Tag Archives: Freud

On Oswald Schwartz And Sex

Ever since I first had the theories of Freud and Jung pounded into me by lecturers labouring under the preposterous assumption that such theories were indispensable aids to literary criticism, I’ve been deeply suspicious of psychology and psychoanalysis.

I warmed to Freud somewhat after I discovered that he had a cocaine habit for a while, but I can’t say I’ve ever been bowled over by any of his major theories.  I hasten to add that even in translation it’s obvious that he was a skilful prose stylist, and I do dip into him from time to time (I have tiny soft-spots for Totem and Taboo and The Future of an Illusion).  I frankly can’t get myself excited about Jung, though.  And I have tried.  Nada.  Maybe next year. Continue reading


Nutmegs And Ginger, Cinnamon and Cloves

It’s too easy to write an off-the-cuff comment online.  It’s fast, also – and perhaps this is the reason why so many people unadvisedly, and unthinkingly type something out and hit ‘send’, or ‘submit’ without cogitating a bit first.

But it should take time and thought to write poetry.  It certainly takes a great deal of time and thought to write good poetry.

Sometimes, though, people put even less effort into writing poetry than they do into online comments.  Or at least, it seems as though they do.  But perhaps they just aren’t very good at writing poetry.

Today is a marvellous day.

It’s marvellous for lots of reasons, but for two above all: I got my first bit of hate-commentary (‘i can’t tell who is a bigger douche, you or the person you’re writing about’).  I’ve been waiting for my first bit of hate-commentary for a while.  But what really makes me excited is the second reason: my hate-commentator writes poetry. Continue reading