POETS UNITED - WORDS

“Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace.” - Buddha 

This week, Poets United has as its Midweek Motif the topic “word”. Words are the building blocks of our meaningful utterances. We speak them, write them, read them. They appear fleetingly electronically or acquire a more enduring presence when printed. Better still, words hand-written make the stuff of memories when the writer is a person beloved. 

But words can be two-faced: Smiling or menacing, serene or agitated, calm or angry, superficial or deep, nonsensical or full of substance. Words can be our hope, our solace, our comfort, our joy; but words (or the absence of the right words) can be our nemesis, words can cut sharper than razor, words can wound more deeply than a knife, can kill more surely than a bullet.

Correspondence I
October 9th 1990

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of rain in the drought;
But why must so much die,
While waiting for the rain?

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of freedom to the prisoner
Who must learn to live
Alone with his thoughts in a locked cell.

Waiting for your letter:
A promise of hope to the betrayed
Who already knows that promises are hollow
And hope is an illusion.

“I’ll write...” you said, “I give you my word.”
And once again I dared to hope, that you write me that word,
Knowing full well of the falsity of smiles
And the despair of fruitless waiting.

Correspondence II
October 10th, 1990

Your “letter” awaited me
When I came home today...

It was as I expected it,
And a lot less...

Empty, cold, impersonal
Scribbled hastily on the post office counter.

Few frosty words,
A shallow wish of “...happiness to come...”

And not even a name, nor initial
Signed beneath, only a line quickly drawn
As if with the impatience,
The gladness of having completed
An unpleasant, onerous obligation...

POETS UNITED - MOON

“The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to.” ― Carl Sandburg 

The poetic inspiration seems to hover like a will-o’-the-wisp, bright and distant, uncatchable if pursued. And yet if one stays put and tries not to catch it at all, it will approach and alight on one’s heart and the words will gush forth. In the past few weeks I’ve been busy with work, family, have had to overcome a swathe of problems. Writing was confined to things of science and things that were matter of fact.

Creativity it seems, thrives on misfortune, but it also thrives on the availability of time and inclination to follow a certain creative path. My creative path took me away to music, so the poet’s voice remained silent. Music sustained me, but poetry beckoned like that ignis fatuus, and I wisely chose to ignore it.  Last night the moon was blue and it was a great moon, which was eclipsed. A once in a century or two phenomenon. The poetic inspiration coincided with this week’s Poets’ United theme, which was: “Make a new poem  for the moon, using a perspective new to you.” Here is my poem: 

The Moon’s Answer 

I ask the silvery moon, as she shines white
High in the sky, making my garden bright: 
“Moon, why should I speak with you
And not with my Love? Pray, tell me, do…” 

She smiles and stays far, so wan and silent,
Her light now steely blue, and cutting – violent; 
“Oh, Moon, you see all, up on your argent throne
But you choose to stay hushed, wise, like a crone.” 

A cloud passes before her lovely face
To hide a tear perhaps, or frown efface? 
“Moon, you too are sad and make good company,
Come with me, and my lonely song accompany.” 

She winks, and off the cloud she shrugs, she smiles,
(Her ways are strange and her manner full of wiles)… 
“Speak, Moon, please answer me my earnest query:
Is my Love true to me, or is she with betrayal leery?” 

A shadow passes and moon’s countenance bloodies,
Her voice rings out and she, in now darkened night,
Replies: “Your Love’s untruth the waters muddies, 
She lies and mocks, and sows doubt and blight.”

“Oh, cruel Moon, why speak such spite incarnadine?
Your golden, uncertain silence, I preferred, ‘twas more benign…” 

The Moon eclipsed speaks hurtful truths, no dulcet lies;
But when she brightly shines, fills she with hope the velvet skies.

POETS UNITED - SILENCE

“Absolute silence leads to sadness. It is the image of death.” - Jean-Jacques Rousseau 

For this week’s theme Poets United has set its Midweek Motif as “Silence”. My poem refers to two Hellenistic gods: Harpocrates and Hermes – in case your mythology is rusty, here is what they stood for. 

