COVE

Of the over 100 antique gift books in the Dr. Sigurd H. Peterson Memorial Collection, edition number 62 appears, at first glance, fairly unassuming. It is a hardcover edition, bound in red cloth, 25 cm. On the front cover, the title is in a Persian-calligraphy inspired typeface, alongside a fairly simple arabesque, both stamped in gold gilt. The title on the spine is also stamped in gilt, and the pages are topstained red. As gift books go, this is a modest exterior, but what’s most striking about this book is its interior.

The text is Edmund FitzGerald’s first edition translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the collection of quatrains attributed to the 11th century Persian astronomer-poet that achieved widespread fame in 19th century England thanks to FitzGerald’s translation. In this 1942 edition, published by the David McKay Company in Philadelphia, each page contains a single quatrain framed in a simple border. At this size, giving each quatrain its own page feels like an honor, even without a more ornate setting. Personally, I am attracted to this arrangement because I feel like it nods to the original nature of the poems, which were meant to be self-contained and freestanding, without the narrative arc that FitzGerald gave them in his loose translation. This choice brings the book to 121 pages, including illustrations.

And it is the illustrations – and their fine gravure printing by the Beck Engraving Company – that really make this edition special. They are all black and white, and most of them feature a rich, deeply saturated black background against a light foreground of figures sketched in graphite and charcoal. The effect is one of high contrast; when the figures are solitary, they stand out so much from the page that they appear almost as statues, carved out of marble and photographed in an inky black room. The book features 16 full page illustrations in this style, as well as 4 smaller vignettes, all by a prolific Hungarian illustrator by the name of Willy Pogány (1882-1955).  Pogány is most well known for his illustrations of children’s books, myths, and fairy tales, as well as a beautiful rendering of Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Between the years 1909 and 1930, Pogány contributed three full sets of illustrations to at least 12 printed editions of the Rubáiyát – the 1909 and 1930 versions were reprinted several times, sometimes with supplementary illustrations added – but this version stands out among the rest.

His early renderings were exact interpretations of the quatrains: figures in Middle Eastern dress and setting, engaged in the literal activities of the poem’s characters. Though later reprinted in black and white from photographs of the originals, both sets of illustrations were rendered in full color; the first, done in watercolor, are misty and dream-like, and the latter are more boldly saturated. With that in mind, one can see that the illustrations in this edition are a profound stylistic divergence, in both medium and overall effect. Furthermore, the 1942 illustrations are much more symbolic in their interpretations of the text. They are also set apart by their eroticism, which feels appropriate given the lush, sensual hedonism of the Rubáiyát.

In addition to these illustrations, it seems that Pogány designed all visual elements of the book from cover to cover. This includes two preliminary pages, the copyright page, three different title pages, and a final page marking the end of the text. The preliminary pages are strictly ornamental, with identical floral arabesques done in the same black-background style as the illustrations. This high contrast ornamental arabesque work carries through to the copyright page – which features similar motifs around the printed information – and the first two title pages. One of these title pages has the title only in Persian, plus the ornamentation. The other shares the title in Persian and the title in English, as well as the name of the translator, the illustrator, and the publishing company, all done in the same Persian-calligraphy inspired typeface that adorns the cover. The third title page is the most interesting to me. The English title appears a final time, but now it is accompanied by two small simple illustrations: a rose and a chalice. What makes this particular page special is the way it acts as a pair to the final page of the book. This page features large Persian characters (I have attempted to translate, but have not yet been able to) and the same small rose and chalice. This time, the chalice is overturned – drained of its last drop.

Beyond the general qualities of the edition, this particular book has another feature, entirely unique to it: an inscription. On the flyleaf in pencil reads:

To Gene, ‘For some we loved, the loveliest and the best –’ Bill

This text, quoted from quatrain twenty one of the Rubáiyát, may lead one to believe that Gene and Bill were lovers, and indeed, the sensual nature of the poem did mean it was often gifted as an act of courtship. As mentioned earlier, this particular edition is also full of erotic imagery that would lend it additional weight as a lover’s token. Of course, Bill and Gene are both traditionally men’s names, so if this book is, as I think likely, a gift between lovers, then it is not only a piece of literary history, but it is a relic of queer history. In 1942 when this book was published, homosexuality was both pathologized and criminalized; the Lavender scare, wherein homosexuals were actively rooted out and persecuted, would begin in earnest just five years later with the 1947 implementation of the Sex Perversion Elimination Act. If this book was a gift from Bill to his male lover Gene, then it is an emblem of two men choosing the enjoyment of the moment over their fears for the future, of men putting their faith in the pleasures of sex, and love, and even poetry.

I must say, I think both FitzGerald and Khayyám would approve.