Centres of gravity

The Nobel Prize for Literature is awarded to Herta Müller

This year's Nobel Prize for Literature has been awarded to the Romanian-born writer Herta Müller. (Müller has lived in Germany since 1987 and writes in German.) According to the judges, Müller, "with the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose, depicts the landscape of the dispossessed".

Ahead of the award, one member of the jury, Peter Englund, had wondered if the prize had become too "Eurocentric" and said that "in most language areas . . . there are authors that really deserve and could get the Nobel Prize and that goes for the United States and the Americas, as well".

This was in marked contrast to the remarks last year of the prize's permanent secretary, Horace Engdahl, who appeared to argue that one of the functions of the Nobel was to ensure that the centre of gravity of the literary world remained in Europe. "There is powerful literature in all big cultures," Engdahl said. "But you can't get away from the fact that Europe is still the centre of the literary world . . . not the United States. The US is too isolated, too insular. They don't translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature . . . That ignorance is restraining." (I wrote a piece about Engdahl, the Nobel and the growing dominance of the literary "Anglosphere" for the NS last year.)

Jonathan Derbyshire is Managing Editor of Prospect. He was formerly Culture Editor of the New Statesman.

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“Minoan pendant”: a new poem by Mark Granier

“Yes – I press my nose / to the pleasantly warm glass – / it’s a copy of one I saw / cased in the cool museum”

Yes – I press my nose
to the pleasantly warm glass –
it’s a copy of one I saw
cased in the cool museum –
gold beaten to honey, a grainy
oval dollop, flanked by two
slim symmetrical bees –

garland for a civilisation’s
rise and collapse, eye-dropped
five thousand years: a flash
of evening sun on a windscreen
or wing mirror – Heraklion’s
scooter-life buzzing and humming –

as I step in to browse, become
mesmerised by the warm
dark eyes of the woman
who gives her spiel and moves
softly and with such grace,
that, after leaving, I hesitate

a moment on the pavement
then re-enter with a question
I know not to ask, but ask
anyway, to hear her voice
soften even more as she smiles
and shakes her hair – no.

Mark Granier is an Irish poet and photographer. He is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently Haunt (Salmon).

This article first appeared in the 16 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Britain on the brink