ la pena di vivere.
September 18, 2017
I really enjoyed this book so much more than I imagined I would. It was interesting and sad, in a way that is so easy to relate to personal depression. Very good.
May 29, 2012
When I was a young boy, I was absolutely vile to our family cat. I didn't cut it up or torture it or anything, but let's just say that, looking back, I'm amazed to have retained any memories at all of the poor thing purring in my lap...
Don't get me wrong - I still terrorize my current cat. Only now the terror is tempered with a tender, loving benevolence, a genuine desire to nurture and protect, as opposed to the thoughtless cruelty that comes so naturally to children. I might joke around about murdering her in all sorts of fun and interesting ways, but usually this is well within the context of a spirited play-time chase around the apartment.
This book seemed to encapsulate my own evolved attitude toward cats these days. It's not The Western Lands, which he was writing around the same time, but it's not exactly the warm and fuzzy thing some reviewers have described it as, either. At points it's downright horrific.
If you happen to own one of these remarkable creatures, at once so independent, yet so in need of our affections, then you probably enjoy a similar love-hate relationship with yours. Burroughs takes this a step further, showing how the same reason why we can't seem to live without the little buggers is the same reason why we can't seem to live without other people, however troublesome they can be at times.
Some folks prefer dogs. Burroughs is not one of them. He provides the following explanation on page 63:
"I am not a dog hater. I do hate what man has made of his best friend. The snarl of a panther is certainly more dangerous than the snarl of a dog, but it isn't ugly. A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. But a dog's snarl is ugly, a redneck lynch-mob Paki-basher snarl... snarl of someone got a "Kill a Queer for Christ" sticker on his heap, a self-righteous occupied snarl. When you see that snarl you are looking at something that has no face of its own. A dog's rage is not his. It is dictated by his trainer. A lynch-mob rage is dictated by conditioning."
It is perhaps a debatable distinction he makes here, this idea that cats have admirable qualities of their own, while dogs simply reflect their (often quite vicious) masters, but I for one might be inclined to agree.
Don't get me wrong - I still terrorize my current cat. Only now the terror is tempered with a tender, loving benevolence, a genuine desire to nurture and protect, as opposed to the thoughtless cruelty that comes so naturally to children. I might joke around about murdering her in all sorts of fun and interesting ways, but usually this is well within the context of a spirited play-time chase around the apartment.
This book seemed to encapsulate my own evolved attitude toward cats these days. It's not The Western Lands, which he was writing around the same time, but it's not exactly the warm and fuzzy thing some reviewers have described it as, either. At points it's downright horrific.
If you happen to own one of these remarkable creatures, at once so independent, yet so in need of our affections, then you probably enjoy a similar love-hate relationship with yours. Burroughs takes this a step further, showing how the same reason why we can't seem to live without the little buggers is the same reason why we can't seem to live without other people, however troublesome they can be at times.
Some folks prefer dogs. Burroughs is not one of them. He provides the following explanation on page 63:
"I am not a dog hater. I do hate what man has made of his best friend. The snarl of a panther is certainly more dangerous than the snarl of a dog, but it isn't ugly. A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. But a dog's snarl is ugly, a redneck lynch-mob Paki-basher snarl... snarl of someone got a "Kill a Queer for Christ" sticker on his heap, a self-righteous occupied snarl. When you see that snarl you are looking at something that has no face of its own. A dog's rage is not his. It is dictated by his trainer. A lynch-mob rage is dictated by conditioning."
It is perhaps a debatable distinction he makes here, this idea that cats have admirable qualities of their own, while dogs simply reflect their (often quite vicious) masters, but I for one might be inclined to agree.
October 6, 2022
An easy to read, easy to understand William S. Burroughs' book! What more can I ask for?
Basically this little book is just Burroughs talking about the cats he had in his life, and the place he lived which called the Stone House. The loving moments Burroughs had with his kitties, the memories he has with his male friends and lovers, and the few humorous remarks about men being "bad animal" are pretty endearing!!!
I'm surprised to see the contexts being so short and easy to understand, some of the short texts are great, but some aren't so, 3.9 stars only.
" The cat does not offer services. The cat offers itself. Of course he wants care and shelter. You don't buy love for nothing.''
"I don't think anyone can write a completely honest autobiography. I am sure no one could bear to read this: My Past Was an Evil River."
