I am writing to let you know the new issue is on line. It is a very special one as you know – it is a tribute to one of our late friends and most talented poet and short story writer, Ludovic Kaspar. I haven’t translated his poems and stories but you are most welcome to come and have a look at this issue.
As you all know by know, the two sides have merged and the next issue mgv2_65 will gather both French and English speaking writers, poets and artists.
This forthcoming issue is scheduled for April, so it is from now on open for submissions: poems, stories, artwork…
Those of you who have already sent their work don’t have to worry – I’ll consider it as soon as possible and let you know when that is done.
mgv2>datura is back on the track. I’ve been away for a while and I am deeply sorry for those of you who were expecting the September issue. Many had sent their work, most of which was to be published. I had troubles with my computer and lost all of it.
I’d like to upload another issue before the end of this year, so if you would like to submit your work, please do.
I am the editor of a webzine called mgversion2>datura. It has been online since 2002. Before it was online, it had been a print magazine & review of poetry called Mauvaise graine (Literally bad seed = weeds)
I often published Erich von Neff at that time. I came across your blog and found out that you published him in April.
Do you know him at all?
Is he still in San Francisco, CA?
Does he have an email where I can contact him?
Kind regards, Walter
(Image: Walter Ruhlman)
I live in Half Moon Bay and in the 1970s I self-published a local history book. About that time I received a ms from Erich, the novel called “Pete’s Café,” that I put online. He was looking for a publisher but I had no money to publish his work or anyone else’s.
All those years I kept Erich’s ms. and now that I have a blog, and can publish the work of others online, I decided to put his wonderful piece on my site.
I am also trying to find him so that he knows what I have done.
I never met Erich and I do not know his present whereabouts. There was a San Francisco phone number on the ms and I tried it—-it just rings and rings; there is no answering machine.
I am sorry to disappoint you.
P.S. Your site is cool. Where are you located?
Thanks for answering so quickly.
I enjoyed reading you blog. I live in Le Mans, France where I teach English as a second language to teenagers aged 11-15, not always an easy task I’m afraid.
Anyway, I have this snail mail address for Erich: [xxxxx]
I used to publish a lot of Erich’s poems when Mauvaise graine was still called that way and printed. Since 2000 or so I’ve lost contact with him totally. I had some letters two years ago, then nothing. I really hope he’s fine. I’m not sure about hte European poets and publishers or reviewists who used to know and publish his work and whom I know. I’ll try them.
If you want to read more Erich’s work, I have some of it – well quite a lot of it actually… He used to send me huge envelopes with whole manuscripts. He was really appreciated here and widely published.
P.S. ‘m going to contact Serge Féray – a French writer native of the same city than me – he translated a lot of Erich’s work. Maybe he knows something…
First Chapter of Pete’s Cafe by Erich Viktor von Neff
Somewhere Near the Great Khan
In Half Moon Bay
By Erich Viktor von Neff
The Pierce Arrow
The motor of the Pierce Arrow purred. Walt, my grandfather, let it warm up, engaged it in first, and we headed down the old Coast Highway toward Half Moon Bay. It was a beautiful road overlooking the sea. Salty air blew through the open windows. We sucked it into our lungs. We drove by fields of artichokes and Brussels sprouts. Broad brimmed hats faced us…occupied by Mexicans, Filipinos, and other farm workers. The Pierce Arrow passed row upon row, field after field of ripe green vegetables.
Our lungs continued to drink in the fecund coastal air. Walt turned off at Half Moon Bay. He drove down Main Street and parked in front of Pete’s Café.
“Buon giorno,�? Pete said in a hearty Italian voice as we entered. “Buon giorno,�? my grandfather replied. They laughed and slapped each other on the back. We found an empty table, amongst the tables of men speaking Tagalog, Portuguese, Italian and Spanish. Their voices chiming into one another, clashing, then trailing off.
Pete brought us two bowls of minestrone soup, two Dos Equis beers, Larraburu French bread and butter.
Walt cut off a slice of butter, and dropped it into the soup. He also broke off a piece of French bread which he dipped into the soup from time to time as he ate. I did the same. Was there any better way to eat minestrone soup?