Harpocrates (Ancient Greek: Ἁρποκράτης) was the god of silence, secrets and confidentiality in the Hellenistic religion developed in Ptolemaic Alexandria (and also an embodiment of hope, according to Plutarch). Harpocrates was adapted by the Greeks from the Egyptian child god Horus. To the ancient Egyptians, Horus represented the newborn sun, rising each day at dawn. When the Greeks conquered Egypt under Alexander the Great, they transformed the Egyptian Horus into the Hellenistic god known as Harpocrates, a rendering from Egyptian Har-pa-khered or Heru-pa-khered (“Horus the Child”). 

Hermes (Greek: Ἑρμῆς) is an Olympian god in Greek religion and mythology, the son of Zeus and the Pleiad Maia, and the second youngest of the Olympian gods (Dionysus being the youngest). Hermes was the emissary and messenger of the gods. Hermes was also “the divine trickster” and “the god of boundaries and the transgression of boundaries, ... the patron of herdsmen, thieves, graves, and heralds.” He is described as moving freely between the worlds of the mortal and divine, and was the conductor of souls into the afterlife. He was also viewed as the protector and patron of roads and travellers.

During Classical and Hellenistic Greece he is usually depicted young and nude, with athleticism, as befits the god of speech and of the gymnastics. When represented as Logios (Greek: Λόγιος, speaker), his attitude is consistent with the attribute, his hands often in an eloquent gesture. 

Silence Befits Harpocrates

O, Horus Child; O, Sun of dawn,

Who by the shores of mighty Nile

You grow into virile manhood,

My forebears dubbed you Harpocrates,

For your Egyptian name was too rough

For their silvery, slippery tongues.

You stand and look at me smiling,

And unlike your children friends

You hold your tongue,

Though all you know, all you’ve seen;

And yet you talk not, you keep my secrets

Betrayer you are not, my loyal friend.

Harpocrates (I too, prefer this name of yours),

You weave fine wreaths of fragrant roses

And even if sharp thorn draws blood

From your pricked finger, you let it flow

And not a word escapes your lips,

No cry of pain, no sigh of fierce frustration.

I shall my lover call Harpocrates, after you,

For he too stays silent, (too silent for my liking),

And he too betrays no confidence,

(Even his own to me he will not give);

I tell all, confide in him and expect in return a flood of words,

But like you Harpocrates, all he does is smile – silently…

To Hermes Logios I shall sacrifice three nightingales,

And hope that he will give you more words than I need;

For while Harpocrates is a fine god for friends,

I’d rather model my lover after Hermes, whose eloquence

I want filling my voids with wise words, small talk, poetry,

Entreaties, vows, idle prattle, and even more vital,

Words of love, sweet talk of passion, nothings of fond affection…

POETS UNITED - CONVERSATION

“Silence is one of the great arts of conversation.” - Marcus Tullius Cicero

Poets United this week has as its theme in the Midweek Motif series the topic “Conversation”. Poets who take up the challenge are instructed to write a poem that focusses on conversation. Here is mine:

Silent Conversation

Would all be said if eyes met eyes

That were meant to gauge each other’s depths?

Would every word redundant be

And thus remain unspoken?

If with that single glance

It were enough for my crystal heart

To resonate to your insistent note,

Then surely I would know it,

For my heart would break.

Yes, it is certain that those eyes,

That strong and penetrating look

Would pierce me to the soul,

Impaling me like a helpless butterfly

On album leaf with silver pin.

Some other eyes merely look, enjoy,

Laugh, happy are;

But those eyes would mirror grief and anguish

On the surface of the bottomless seas they hide.

Before you speak with empty words,

Gaze into my eyes and talk to me gently,

Silently, with intricate unspoken detail.

Fathom my depths and realise my questions.

As for me, I’ll know your each reply,

For in your eyes all will be answered.

POETS UNITED - OPENNESS

“Just because a door appears closed it does not mean that it is locked - nor that it will not open with the right heart, call or touch” - Rasheed Ogunlaru

The Midweek Motif for Poets United this week is “Openness”. My contribution below:

You Read me Like an Open Book

“You read me like an open book,” she said,

“And always know what to do and what to say to me.

Why cannot you be the same,

Why must I always guess (and always wrongly!)

Of what you hide deep in your heart?”

