VALERY Paul.
Your Wandering Father. Letters from Paul Valery to his daughter Agathe.
Fata Morgana
Regular price
€25,00
| N° d'inventaire | 24047 |
| Format | 17 x 24 |
| Détails | 208 p., paperback. |
| Publication | Saint-Clement de Rivière, 2020 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782377920891 |
To fill a lackluster time, I read the magnificent dramas of Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca. It's worth Shakespeare. It's true that for you all these strangers are equal. I urge you to work. You're not without need. Don't wait until the need arises. You're making mistakes that are starting to be quite ridiculous. I see from your letter that a conversation isn't uninteresting—and that you've been invited to Simonne's. Let's give up these little grammatical rubbish.
I especially hope that Mr. Co, once dressed, will not want his brain to be less well-endowed than his behind. Be chic, very well, but on all sides. There are some who have clean feet and muddy ideas. I prefer the opposite. And I want even more for everything to be neat, intus, and extra. I urge him to be wary of history and to keep up to date on that side so as not to have to swallow everything at the end of the year. Let him also equip himself with literature. I regret that during these holidays he was not able to devote himself to the pure and simple practice of calculating logarithms and sines – It was a machine acquired and there was no more to think about it.
Now preserved at the Paul Valéry Museum in Sète, this myriad of letters between a father and his daughter reveals a Valéry thirsty for affection and consumed by worries ("Anguish, my true profession," he noted in 1910). With Agathe, born in 1906 and future guardian of his work, he shared an exacerbated tenderness which, without ever drying up, would remain at the heart of his life as a writer. From the family home, a literary and artistic crucible, to her marriage to Paul Rouart, grandson of Henri Rouart, Agathe never ceased to receive from her father the testimonies of an unalterable love. A rare correspondence where sensitivity is sometimes draped in a wry humor which, without a doubt, will shake up the reputation of "cold rigor" which clings to the skin of this major thinker of the twentieth century.
I especially hope that Mr. Co, once dressed, will not want his brain to be less well-endowed than his behind. Be chic, very well, but on all sides. There are some who have clean feet and muddy ideas. I prefer the opposite. And I want even more for everything to be neat, intus, and extra. I urge him to be wary of history and to keep up to date on that side so as not to have to swallow everything at the end of the year. Let him also equip himself with literature. I regret that during these holidays he was not able to devote himself to the pure and simple practice of calculating logarithms and sines – It was a machine acquired and there was no more to think about it.
Now preserved at the Paul Valéry Museum in Sète, this myriad of letters between a father and his daughter reveals a Valéry thirsty for affection and consumed by worries ("Anguish, my true profession," he noted in 1910). With Agathe, born in 1906 and future guardian of his work, he shared an exacerbated tenderness which, without ever drying up, would remain at the heart of his life as a writer. From the family home, a literary and artistic crucible, to her marriage to Paul Rouart, grandson of Henri Rouart, Agathe never ceased to receive from her father the testimonies of an unalterable love. A rare correspondence where sensitivity is sometimes draped in a wry humor which, without a doubt, will shake up the reputation of "cold rigor" which clings to the skin of this major thinker of the twentieth century.
I especially hope that Mr. Co, once dressed, will not want his brain to be less well-endowed than his behind. Be chic, very well, but on all sides. There are some who have clean feet and muddy ideas. I prefer the opposite. And I want even more for everything to be neat, intus, and extra. I urge him to be wary of history and to keep up to date on that side so as not to have to swallow everything at the end of the year. Let him also equip himself with literature. I regret that during these holidays he was not able to devote himself to the pure and simple practice of calculating logarithms and sines – It was a machine acquired and there was no more to think about it.
Now preserved at the Paul Valéry Museum in Sète, this myriad of letters between a father and his daughter reveals a Valéry thirsty for affection and consumed by worries ("Anguish, my true profession," he noted in 1910). With Agathe, born in 1906 and future guardian of his work, he shared an exacerbated tenderness which, without ever drying up, would remain at the heart of his life as a writer. From the family home, a literary and artistic crucible, to her marriage to Paul Rouart, grandson of Henri Rouart, Agathe never ceased to receive from her father the testimonies of an unalterable love. A rare correspondence where sensitivity is sometimes draped in a wry humor which, without a doubt, will shake up the reputation of "cold rigor" which clings to the skin of this major thinker of the twentieth century.