Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is….
This article in the Slate magazine, by Ron Rosenbaum, it sent the Manolo back to the Nabokov to reread the poetry of Pale Fire. And now, the Manolo cannot but agree that the” John Shade” poem “Pale Fire” is the superior work of poetry, something that should be regarded as one of the greater works of post-war versifying.
But, even before this reevaluation, the Manolo had always considered the opening stanza of “Pale Fire” to be among his favorites.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff — and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall of snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
And, likewise, It is that shockingly ridiculous juxtaposition between the beauty of John Shade’s poetry and the prosaic lunacy of Charles Kinbote’s commentary that never fails to make the Manolo laugh.
Without doubt, this book is the work of genius.