"It's illegal to allow your cat to run free. Dogs and cats must be on the owner's premises and under verbal command at all times. It's law." (A law habitually violated by everyone in Lawrence who has a yard.)
Basically this little book is just Burroughs talking about the cats he had in his life, and the place he lived which called the Stone House. The loving moments Burroughs had with his kitties, the memories he has with his male friends and lovers, and the few humorous remarks about men being "bad animal" are pretty endearing!!!
I'm surprised to see the contexts being so short and easy to understand, some of the short texts are great, but some aren't so, 3.9 stars only.
April 5, 2019
Interesting, very short book about cats he's had over the years. Impressionsistic and often doesn't make linear sense, especially to one who doesn't know (or care) much about Burroughs. Regardless, if you like cats, and want to say you've finished a book by Burroughs, this is the way to go.
Some bits are quite moving: his Russian Blue Ruski was picked up by Animal Control in Lawrence, Kansas and, by the time Burroughs recovered him, very badly frightened. It turned out the town put out traps for strays, and Ruski likely spent the night in the trap, a few hundred feet outside his yard. One scared cat, as the girl at the pound said.
This Burroughs quote is well known to many cat lovers:
"I prefer cats to people, for the most part. Most people aren't cute, and if they are cute they rapidly outgrow it." Heh.
Some bits are quite moving: his Russian Blue Ruski was picked up by Animal Control in Lawrence, Kansas and, by the time Burroughs recovered him, very badly frightened. It turned out the town put out traps for strays, and Ruski likely spent the night in the trap, a few hundred feet outside his yard. One scared cat, as the girl at the pound said.
This Burroughs quote is well known to many cat lovers:
"I prefer cats to people, for the most part. Most people aren't cute, and if they are cute they rapidly outgrow it." Heh.
July 4, 2011
This book is nothing like anything I've previously read by Burroughs. Though there are parts that definitely show his sense of humor and style of writing. Basically its a celebration of cats and only something I can see as being enjoyed by someone who also loves cats. Although I haven't had a cat in many years this book really spoke to me and I enjoyed it and read it on a long lonely bus ride and it made my day happier.
February 7, 2024
این کتاب رو از دوست بسیار عزیزی هدیه گرفتم اما نتونستم با این اثر پست مدرن ارتباط برقرار کنم. مشکل، قلم نویسنده بود یا مترجم نمیدونم! اما در کل کتاب بدی نیست و نوعی بیوگرافی هست از نویسنده و خاطراتش با گربههایی که ازشون نگهداری کرده و یا باهاشون برخوردی داشته… کتاب کمحجمیه و در عرض یک ساعت میشه تمومش کرد.
July 26, 2020
A hymn by the great Burroughs about his love for his cats, while also an allegory,in which the writer's past is presented to him in a cat charade.
"We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place."
"We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place."
January 3, 2018
Βαθμολογία: 7/10
Αν και δεν μπορώ να πω ότι είμαι γατόφιλος -εντάξει, συμπαθώ τις γάτες, αλλά ποτέ δεν είχα κάποια ιδιαίτερη σχέση μαζί τους-, αγόρασα το βιβλίο και το διάβασα, γιατί συγγραφέας είναι ο Γουίλιαμ Μπάροουζ και καθετί που έχει γράψει αξίζει να διαβαστεί. Εδώ έχουμε να κάνουμε μ'ένα ιδιαίτερο ημερολόγιο, μέσω του οποίου ο Μπάροουζ περιγράφει διάφορες γάτες που κατείχε ή γνώρισε κατά καιρούς, και παρουσιάζει την εικόνα που έχει για τα ιδιαίτερα αυτά ζώα και, κατ'επέκταση, για τον ίδιο τον άνθρωπο. Τώρα, αν προτείνω το βιβλίο σε γατόφιλους βιβλιοφάγους: Ναι, υπό προϋποθέσεις. Ο Μπάροουζ είναι αρκετά ιδιαίτερος συγγραφέας, όχι για όλα τα αναγνωστικά γούστα, και θα πρέπει κάποιος να έχει διαβάσει κάποια άλλα έργα του πρώτα, να γνωρίζει κάποια πράγματα για τη ζωή και το έργο του, να έχει έρθει σε επαφή με τον συχνά-πυκνά παραληρηματικό τρόπο γραφής του, για να καταλάβει πόσο ίδιο αλλά και πόσο διαφορετικό είναι το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο του σε σχέση με άλλα βιβλία του, καθώς και να δει ότι ο Μπάροουζ είχε και την ευαίσθητη και πιο συναισθηματική πλευρά του, όπως (σχεδόν) ο κάθε άνθρωπος. Προσωπικά, από την μια το ευχαριστήθηκα το βιβλίο και από την άλλη όχι και τόσο, οπότε θα του βάλω τρία αστεράκια στο Goodreads. Και αν στο μέλλον οι σχέσεις μου με τις γάτες γίνουν πιο στενές, ίσως ξαναδιαβάσω το βιβλίο και το δω υπό εντελώς διαφορετικό πρίσμα.
