By Pseudo-Leopardi, A Necrezuta, F Pilastru, I Imaculata
Pseudo-Leopardi’s Cantos for the Crestfallen, right here translated for the 1st time from the Romanian unique, is a breathless expiration of very unlikely pessimo-mystical wants for the immanent past. In a series of thirty one verses channeling the spirits of Cioran, Dante, and the poet’s eponym, the Cantos testify to life’s senselessness, the need of being beheaded, and the affection of saints. it truly is an intoxicated and uncompromising imaginative and prescient: The identify of you / Who regulate one atom of my sigh is now bothered from existence.
“Not considering Die Nachtwachen (The Nightwatches), released in 1804 lower than the pseudonym of Bonaventura, a German Romantic of often-attributed but arguably nonetheless doubtful identification, has there seemed any such booklet as Cantos for the Crestfallen. additionally written by way of an unknown hand, one soaking wet in a philosophy and poetics of an apocalyptic tone, the latter name opponents its predecessor in either secret and depression. even as that the authors of those works tear the masks from the darkish face of the inhuman comedy, they perform a reckless wit that makes the blackness of our lives blacker nonetheless. Cantos for the Crestfallen specifically flows with ugly conceits that vacant into an ocean of tears, eventually drowning its reader faraway from the sight of land, of domestic, and of hope.” – Thomas Ligotti
“Like his namesake-by-declamatio, the writer of Cantos for the Crestfallen has controlled to condense all human afflictions into one solitary fusion of depression, a distress with the teeth sufficient to chew the hand off each nescient and conciliatory phantasm. And but to underpin this breathless, virtually throttled, ennui (his personal sigh even “drowning in air”) there's the unravel and the bitterness of a love affair long past improper, the unrequited affections, the uncooked feels of the world’s interminable spurning; and it all a lie, a necrophile’s symphony tapped out by means of a middle made ash of, a center crawling up a corkscrewed backbone to die inside of a brain.” – Gary J. Shipley
“Pseudo-Leopardi’s Cantos exhale a spirit of blackened occidental sufism that would make your head spiral.” – Pir Iqbal the Impaled
“From the enhaloed entrails of a forgotten laptop comes those Cantos for the Crestfallen. those poems describe not anything and enact everything—litanies of a moldering sunlight refusal.” – Rasu-Yong Tugen, Baroness de Tristeombre