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Sunday, August 21, 2016

Heavens above when things so happily crowd up and around I totally forget I have a blog and of course forget Facebook and such
But today I saw my young friend julie at our neighboring cabanon ---well, down the road a piece -- and she reminded me about such things
And since it is when i get up always in whatever you would think the middle of the night is
'Tis the perfect moment to  remember
Backwards we had this great Sunday lunch repast "aper0" at this neighboring cabanon -- wow with oysters snd shrimp and barbecue and caramel-spice coated chicken etc etc and then pink wine with longtime friends in the village and all that
So last night we had about 22 friendsto say goodbye to summer here -- these all anglophone-- too complicated to mix
And it drizzled but was fun
And tomorrow to our favorite place in vacqueras like gigondas and near the dentelles de montmirail
  After looking for ultrasound something to discourage our doormice and U thunk if putting uo s dign to tell them plolitely
Not To go to a neghbors please will do in french and english of course
Anyway maybe way up a long hill to get a duperb sweet wine or mabybe not
Everyone closes at 12  for sacred lunch

So I turned in my Jean Cocteau er le cinema tto be published un Paris we went to the cocteau museums in menton. Wow his drawins
 of opium cures and sufferung.  and my Pascal coming out in london in March and hsve
To teach film snd art and soeak at nypl on Dadaglobe and so on
Then get talks ready for Penn and Athens and Nagoya settling down in ny is SOamETHING else again
Back to bed perhaps
But forgot the major thin
Matthew and Emily getting married rught after we get back to US day after tomorrow and big deal
Thinking Nada
 Surf  snd all that WOW

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Spinning about a Bit

The artist Zardulu, who invented the selfie rat and the three-eyed fish which was used to ”stage a prank” at the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn recently, deserves a mention. She was born in Manhattan in 1971 , it seems, and wars a gold mask and robes, WOW.  And we Did go to Die Materie at the Armory, and we DID go to the Alan Riding play about Florence Gould at the Century Association, so much is going on, and then we are doing a reading from our Lorand Gaspar translations at the Mercer Street Book Store on 7:30 this Thursday, March 31, and so on. And  we are going to the shack on the beach near San Francisco to visit Boyce’s son Alec and his wonderful Maxime and we rush out (well, he rushes out) to get clams and oysters and crabs and salmon, all of which he fishes out of the water near Dillon Beach at the end of April. And then I am going to the Isle of Skye to speak at the College  of the Highlands and Islands about Jon Schueler, the American who fell in love with Mallaig off the Sound of Sleat, and then to Paris to see my always friends Isabelle and Marie-Claire, back to New York, and to Provence with Boyce in July. Oh joy. And to Athens in October to speak about Nicolas Calas, but in between, oh yes I loved writing on Motherwell’s collages for a gallery here, and turning in my books on Woolf (SimplyWoolf) and Pascal, and starting on Cocteau et le cinema for Jean-Michel Place. Still giving my seminar I so love on Twists and Turns, in Modernist looking, about to do Ronald Firbank after Baron Corvo (Fr. Rolfe) and the Golden Bowl….and Pierre or the Ambiguities, loved it all

Saturday, March 19, 2016


now watching Jean Cocteau's "Le TEstament d'Orphee" for my coming "Jean Cocteau et le cinema" for Jean-michel Place
about death and flowers and on and on... must go finish watching, and start on catalogs about Kay Sage and Robert Motherwell and go to play with Boyce at 59th street theatre, will pick this up soon

