What is this?Shackleton is a Twitter novel by artist Peggy Nelson— follow along at @EShackleton. This blog is the media companion to the novel.
- I had it on excellent authority, from the Hungarians themselves, that there was gold to be had in Nagybanya. 1 hour ago
- Including but not limited to a cigarette company, standing for Parliament, troop transport in Russia, prospecting for gold in Hungary... 2 hours ago
- "The darling boy had always some new scheme which was going to bring in a fortune!" — Emily Shackleton 3 hours ago
- [Full transcripts of the Titanic Inquiry online: bit.ly/kWj546 & other Titanic voices from @smithsonian: bit.ly/1qXm9cS] 19 hours ago
- "In view of the fact that there is wireless now, I think any accident could be avoided." 20 hours ago
- April 2014
- March 2014
- February 2014
- January 2014
- December 2013
- September 2013
- August 2013
- July 2013
- June 2013
- May 2013
- April 2013
- March 2013
- February 2013
- January 2013
- November 2012
- October 2012
- July 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- March 2012
- January 2012
- December 2011
- November 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- August 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
FIRST EDITION, NUMBER 4 OF 300 COPIES SIGNED BY ALL THE MEMBERS OF THE SHORE PARTY.
Price realized: £15,000
Christie’s London, 15 October 2009
“If I said that any chapter was simply the transcription of notes taken down from Shackleton’s dictation, I should be telling an untruth. If I said that any chapter was entirely mine, I should be telling an untruth. My work was complementary to his. I could say that Shackleton had a remarkable gift of literary suggestion… and that when his interest was stirred at critical portions of his narrative, he had a command of vivid, forceful English… Shackleton and I understood each other thoroughly.”
— Edward Saunders, ghostwriter for The Heart of the Antarctic, 1909
Online version available at archive.org.
“A green and blue gauze were put together to look like the sea, and between the folds fishes were placed. On the top of this a large sheet of plate glass was laid, edged around with seaweed. In the centre was a model of the Nimrod made entirely of flowers, the ropes done with white heather and a Union Jack flying from the topmast.”
— Morning Post, 16 June 1909
THE LONE TRAIL
Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.
The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you’re sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the tongue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goaded desire.
And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,
And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.
And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,
And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.
And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your torn feet freeze,
And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and knees.
Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you’re fain.
By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the world are made plain.
Bid good-by to sweetheart, bid good-by to friend;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.