I smile (and I do enigmatic well), and reply:

“My dear, were I too like an open book,

How boring we two would be,

Going around reading each other

And bumping into trees and poles and such?”

She looks puzzled and frowns –

“But it’s so frustrating, all this guessing,

This suspense, this uncertainty!

You are shut up like a clam

And I never know what pleases you…”

I open up my hand and on my outstretched palm

There is a verdant oasis of palm trees

And sweet, inviting water;

I open my arms and there is a peaceful place,

Disarmed, serene, eirenic.

“Come,” I say, “I am accessible,

Just don’t read me, simply feel,

Listen to my constant heartbeat

And let your fingers perceive the braille of my skin

That spells out my love more eloquently than printed words.”

She touches me and divines my meaning,

Wordlessly and so divinely quiet;

And she rightly guesses this time

My hidden meanings and understands

That for so long I have been staring at her open book

With the unseeing eyes of an illiterate.

This post is part of the ABC Wednesday meme.

POETS UNITED - IDENTITY

“In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted.” - Bertrand Russell

This week, Poets United has as its theme “Identity”. Participants write a poem that fits into this suggested theme and the results are shared with other participants of the challenge. Here is my contribution:


Mistaken Identity

You think you know me,

Because you buy me the cologne I favour,

Currently…

You believe you can guess my thoughts,

Because I smiled when you said you read my mind,

Yesterday…

You assume you understand me,

When you ordered lunch for me, without asking me what I wanted,

Last week…

You’re convinced you read me like an open book,

When you had the room painted with what was my favourite colour,

Last year…

You trust my feelings for you,

Expecting me to carry on loving you, undeservedly,

Forever…

Well think again – don’t dare to believe;

Assumptions are unjustified;

Your convictions are hollow:

You have mistaken my identity,

I am not who you have the effrontery to imagine I am.

Love feeds on love and a reciprocation of feeling,

Not on Pavlovian bells, nor on concessionary gifts.

Love grows when tended tenderly, like a delicate flower,

Not swamped with deluges, nor burned with Summer sunshine.

If you want to know who I really am, ask me, and I shall tell you.

ON WANING FRIENDSHIPS

“The most fatal disease of friendship is gradual decay, or dislike hourly increased by causes too slender for complaint, and too numerous for removal.” - Samuel Johnson

friend |frend| noun
A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.
• a person who acts as a supporter of a cause, organisation, or country by giving financial or other help: Join the Friends of Guilford Free Library.
• a person who is not an enemy or who is on the same side: She was unsure whether he was friend or foe.
• a familiar or helpful thing: He settled for that old friend the compensation grant.
• (often as a polite form of address or in ironic reference) an acquaintance or a stranger one comes across: My friends, let me introduce myself.
• (Friend) a member of the Religious Society of Friends; a Quaker.
verb [ trans. ] archaic or poetic/literary

befriend (someone).
• add (someone) to a list of friends or contacts associated with a weblog or electronic list: I am friended by 29 people who I have not friended back.

PHRASES

be (or make) friends with: Be (or become) on good or affectionate terms with (someone).
a friend at court: A person in a position to use their influence on one's behalf.

a friend in need is a friend indeed (proverb): A person who helps at a difficult time is a truly reliable person.
friends in high places: People in senior positions who are able and willing to use their influence on one's behalf.
DERIVATIVES
friendless |ˌfrɛn(d)ləs| adjective
ORIGIN Old English frēond, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch vriend and German Freund, from an Indo-European root meaning ‘to love,’ shared by free.

I was reading an old letter from a friend yesterday and I was impressed by the depth of feeling expressed in it. I sat back and thought carefully about my present relationship with this person. - And the term “waning” came into my mind, which I remembered as one of the things that I had been taught about in my old psychology classes about relationships.

Friendship according to the psychologists can be “nascent” – being born; “active” – in its most developed part; and lastly “waning” – petering out as the road parts for the two former friends. Obviously this differentiation will be different for each of our friendships and it can stop at any stage. A nascent friendship will often go no further as we get to know the person we are befriending and not like what we see (or vice-versa!), Or an active friendship may last the rest of our lives. It's the waning aspect that puzzled me yesterday, especially considering the depth of friendship that I had shared with the writer of the letter.

