Les Poetes Maudits
It’s wonderful world of blogging… Someone might ask: what is Revue_Blanche?
I shall begin by saying the blog’s owner is a female assistant and admirer of Mr. Anthony Blanche--I know my own mind, and never come unless called. Mr. Anthony Blanche did not give his name to the Revue; La Revue Blanche was the title of the French journal pprestigeous in the times when Oscar Wilde used to visit Paris. Mr. Blanche himself and his foster-son, the 12-year-old boy of the name of Jocelyn lived in the island in the Adriatic Sea until recently. Aeolika, the island with good amenities belongs to Jocelyn. Needless to say, Mr. Blanche and Jocelyn are happy living together. After several months stay in the island some unexpected and undesirable events necessitated Anthony and Jocelyn to leave the island and to return to the Villa Mon Refuge in Rome where they reside. Mr. Blanche is a wealthy cosmopolitan and a bilingual freelance writer; he writes on male love. Mr. Blanche has a namesake, the personage of Evelyn Waugh’s novel “Brideshead Revisited” written in 1945.

Oscar the Skald
Revue_Blanche is Anthony Blanche Fan Blog and at the same time it is Oscar Wilde Club, a forum for discussing the works and life of the ultimate aesthete.
Oscar Wilde’s poetry had become a discovery for me several years ago. Today I realize that there are some more tremendous poets in English literature--may be--and yet Wilde’s poems are especially dear to me anyway.

my NEW homoerotic themed essay you can READ here:
http://www.geocities.com/larisabee/homoerotic_nab.doc

essay and translation:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/06/26/love_story~2520121
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/06/16/a_little_bit_of_gay_literature~2466104

the discreet charm of history:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/06/15/essay~2455233

Anthony Blanche (1945):
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/06/14/anthony_blanche_fan_blog~2449118

Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror
On some sapphire July morn I was born. Linguist from Eastern Europe, middle-aged translator and young author, in search of a literary agent, I know more than I want to about Russian literature, and a little about an awful lot. To be honest I’m not a friendly person by nature, not a warm hearted or open-minded person. It's not easy for me to forgive and forget. Being my own moon and my own sky, a singleton, I agree with the classic who said: “the main characteristic of life is separation. If it were not for the thin cover of flesh, we would die. A human exists while he is separate from his environment. A skull is a helmet of a space wanderer. Be in or you die. Death is exposure; death is uniting. To merge with a landscape is a good matter, may be, yet that’s the end of your delicate ego”. A grounded person I also leave room for imagination and dreams. My feet may be on the ground, but my head is in the clouds. Born under the sign of Leo, I believe that people see me as larger than life and important. If this is true, particularly in July, they also think I’m a bit full of myself. My near future is likely to be filled with great successes and accomplishments. While burning my sunset in the beautiful fire of art I try my best to figure out how to achieve success. For me, love is all about caring and comfort. I couldn't fall in love with someone I didn't trust. Initially, my desires are above all, but my desires don’t deviate from the framework of safety of other individuals. Writing. Whatever crosses my mind, where ever I am, the way it comes--if I can’t write it down, I put it on a piece of paper and type later on. Conceptual and expressive writings are my favourites, but I get my inspiration out of classic poetry and actuality in literature. I can use my imagination to create magic out of everyday things--sometimes the real joy in writing is in the trivial, small things. Masks. A writer has to have a thousand masks, and none of them is he. I love to be fooled by what I read seeing his mask made from papery china, painted fancifully not to let your mind accept what you think is the author. I have no a mask--so you can turn away in disgust, repulsed by what you see. So I am a freelance novelist from Eastern Europe, as I’ve said, (novelist as my line and not as a diagnosis of a pathological liar). My name has several derivatives and diminutives that I use. My profession is in linguistics, my primary field is Russian language and literature; my secondary emphasis is history and English language. This might be an appropriate point to apologize for my English; my excuse is that it is my second language, as you can understand reading my stories, and I fear that I've never quite mastered it as I should. Meanwhile, the Earth, spinning and spinning in the thrall of an aeons-old sun. So little time here below, so much to do, first here, in this room, then outside, in the wide splendid world, so fearsome, so wonderful. There is only this very moment to cherish; beauty and prophetic dreams must be appreciated now and our reward for doing so must come in our hearts, not in some future post-death state if we have followed all the rules, but rather now, with love and compassion and pleasure and understanding and knowledge and wisdom and the perception of beauty in wild nature or works of art. It doesn’t matter what I take up as I have so many beautiful aims; however that may be, I am in luck: I have my art, my sanctum, and my miraculous gold toy Writing.

Dolce vita must go on !