Marlene, Maximillian, Leonard & Delmore
See the film on youtube (part I)
The film consists of voice interviews between Schell and Dietrich in which she often ignores his questions, makes acerbic comments about, among other things, some of the people she has worked with and some of the books written about her life and films. In the process, she touches on the subjects of life and death, reality and illusion and the nature of stardom. By her very reluctance to reveal much about herself, she gives one a much deeper understanding of her character than if she had participated in a more conventional format.
Happy birthday Maximillian Schell (He is a godparent to Angelina Jolie. He was great in Julia and Little Odessa)
Alma Agee, James Agee and Delmore Schwartz -(Photovia )
Delmore Schwartz (December 8, 1913 – July 11, 1966)
In 1975, when Saul Bellow’s novel, Humboldt’s Gift, was published by Viking, Karyl Roosevelt stated that the protagonist Humboldt was “a thinly disguised portrait of the late poet Delmore Schwartz, with whom Bellow had a complex friendship in real life.”
Sad Men – Delmore Schwartz
The Mind Is an Ancient and Famous Capital
By Delmore Schwartz
The mind is a city like London,
Smoky and populous: it is a capital
Like Rome, ruined and eternal,
Marked by the monuments which no one
Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains
Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheatres, palaces,
Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken or soiled.
The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins
Of every haunted, hunted generation’s celebration.
“Call us what you will: we are made such by love.”
We are such studs as dreams are made on, and
Our little lives are ruled by the gods, by Pan,
Piping of all, seeking to grasp or grasping
All of the grapes; and by the bow-and-arrow god,
Cupid, piercing the heart through, suddenly and forever.
Dusk we are, to dusk returning, after the burbing,
After the gold fall, the fallen ash, the bronze,
Scattered and rotten, after the white null statues which
Are winter, sleep, and nothingness: when
Will the houselights of the universe
Light up and blaze?
For it is not the sea
Which murmurs in a shell,
And it is not only heart, at harp o’clock,
It is the dread terror of the uncontrollable
Horses of the apocalypse, running in wild dread
Toward Arcturus—and returning as suddenly…