Sunday, February 14, 2016


so why does it have to be this time stolen, you would say borrowed? stolen I am thinking -- having said to Boyce last night: yes, the one thing you could give me would be time -- why can't I write ANYTHING on this so rarely visited, by me or anyone else, blog, in the daytime, you know, daytime, like people? -- ok I am thinking let's just say it, now at whatever time it is, what we wanted, what I wanted to say
That I read the Threepennyreview at this hour, because I know and respect and go to the same everythings, like concerts as Wendy Lesser with he superintelligent face and red hair pulled back and remember saying to her, hi, I am mary ann caws, and I actually teach at the place you are spending a year at, in the biography writing venue , I think, or whatever, didn't matter, remember ah so clearly seeing her at that St. Matthew unforgettable passion  we only got into through Tipi, that amazing tenor I wept over but or and friend of our friend Meriam Korichi, she of the all night philosophy night, and a friend  admired and loved and with whom -- when we converge, as we do in the very south of France, in the Vaucluse,  we do,  we translated a poem of Pascal -- what, a POEM of Pascal, yup, a POEM of Pascal, oh, amazing translations go on in the south of France, another time, will speak of them, but this is now just that this particular issue of the Threepenny Review ( yes, of course I subscribe, just like the New York Public Library Live,  always, but now so I can come to hear my own BELOVED Maggie as in Maggie Nelson, and my own BELOVED Wayne, as in Wayne Koestenbaum as in Wayne Koestenbaum, YES WE SHOULD ALL GO TO THEIR PRESENTATION at the NYPL, and do I just remember welcoming him to our BELOVED graduate school of our BELOVED CUNY, and am I making this up, under the totally beneficent joy of middle of the night  time  in which  NO ONE CAN INTERRUPT me to ask for a recommendation or an anything? no, so  there are, in this issue of the Threepenny Review,  all these  wonderful photos by Grete Sten d Ellen Aeurbach, known as Ringl +  Pit , whose show we had visited, Deborah Solomon and I, a while back...
so this is to say that, and when I get back in the daytime, when people write, you know, the daytime, I will indeed go on with my SIMPLYWOOLF for which I am contracted, sounds like a  murder, but you get the point, whoever you are or probably is, and the oh yes I am going to do a Jean Cocteau et le cinema, and after speaking on the Isle of Skye on Jon Schueler, whose clouds in whose skyscapes off the Sound of Sleat I really do love, I get to spend a WEEKin Paris with my alltime most beloved French sister, Marie-Claire Dumas, and that will be in June, the beginning of, and that is like Real Time, can't say, and don't have to try to say, Why... so here is my closing thought, will put it in caps in case anyone needs, no, wants to know:  why can't we say what we mean in ordinary daylight time?
I never figured that one out, and probably won't.  But no matter,  I have THIS TIME NOW

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

and other things...

and I got to write about Larry Poons and about Sarah Plimpton and about Julie Ault and about Marcel Jean and got to talk about Lorand Gaspar and about Gherasim Luca and about Frank Stella (how great he has all those different ways of doing work, that is deeply enviable) and am thinking right how how the very sublimest compliment I could pay to any writing is something about how it is like prose poetry, which I greatly love
must write to Tom Phillips to ask permission for a page from the Humument and to whomever one now writes about using a spell cast by Artaud
oh do I hate writing for permissions... for the Modern Art Cookbook several of my grad students helped me and it still took three years, really!

reading aloud

so we just gave a reading at KGB Bar, six of us reading our translations and talking about the authors we just translated for a little press called Contra Mundum, and that was fun; always readings are fun, I think -- a friend and I read in New Orleans, books we translated together and separately and also in Woodstock
well, that isn't much news actually and I have to prepare my forthcoming seminar on Turns and Swerves or whatever I called it, in art and text, having to do with how the road bends or the text turns, that kind of thing, as in Nicolas de Stael or a number of other artists I love -- or how the plot not thickens but swoops away differently from what you might expect
we were in NorthCarolina because my beloved sister got robbed and we had to  straighten up after and such and such, and there are mostly pine trees and marshes, lovely, and a kind of unbusyness, unlike New York which I love living in

Monday, January 18, 2016


ultimate decadence, in this time of so much (well, always of course) sadness, strife, and struggle -- not Mein Kampf or even "My STruggle," about which so many people here are asking why didn't Knausgaard call it mein kampf in the English translation -- um.. I think I see why not --
anyway, when I get up, as I do two or three times a night to read something or other, I have a nip of rum or Punt y mes or vodka with something or other, and peanuts, I am wild about peanuts and THEN I don't have to take a sleeping pill which often I do

that is decadence and so is praline crunch ice cream by Baskin Robbins which I am so happily addicted to

so I am slogging along at my Simply Woolf for the simply series, ebooks and not you now, those real books with corners and things and pages and am waiting to see if Pascal: A Critical Life meets with the publisher's approval, and am writing reviews of art exhibitions and so on in this really delightful time called January (first snowfall here today in New York!) before I start teaching in  February for my last semester, because instead of teaching my film course in the fall, I think I will just step down or up or out or wherever one steps

BECAUSE I forgot even the name of Woodstock! that is very bad
and yes, we lament Bowie's death immensely, what elegance he had!
and Matthew my son, as in Nadasurf, just got engaged, and that is delightful,
so now, without further ado or decadence, I will hie me off to bed, although it isn't even one or two and it is usually about three when I get up and then up again

this way I feel I have lots more time in  my life than if I slept all night