Trying to apply the theory behind human relationships that I learnt in psychology into the practicality of my own life is something that I have never actively tried to do. I have always seemed to know instinctively what “felt” right at the time and have acted accordingly, and thankfully I have not made many decisions that I have subsequently regretted

But this old letter brought to the fore an often recurring theme in my experience and I guess it must be the same in other people’s experience also… We befriend someone and for some time we may share so much, but then inexplicably, the relationship “wanes” and may completely disappear into nothing but a memory. Why? I analysed the relationship I had with this person and could find no fault with what I had done. After a couple of unanswered emails, one assumes that the person no longer wishes to continue communicating.

Is it the times we live in? Is it to do with people’s expectations of one another person nowadays? Is it to do with the sort of person that each of us attracts? Is it ennui, do we tire of that person that we thought so engaging not that long ago?

POETS UNITED - SILENCE

“Absolute silence leads to sadness. It is the image of death.” - Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Poets United this week has challenged participating poets with the midweek theme of “silence”. Here is my contribution:

The Strength of Silence

“Silence”, says he, “is golden,
Words are silvern
So speak not, for it’s more precious
That way, the speechless way.”
And even in the account book of words,
His mind is on profit.

A strong, silent type, he is,
Or so he would have you believe him be;
A man of few words, silvern – remember?
But more often his is the loud silence
Of hollow ringing as each gold ingot falls on begging ears:
Taciturnity passing off as fortitude.

When evening fell, when night cut cold
When every fibre of your orphan soul
Was crying out for a flood of words,
Brazen, leaden, wooden even –
His silence (precious but empty, golden but hollow)
Met your begging expectancy.

And in the darkness, as your heart froze
His icy golden fortress of quiet
Chilled your being even more.
How strong, the silent type,
How motionless, immovable,
How unmoved, unmoving…

The strength of silence harder than rock,
Sharper than scalpel blade,
Colder than arctic tundra,
More efficient executioner than falling axe.
The strength of silence hides weakness,
Crippled emotion, cowardice, egoism.

POETRY JAM - SILENCE

“Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.” - Kahlil Gibran

Poetry Jam this week asks participants to “feel the silence, experience the emotion and write whatever you feel your heart sets you free to share”. Here is my offering:

The Ditty of April Approaching

How far from you I feel
When I am by your side.
The moon who watches me
Understands, smiles but is silent
Leaving me alone, and you!
You are so distant
Especially when I am by your side.

Too much silence
Too much darkness.
Only I, alone, and you so far away
When I need you most.
The moon so far,
Pallid, lonely and silent, like me!

Too many fears,
Too many problems.
And I so close, yet far away
I dare not speak,
I cannot risk losing you,
I cannot ask you to approach me.
It’s better that you be far
Even though only beside me.

How far away and yet so near,
So close,
So forbidden,
So silent,
So very far!

COMMUNICATION

“No one would talk much in society, if he knew how often he misunderstands others.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Communication is a thorny topic. The most eloquent, intelligent, rational and verbose amongst us may have trouble with it when trying to converse even with someone who is sitting across the table from us. How much more difficult does it become when we are limited by time constraints, the medium of the electronic message and of course, distance and language limitations! It may be become even more complicated if one is trying to be tactful, diplomatic or discreet. The written message may become less clear and more convoluted through loss of intonation, facial expression, gesture… The opportunity for misunderstandings increases a thousand-fold.

St Exupéry said: “Words are the source of misunderstandings”, and yet words are our only weapon against misunderstandings also. How do we resolve situations where our words have been misconstrued? By using more words. Resolution of communication breakdown needs simple words, honesty and a genuine sense of wanting to clear up confusion. However, the situation becomes more vexing when words simply fail us. One may talk plainly, communicating lucidly what is in one's mind, but the recipient of that information may pass the words through a personal filter that is tinged with any colour of the perceptional or emotional rainbow, and thus construe a meaning completely different to that of the originator of the message.

