Baltic decadents

With regard to Baltic decadence and symbolist writing, I have slight familiarity with Stanislaus Eric Stenbock, who wrote and passed his odd, mostly unpleasant life in England, where along with Arthur Symons, etc., he was a member of The Rhymers' Club (The Stenbock family was landed in Estonia).

I would also like information on any other authors from this region who took up the French fad and filtered it through local/personal sensibility, such as Heiti Talvik, Friedebert Tuglas and Anton Tammsaare.

A collection of Friedebert Tuglas's short stories:

http://books.google.com/books?id=imZeJxYGdngC&pg=PR20&lpg=PR20&dq=ri...

Count Stenbock's grave in Brighton: http://www.ligotti.net/showthread.php?p=44130#post44130

http://www.dedalusbooks.com/our-books/book.php?id=00000241

Is coming out soon. They usually include a couple of decadent writers. Let's keep our fingers crossed.

FWIW: Nazi political theoretician Alfred Rosenberg was born in Talinn, Estonia, and was part of the Baltic Germans. Here's a link to his nigh-incomprehensible treatise-diatribe The Myth of the 20th Century:

http://archive.org/details/TheMythOfThe20thCentury

Jerry Garcia and National Socialist philosophy. Was habe ich gemacht?

I am in the mood for a parable:

The Bridge

- Franz Kafka

I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge.

It was toward evening one day - was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell - my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land.

He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then – I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley – he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quiet around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water.

Janis Ezerins is another Latvian I could lump into this group. Central European University published a book of short stories by this author entitled The Tower: and other Stories might interest the Chapel. From the description I gather he was an "initiator in the portrayal of the "fine neurosis"" and that he was influenced by Boccaccio, Maupassant and Poe. I look forward to reading it.

I ran across Eriks Ādamsons, a Latvian writer, on Wikipedia. From the Wiki article:

"Eriks Ādamsons was known as an aesthete in life and also in his works. His novels and poems are sometimes called ornamental literature because he described details very well. His poetry is referred to through dekadence, baroque, rococo and jugendstil. His biggest influences were works by Oscar Wilde and Knut Hamsun."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eriks_%C4%80damsons

I doubt there are any English translations of his work, but who knows...

Footage of Stenbock house: http://uudised.err.ee/v/eesti/8578a2d1-71f7-4cf3-997b-088345eadf79