Αν και δεν μπορώ να πω ότι είμαι γατόφιλος -εντάξει, συμπαθώ τις γάτες, αλλά ποτέ δεν είχα κάποια ιδιαίτερη σχέση μαζί τους-, αγόρασα το βιβλίο και το διάβασα, γιατί συγγραφέας είναι ο Γουίλιαμ Μπάροουζ και καθετί που έχει γράψει αξίζει να διαβαστεί. Εδώ έχουμε να κάνουμε μ'ένα ιδιαίτερο ημερολόγιο, μέσω του οποίου ο Μπάροουζ περιγράφει διάφορες γάτες που κατείχε ή γνώρισε κατά καιρούς, και παρουσιάζει την εικόνα που έχει για τα ιδιαίτερα αυτά ζώα και, κατ'επέκταση, για τον ίδιο τον άνθρωπο. Τώρα, αν προτείνω το βιβλίο σε γατόφιλους βιβλιοφάγους: Ναι, υπό προϋποθέσεις. Ο Μπάροουζ είναι αρκετά ιδιαίτερος συγγραφέας, όχι για όλα τα αναγνωστικά γούστα, και θα πρέπει κάποιος να έχει διαβάσει κάποια άλλα έργα του πρώτα, να γνωρίζει κάποια πράγματα για τη ζωή και το έργο του, να έχει έρθει σε επαφή με τον συχνά-πυκνά παραληρηματικό τρόπο γραφής του, για να καταλάβει πόσο ίδιο αλλά και πόσο διαφορετικό είναι το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο του σε σχέση με άλλα βιβλία του, καθώς και να δει ότι ο Μπάροουζ είχε και την ευαίσθητη και πιο συναισθηματική πλευρά του, όπως (σχεδόν) ο κάθε άνθρωπος. Προσωπικά, από την μια το ευχαριστήθηκα το βιβλίο και από την άλλη όχι και τόσο, οπότε θα του βάλω τρία αστεράκια στο Goodreads. Και αν στο μέλλον οι σχέσεις μου με τις γάτες γίνουν πιο στενές, ίσως ξαναδιαβάσω το βιβλίο και το δω υπό εντελώς διαφορετικό πρίσμα.
June 22, 2019
Gretel, Declan, Jarvis, Hannah, and Björk all agree: 10 stars.
Keeg and Georgia think it’s absolute shit, giving it no stars.
As intermediary I split the difference.
Fucking dogs—I’m with my cat herd on this one. Simply lovely, and as far from the WSB most know as the Angels are from getting in the postseason.
Color me calico?
Keeg and Georgia think it’s absolute shit, giving it no stars.
As intermediary I split the difference.
Fucking dogs—I’m with my cat herd on this one. Simply lovely, and as far from the WSB most know as the Angels are from getting in the postseason.
Color me calico?
September 22, 2017
Burroughs'un kedi güzellemesi. Kediseverler için eğlenceli bir okuma ama insanlığa ve insan doğasına ilişkin yorumlara da yer vermiş.
Kitabın üçüncü baskısı olmasına rağmen çok sayıda yazım hatası (havyan, kavranal gibi) var. Ayrıca noktalama işaretleri özellikle virgül kullanımı konusunda tekrar gözden geçirilmesi gerektiğini düşünüyorum.
"Kedilerin birer kukla olduğunu söylemiyorum. Hiç de öyle değiller. Yaşayan, nefes alıp veren canlılar onlar ve insan ne zaman başka bir varlığa temas etse üzülüyor: Çünkü sınırları, acıyı, korkuyu ve nihayetinde de ölümü görüyor. Temasın anlamı budur işte. Bir kediye dokunduğumda bunu görüyor ve gözlerimden yaşlar aktığını fark ediyorum."