Context is important when we are communicating and the social and psychological environment of the communicating persons need be kept in mind also. The simple word “love” can be uttered in such a bewildering variety of contexts that it can become a quagmire of communication breakdown. We love our spouse, love our parents, our children. We love pizza, love our country, love our friends, love going on holidays. We love playing games, we can score love in tennis, we can meet the love of our life, we make love, fall in love, fall out of love. Context matters.

Communication can be made difficult purposefully. We may choose to be deceptive in what we say or write. “No man means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.” Said Henry B. Adams. Words can be a fortress we hide in, words can be the fog that obscures our actions, words can be our defence or our offence. Words can be daggers that are thrust to maliciously wound and hurt. Words can be uttered in a facile way so that they flatter and fawn. Compliments and cajolery, blarney or sweet-talk, propaganda, can all get in the way of true communication. Rumi advises us: “Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue is like an arrow shot from the bow. Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way; you must dam the torrent at its source.”

In the world of Blogland the failures of communication are manifold. We write our blogs, publish our blasts, show our pictures and we are the originators of messages that the world receives. Just like any other form of communication, blogging can create misunderstandings and can have consequences that range from the amusing to the dire. What we blog about and how we choose to do it can have an immense effect on other people that may be quite dramatic. What we choose to write about can heal or hurt, amuse or anger, attract or repel, inflame or influence, excite empathy or indifference. Our words can be balsam or poison.

There those amongst us who communicate with an open heart and an outstretched hand. We wish to share with others what we feel and experience, what we know and create. We honestly communicate such things so that we unite ourselves with those around the world that experience life in ways that we can recognise in fellowship. But just like in any other society, so in Blogland there are those that communicate abstrusely (whether willingly or subconsciously). There are those who mislead and deceive. Those who flatter and praise, who compliment and say the nicest things… For a while.

I speak plainly, and communicate what I feel. If I choose to write about something, I do it because I want to. If I choose to not talk about something I do so for a reason. I can only speak for myself and choose not relay others' voices or opinions. They can do that for themselves. My tact is genuine, for I do not wish to hurt anyone. If I am misconstrued, it is has not been my intention to be so. If what I say seems obscure, words are there to be used, ask for an explanation. If I can resolve misunderstandings, I will almost certainly do so.

Now, blog on!
Image above is by Isabelle Cardinal

THE 100 'BEST' NOVELS

When you read a classic you do not see in the book more than you did before. You see more in you than there was before. - Clifton Fadiman

While searching on the net a couple days ago, I found an interesting site published by Random House. This, you probably know, is a large publishing house that is associated with the publication of much good literature. I found on this webpage a list of the 100 best modern novels, which I reproduce here for your reading pleasure.

I was interested to see how many of these I had read and whether I agreed that they were “modern classics” (as purported by the “Board” that comprises “celebrated authors, historians, critics, and a scientist.”)

So here are the Random House “100 best novels” in recent literature:

