Lenz

Lenz

by Georg Buchner, Richard Sieburth
     
 

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Canetti considered "Lenz" to be THE seminal reading experience in his life. First example of modernist prose in European literature.See more details below

Overview

Canetti considered "Lenz" to be THE seminal reading experience in his life. First example of modernist prose in European literature.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Like a jewelry chest, the covers of this book open on a gem of German prose, brought to its full radiance by Richard Sieburth’s splendid translation, accompanied by the German original as usually befits only poetry, and set among extensive notes and additional texts which allow the reader to appreciate its historical importance as well as its present powerful effect. I’d like to call Lenz a score, a score to go mad over …"
—William H. Gass

"Richard Sieburth is one of handful of magnificent literary translators among us—witness his Hölderlin, Nerval, Scève, and Gershom Scholem’s poems. His extraordinary rendition of Büchner’s Lenz is both a superb version and a startling interpretation of a great and vital work. The beautifully produced little volume is amazingly rich, giving us Büchner’s 'source' in Oberlin, Goethe’s reflections upon Lenz himself, and crucial commentary."—Harold Bloom

"Büchner’s Lenz represents a brilliant and widely influential prefiguring of the modernist narrative imagination. For the first time, thanks to Richard Sieburth’s astonishing skills, we have a version in English that respects and communicates the radical inventiveness and stylistic singularity of the original. It is a work that fully breathes in the present."—Michael Palmer

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780981955780
Publisher:
Steerforth Press
Publication date:
11/01/2004
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
199
File size:
0 MB

Read an Excerpt

The 20th, Lenz walked through the mountains. Snow on the peaks and upper slopes, gray rock down into the valleys, swatches of green, boulders, and firs. It was sopping cold, the water trickled down the rocks and leapt across the path. The fir boughs sagged in the damp air. Gray clouds drifted across the sky, but everything so stifling, and then the fog floated up and crept heavy and damp through the bushes, so sluggish, so clumsy. He walked onward, caring little one way or another, to him the path mattered not, now up, now down. He felt no fatigue, except sometimes it annoyed him that he could not walk...

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