"Siz başarısız olduğunuz için şansın yitirildiğini bilmek. İnsanı öldürebilir bu keder."
"SS subaylarının üst kademelere çıkmaları için uygulanan Nazi Kabul törenlerinden biri de bir at boyunca besleyip baktıkları bir kedinin gözünü çıkarmakmış. Bu uygulama merhamet zehrinin kökünü kurutmak ve eksiksiz bir Übermensch yaratmak üzere tasarlanmış. Burada çok sağlam bir sihirli varsayım söz konusu: Mevzu bahis kişi vahşi, iğrenç, insan-altı bir eylemde bulunarak üstinsan statüsüne ulaşıyor. Fas'ta büyücüler kendi dışkılarını yiyerek güç kazanırlar."
"Hayvan sevgisi gibi niteliksel değerleri niceliksel avantajla değiş tokuş etmeyi içeren bütün anlaşmalar sadece insanın yapabileceği en yanlış ve aşağılık şey olmakla kalmayıp, ayrıca aptalcadır da. Çünkü bunun size hiçbir faydası olmaz. Sizi siz yapan şeyi satmış olursunuz."
Kitabın üçüncü baskısı olmasına rağmen çok sayıda yazım hatası (havyan, kavranal gibi) var. Ayrıca noktalama işaretleri özellikle virgül kullanımı konusunda tekrar gözden geçirilmesi gerektiğini düşünüyorum.
"Kedilerin birer kukla olduğunu söylemiyorum. Hiç de öyle değiller. Yaşayan, nefes alıp veren canlılar onlar ve insan ne zaman başka bir varlığa temas etse üzülüyor: Çünkü sınırları, acıyı, korkuyu ve nihayetinde de ölümü görüyor. Temasın anlamı budur işte. Bir kediye dokunduğumda bunu görüyor ve gözlerimden yaşlar aktığını fark ediyorum."
"Siz başarısız olduğunuz için şansın yitirildiğini bilmek. İnsanı öldürebilir bu keder."
"SS subaylarının üst kademelere çıkmaları için uygulanan Nazi Kabul törenlerinden biri de bir at boyunca besleyip baktıkları bir kedinin gözünü çıkarmakmış. Bu uygulama merhamet zehrinin kökünü kurutmak ve eksiksiz bir Übermensch yaratmak üzere tasarlanmış. Burada çok sağlam bir sihirli varsayım söz konusu: Mevzu bahis kişi vahşi, iğrenç, insan-altı bir eylemde bulunarak üstinsan statüsüne ulaşıyor. Fas'ta büyücüler kendi dışkılarını yiyerek güç kazanırlar."
"Hayvan sevgisi gibi niteliksel değerleri niceliksel avantajla değiş tokuş etmeyi içeren bütün anlaşmalar sadece insanın yapabileceği en yanlış ve aşağılık şey olmakla kalmayıp, ayrıca aptalcadır da. Çünkü bunun size hiçbir faydası olmaz. Sizi siz yapan şeyi satmış olursunuz."
May 31, 2019
SI È SMARRITO ED. AMATISSIMO GATTO ALBINO TUTTO BIANCO. GLI OCCHI SONO BIANCHI E ROSATI. PORTA COLLARINO ANTIPULCI. RICOMPENSA. CHIAMARE 841-3905.
Ed mi manca più per i suoi atti di malizia che per i suoi momenti di affettuosità. Ieri avevo comprato cibo per gatti. (Ed manca da circa ventiquattr'ore. No, a questo punto direi quasi quarantotto. Noi siamo tornati da Parigi venerdì tredici e lui era sgusciato via un paio d'ore prima). Ero solito mettere le scatolette di cibo per gatti sul davanzale della finestra sopra il lavello. Venivo svegliato da un fracasso terribile. Cos'hai combinato, adesso, Ed? Un piatto rotto, un bicchiere finito sul pavimento... Così ho cominciato a mettere le scatolette nella credenza, dove lui non poteva entrare. Ora che tiro fuori dal sacchetto il cibo per gatti, guardo il davanzale e penso, be', adesso posso metterle là, le scatolette. E in quel momento sento improvviso un acuto senso di perdita, perdita di un'amata presenza, per quanto piccola... il gridolino che faceva quando lo portavo via di peso perché infastidiva Ruski... uno spasimo di assenza, la perdita della mia scimmietta bianca (come lo chiamavo). S'intrufolava in tutti i posti. Aprivo il cassetto delle posate e lui saltava su e s'infilava dentro. Adesso dov'è? Ho messo le scatolette sulla finestra, sperando ancora che torni e le butti giù. Le ultime due sere ho tenuto accese le luci della veranda.