1 ULYSSES by James Joyce

2 THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald

3 A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN by James Joyce

4 LOLITA by Vladimir Nabokov

5 BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley

6 THE SOUND AND THE FURY by William Faulkner

7 CATCH-22 by Joseph Heller

8 DARKNESS AT NOON by Arthur Koestler

9 SONS AND LOVERS by D.H. Lawrence

10 THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck

11 UNDER THE VOLCANO by Malcolm Lowry

12 THE WAY OF ALL FLESH by Samuel Butler

13 1984 by George Orwell

14 I, CLAUDIUS by Robert Graves

15 TO THE LIGHTHOUSE by Virginia Woolf

16 AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY by Theodore Dreiser

17 THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER by Carson McCullers

18 SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE by Kurt Vonnegut

19 INVISIBLE MAN by Ralph Ellison

20 NATIVE SON by Richard Wright

21 HENDERSON THE RAIN KING by Saul Bellow

22 APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRA by John O'Hara

23 U.S.A. (trilogy) by John Dos Passos

24 WINESBURG, OHIO by Sherwood Anderson

25 A PASSAGE TO INDIA by E.M. Forster

26 THE WINGS OF THE DOVE by Henry James

27 THE AMBASSADORS by Henry James

28 TENDER IS THE NIGHT by F. Scott Fitzgerald

29 THE STUDS LONIGAN TRILOGY by James T. Farrell

30 THE GOOD SOLDIER by Ford Madox Ford

31 ANIMAL FARM by George Orwell

32 THE GOLDEN BOWL by Henry James

33 SISTER CARRIE by Theodore Dreiser

34 A HANDFUL OF DUST by Evelyn Waugh

35 AS I LAY DYING by William Faulkner

36 ALL THE KING'S MEN by Robert Penn Warren

37 THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY by Thornton Wilder

38 HOWARDS END by E.M. Forster

39 GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN by James Baldwin

40 THE HEART OF THE MATTER by Graham Greene

41 LORD OF THE FLIES by William Golding

42 DELIVERANCE by James Dickey

43 A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME (series) by Anthony Powell

44 POINT COUNTER POINT by Aldous Huxley

45 THE SUN ALSO RISES by Ernest Hemingway

46 THE SECRET AGENT by Joseph Conrad

47 NOSTROMO by Joseph Conrad

48 THE RAINBOW by D.H. Lawrence

49 WOMEN IN LOVE by D.H. Lawrence

50 TROPIC OF CANCER by Henry Miller

51 THE NAKED AND THE DEAD by Norman Mailer

52 PORTNOY'S COMPLAINT by Philip Roth

53 PALE FIRE by Vladimir Nabokov

54 LIGHT IN AUGUST by William Faulkner

55 ON THE ROAD by Jack Kerouac

56 THE MALTESE FALCON by Dashiell Hammett

57 PARADE'S END by Ford Madox Ford

58 THE AGE OF INNOCENCE by Edith Wharton

59 ZULEIKA DOBSON by Max Beerbohm

60 THE MOVIEGOER by Walker Percy

61 DEATH COMES FOR THE ARCHBISHOP by Willa Cather

62 FROM HERE TO ETERNITY by James Jones

63 THE WAPSHOT CHRONICLES by John Cheever

64 THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger

65 A CLOCKWORK ORANGE by Anthony Burgess

66 OF HUMAN BONDAGE by W. Somerset Maugham

67 HEART OF DARKNESS by Joseph Conrad

68 MAIN STREET by Sinclair Lewis

69 THE HOUSE OF MIRTH by Edith Wharton

70 THE ALEXANDRIA QUARTET by Lawrence Durell

71 A HIGH WIND IN JAMAICA by Richard Hughes

72 A HOUSE FOR MR BISWAS by V.S. Naipaul

73 THE DAY OF THE LOCUST by Nathanael West

74 A FAREWELL TO ARMS by Ernest Hemingway

75 SCOOP by Evelyn Waugh

76 THE PRIME OF MISS JEAN BRODIE by Muriel Spark

77 FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce

78 KIM by Rudyard Kipling

79 A ROOM WITH A VIEW by E.M. Forster

80 BRIDESHEAD REVISITED by Evelyn Waugh

81 THE ADVENTURES OF AUGIE MARCH by Saul Bellow

82 ANGLE OF REPOSE by Wallace Stegner

83 A BEND IN THE RIVER by V.S. Naipaul

84 THE DEATH OF THE HEART by Elizabeth Bowen

85 LORD JIM by Joseph Conrad

86 RAGTIME by E.L. Doctorow

87 THE OLD WIVES' TALE by Arnold Bennett

88 THE CALL OF THE WILD by Jack London

89 LOVING by Henry Green

90 MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN by Salman Rushdie

91 TOBACCO ROAD by Erskine Caldwell

92 IRONWEED by William Kennedy

93 THE MAGUS by John Fowles

94 WIDE SARGASSO SEA by Jean Rhys

95 UNDER THE NET by Iris Murdoch

96 SOPHIE'S CHOICE by William Styron

97 THE SHELTERING SKY by Paul Bowles

98 THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE by James M. Cain

99 THE GINGER MAN by J.P. Donleavy

100 THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS by Booth Tarkington

My tally of how many books on the list I have read: 65 – Whew! I passed! So obviously, I have a list of 35 books to go. I must say that the list contains some great novels, but with few exceptions, it is heavily weighted towards literature in English, rather than great works in all languages (that have also been translated into English).

So now that you have the list, see how you tally up, as far as reading the modern classics is concerned.