Certi passaggi di questo libricino mi sono entrati nel cuore e ho riconosciuto in essi me stessa.
Ed mi manca più per i suoi atti di malizia che per i suoi momenti di affettuosità. Ieri avevo comprato cibo per gatti. (Ed manca da circa ventiquattr'ore. No, a questo punto direi quasi quarantotto. Noi siamo tornati da Parigi venerdì tredici e lui era sgusciato via un paio d'ore prima). Ero solito mettere le scatolette di cibo per gatti sul davanzale della finestra sopra il lavello. Venivo svegliato da un fracasso terribile. Cos'hai combinato, adesso, Ed? Un piatto rotto, un bicchiere finito sul pavimento... Così ho cominciato a mettere le scatolette nella credenza, dove lui non poteva entrare. Ora che tiro fuori dal sacchetto il cibo per gatti, guardo il davanzale e penso, be', adesso posso metterle là, le scatolette. E in quel momento sento improvviso un acuto senso di perdita, perdita di un'amata presenza, per quanto piccola... il gridolino che faceva quando lo portavo via di peso perché infastidiva Ruski... uno spasimo di assenza, la perdita della mia scimmietta bianca (come lo chiamavo). S'intrufolava in tutti i posti. Aprivo il cassetto delle posate e lui saltava su e s'infilava dentro. Adesso dov'è? Ho messo le scatolette sulla finestra, sperando ancora che torni e le butti giù. Le ultime due sere ho tenuto accese le luci della veranda.
Certi passaggi di questo libricino mi sono entrati nel cuore e ho riconosciuto in essi me stessa.
June 13, 2013
I have not read a lot of Burroughs, but after reading this short and touching collection taken from his journals, I wonder if I may have been overlooking the spirit of the man. For all of the crazy shit that he ever got into and wrote about, this book brought me to tears at points in its simple innocence and genuine love. In this short book, Burroughs reveals a gentle and familiar change of heart; from callous indifference to a bond of kindness that is nothing short of reverence... all for the cats he has known in his life. Burroughs like you have never experienced him, painfully human and heartwarming.
April 16, 2017
"Şöminenin yanında ki sandalyede oturuyordum, dış kapı açıktı, beni yirmi metre öteden gördü ve koşarak yanıma geldi, kucağıma atladı, mırıldayarak iyice kucağıma sokuldu, küçük patilerini suratıma koydu ve benim kedim olmak istediğini söyledi.
Ama onu duymadım."
Bu benim okuduğum ilk William S. Burroughs kitabı ama sonuncusu da olmayacak. Bu kitaba internette gezinirken rastladım ve arka kapağını okuyunca kitabı hemen almak istedim. 100 sayfadan oluşan, yazarın kediler hakkında hatırları, yaşadıkları, gördüğü rüyaları anlatan bir güzelleme. Her bölüm 10-20 cümleden oluşan bir oturuşta okuyabileceğiniz bir kitap. Yazar yaşamının son 6 yılını kedilerle içli dışlı bir şekilde geçirmiş. Kedilerini o kadar çok seviyor ki onlardan bahsederken sanki bir insanla aynı evde yaşıyormuş gibi anlatıyor. Bu anlatımına acayip bayıldım. Zaten öyle de olmalı. Hayvanlara verdiği değer inanılmaz, özellikle kedilere. Ancak aynı şeyi köpekler için söyleyemeyeceğim. Yani yazar kedileri ne kadar seviyorsa köpeklerden bir o kadar da nefret ediyor. Bunu kendi “nefret ediyorum” şeklinde dile getirmiyor ama siz zaten anlıyorsunuz. Nedense kedilerle yaşadığı şeyler benim çok hoşuma gitti. Bir kedinin daktilosuna pati atması, sandalyelerini bilerek devirmesi ya da evden çıkıp bir daha geri gelmemesi; bunlar her kedinin yaptığı ama bize çok basitçe gelen şeyler. Oysaki yazar bir kediye dokunduğunda ağlamak istiyor. O kadar çok seviyor kedileri. Bir süper markette yaşlı bir kadınla karşılaştığında William’ın kedileri için “Seninkilerde tam hayat arkadaşıymış,” demişti. Gerçekten de öylelermiş. En çok Ruski’i sevdim sanırım. Bence yazarında en sevdiği kedisi oydu. Eğer kedileri sizde benim gibi çok seviyorsanız bu kitabı da çok seveceğinize şüphem yok.
Ama onu duymadım."
Bu benim okuduğum ilk William S. Burroughs kitabı ama sonuncusu da olmayacak. Bu kitaba internette gezinirken rastladım ve arka kapağını okuyunca kitabı hemen almak istedim. 100 sayfadan oluşan, yazarın kediler hakkında hatırları, yaşadıkları, gördüğü rüyaları anlatan bir güzelleme. Her bölüm 10-20 cümleden oluşan bir oturuşta okuyabileceğiniz bir kitap. Yazar yaşamının son 6 yılını kedilerle içli dışlı bir şekilde geçirmiş. Kedilerini o kadar çok seviyor ki onlardan bahsederken sanki bir insanla aynı evde yaşıyormuş gibi anlatıyor. Bu anlatımına acayip bayıldım. Zaten öyle de olmalı. Hayvanlara verdiği değer inanılmaz, özellikle kedilere. Ancak aynı şeyi köpekler için söyleyemeyeceğim. Yani yazar kedileri ne kadar seviyorsa köpeklerden bir o kadar da nefret ediyor. Bunu kendi “nefret ediyorum” şeklinde dile getirmiyor ama siz zaten anlıyorsunuz. Nedense kedilerle yaşadığı şeyler benim çok hoşuma gitti. Bir kedinin daktilosuna pati atması, sandalyelerini bilerek devirmesi ya da evden çıkıp bir daha geri gelmemesi; bunlar her kedinin yaptığı ama bize çok basitçe gelen şeyler. Oysaki yazar bir kediye dokunduğunda ağlamak istiyor. O kadar çok seviyor kedileri. Bir süper markette yaşlı bir kadınla karşılaştığında William’ın kedileri için “Seninkilerde tam hayat arkadaşıymış,” demişti. Gerçekten de öylelermiş. En çok Ruski’i sevdim sanırım. Bence yazarında en sevdiği kedisi oydu. Eğer kedileri sizde benim gibi çok seviyorsanız bu kitabı da çok seveceğinize şüphem yok.
December 19, 2010
What a lovely little book. A synthesis of a cat lover's sentimentality, with some sparkling of Zen and Old Bull Lee's wild deep prophetic rants. For me, Burroughs is this Shamanic figure, with a strangeness about his writing which creates a very primal connection, as if one is caught in a telepathic ayahusca ritual with him. This book, however, was a surprise introduction to his caring and soft side. Intended as a collection of anecdotes and musings about his various cats, it is also a semi-autobiography and an allegory on the human condition.
July 12, 2016
An alternative book for the cat people. Not your typical Burroughs book, although it sometimes surprises and shocks, and not a typical cat book by any stretch of the imagination. WSB's thoughts about cats, part diary of his later life with cats, his less than generous thoughts about dogs, dreams and reflections about the roles cats play in our lives. A sleek and slim volume, skittish in nature, which is easily read in one sitting, and will be re-read I am sure.
May 20, 2016
"I am the cat who walks alone."
March 14, 2022
William Burroughs ci parla del suo amore per i gatti in questo breve e scorrevole volumetto pieno di ricordi e memorie gattofile.
Consigliato agli amanti dei gatti.
Consigliato agli amanti dei gatti.
October 16, 2017
Il cane è un animale sociale. Senza interazioni continue muore.
Il gatto è un animale a-sociale. Prendetevi l'affetto che vi dà, quando ve lo dà, perché ci mette una passione eccezionale, per il resto proteggetevi le mani e la faccia.
Gli umani "gatteschi" sono parimenti irresistibili, e potenzialmente letali perché narcisisti patologici.
Loro è meglio lasciarli condurre la connaturata esistenza randagia.
Il gatto è un animale a-sociale. Prendetevi l'affetto che vi dà, quando ve lo dà, perché ci mette una passione eccezionale, per il resto proteggetevi le mani e la faccia.
Gli umani "gatteschi" sono parimenti irresistibili, e potenzialmente letali perché narcisisti patologici.
Loro è meglio lasciarli condurre la connaturata esistenza randagia.
August 12, 2023
دفعهی دیگه که رفتم کتابفروشی یادم بیارید از روی اسم کتاب نخرم.
ادبیات پستمدرن وااااقعا مال من نیست. هیچ راهی برای کنار اومدن باهاش ندارم.
یه سری جستار بیربط و درعینحال مرتبط -با تلاش مذبوحانهی نویسنده- درمورد نویسنده و گربههاش.
اینکه انقدر به سگها توهین کرده بود واقعا رو مخم رفت.
ادبیات پستمدرن وااااقعا مال من نیست. هیچ راهی برای کنار اومدن باهاش ندارم.
یه سری جستار بیربط و درعینحال مرتبط -با تلاش مذبوحانهی نویسنده- درمورد نویسنده و گربههاش.
اینکه انقدر به سگها توهین کرده بود واقعا رو مخم رفت.
April 1, 2020
"Il gatto non offre servigi. Il gatto offre se stesso.Naturalmente vuole cura e un tetto. Non si compra l'amore con niente. Come tutte le creature pure, i gatti sono pratici."
"Accidentalmente ho dato un calcio a Fletch; stava dormendo nel vano della porta che dà nella mia stanza.
Ha fatto per scappar via. L’ho ripreso e l’ho portato sul letto dove ha cominciato presto a fare le fusa, e poi si è addormentato sulla schiena. [...] Fa le fusa e insieme dorme, Fletch, stende le zampette nere per essere in contatto con le mie mani, gli artigli ritratti, giusto un tocco gentile per assicurarsi che io sia lì, accanto a lui che dorme. Chi potrebbe fare del male a una simile creatura?"
"Accidentalmente ho dato un calcio a Fletch; stava dormendo nel vano della porta che dà nella mia stanza.
Ha fatto per scappar via. L’ho ripreso e l’ho portato sul letto dove ha cominciato presto a fare le fusa, e poi si è addormentato sulla schiena. [...] Fa le fusa e insieme dorme, Fletch, stende le zampette nere per essere in contatto con le mie mani, gli artigli ritratti, giusto un tocco gentile per assicurarsi che io sia lì, accanto a lui che dorme. Chi potrebbe fare del male a una simile creatura?"
March 21, 2019
People will say this is a minor work, and those people are fools. Every single one of them.
December 9, 2011
In fondo è un libro di ossessioni amorose in forma di gatto. Commovente e crudele.
July 11, 2025
Dette er ikke et mesterverk som gir deg varige mén. MEN! det er en sykt koselig bok om katter! Spesielt om katter Ruski, og den hvite katten, og så klart om mannen som tar vare på dem, William S Burroughs. Jeg hadde aldri visst at han var en katte-mann om jeg ikke hadde randomly plukket med meg denne boken.
3.5 stjerner rundet opp til 4 bare fordi den var så fin og rask å lese
Denne egner seg i flere ruter til sommerbingoen, så jeg kommer nokk til å strategisk plassere den om jeg klarer å lese ca nokk bøker til å få en bingo
3.5 stjerner rundet opp til 4 bare fordi den var så fin og rask å lese
Denne egner seg i flere ruter til sommerbingoen, så jeg kommer nokk til å strategisk plassere den om jeg klarer å lese ca nokk bøker til å få en bingo
February 12, 2019
این کتاب را روز ۱۶ آذر ۹۷ از کتابفروشی چترنگ خریدم. رفته بودم دیدار دانشگاه تهران و به دلیل ترس از تجمعات ۱۶ آذر منِ فارغالتحصیل را راه ندادند. برگشتم و کتابی خریدم جهت شادمانی و تغییر احوال
October 19, 2018
Boy did this dude had a problem with dogs.
The evolution on Burroughs relationships with his cats is really heartwarming, unfortunately i'm alergic to them, but I believe this must be extremely touching to cat owners.
The evolution on Burroughs relationships with his cats is really heartwarming, unfortunately i'm alergic to them, but I believe this must be extremely touching to cat owners.
December 4, 2019
A good, quick read- about as poignant and sentimental as Burroughs will ever get.
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