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Wednesday, September 16, 2020

back from apple

 so today I went to apple at Grand Central, at 12:03, precisely, unforgettable, because:  ah what luck, said the lovely person there, goodness, you only have to wait four hours, wow

ah, said I , perhaps it might be less tomorrow, ah, the next available time will be after (long date from now, can't remember that ) oh fine, said I and went off to wander and wander

and everything closed in the city, as we know, so I found the Morgan closed of course and walked and walked and had a tacos mariscos at Agave, and a cheering margarita passion fruit, and made my way back to the Apple place, oh well, it has been put a bit later, and so on

however, after a few more hours, I got home at eight with this evening, and can now zoom from this computer, which was the point

for yesterday, ready to speak with my reading group/class, about Derrida's Post Cards and the gloss on them by J.Hillis Miller and how exciting it was to look at the signature Jacques and a tiny stroke to the right: so- WAS this a signature of one person or a feint and a footnote about well perhaps here I am many persons, not Jacques the singular, but... and so on..

I loved welcoming Jacques Derrida to New York because when I ran the French Ph.D. program at our Graduate School of CUNY, I could use a line I had and invite 2 persons on it: i chose Yves Bonnefoy and Jacques Derrida, which was -- I believe-- a good choice, and I kept Jacques Derrrida's running shoes and his French-English  dictionary and sponsored his classes for five years, a true joy


and now I can use this machine to zoom to my reading group and participate in others! 

Thursday, September 3, 2020

New York, Provence, Poetry!!!!!

 So the quadruple exclamation points signal that I forgot I HAD HAD a blog and am now attaching it to the Academic Works possibility which means that until you are ready to send something off to your publisher and just want to try it out for size, or for anything, you can just stick it in -- if you are part of the graduate school at CUNY students or faculty or associated -- and that is more or less it.

I am happily volunteering to "lead" or really just welcome a mini-seminar public and we have, most of the participants and myself, been elastically together, sharing what we are reading and working on ("projects" for anyone who wants to take it for one credit in any of the 3 phd programs I am part of, and do one short paper, period) and we all just talk, for about an hour and about 15 minutes, during five weeks, SO INFORMAL (thus, elastic) that it won't ever be anything else, 

except that since this semester it is nominally on the topics of "translation" and "interpretation" and next semester, nominally (I like the word) on "omission" and "obsession" (I like the words), it is sort of hovering around those places.

and i have to do a something on some kind of thing, poddishlly I guess, with some artist (Mark David Baer, whom I know not, but who read a little book I did on the Great Marcel,  from Monterey on PROUST SO I SAID YES,  2 half-hour recordings or whatever

so I am re-reading Le Temps retrouvé and it turns out he read it in Scott Moncrieff's translation (and I had forgotten SM was a spy, don't you love it?) and yes I have to read Henry James' "a bundle of letters"!!! so will send this to various friends concerned with poetry and letters, and so on

so, until next time, best to anyone who reads this, mary ann caws

Saturday, August 29, 2020

New York Glories

How could one not love being in New York, especially during lockdown? everything you can do for the first time in ages feels more and more urgently important 

like going to the Met for the first time in , what, four months? as a member I got in at 12 and before that, just the. press -- and I could have said Brooklyn Rail and written up the opening but tried to go to the boathouse i've loved for so many years, closed of course, as was the cafe across from the lake, and so later i could get into the met, and it was Making the Met. Like being home. 

Saturday, August 22, 2020

zooming issues

 So when I was supposed to join in with a committee for a brilliant thesis, drawn and colored and written about Virginia Woolf's letters, I went to the calendar instead of the zoom link and was 20 minutes late, that was the WORST time in my year so far...

On the other hand, how nice it is to see the names of one's friends and conversation participants (my mini-seminar in translation/interpretation and then later in obsession/omission, see them below the pictures, also in our book clubs!

and Also how nice not to have to GO anywhere except for walks to the distant (given my slow pace) Central Park and out to dine outside at various restaurants we love: Barking Dog! the District! Pascalou!

Nick's!, and for me, coffee (today iced with matcha, whatever that is, is green) whole devouring Liane de Pougy's notebooks..

So I am sending the first 12 pages of Jacques  Derrida's The Post Card to the participants in my mini-seminar or really reading group on translation and interpretation starting next week, and am zooming on and in, and listening to interesting this and that like Honor Moore and Roxana Robinson talking about biographies...And my Mina Loy and also the poems in my Alice Rahon are in press, and I am thinking of what is next...


Monday, August 10, 2020

red cellphones!

 so I lost my red cellphone ion a taxi and went and replaced it, having exhausted my own possibilities with the former 6x phone, with its broken camera because of which i happily found for myself a Red Phone which I LOVED and will RELOVE!

New York with all its boarded up windows (restaurants, shops, key restore shops, hair salons) and sleeping street people despite the outdoor dining which i Truly Love is not a cheerful place at all -- the ordinary greet now is stay safe, and indeed we so hope to do that...

my first mini-seminar, this five week burst is on translation and interpretation (that is, a canvas seen in two different ways, and so on) and the ten or so involved are in all stages of their careers as poets, professors, writers, musicians, artists, and so on, it is called Poets Together, which has to do not with Poetry essentially as such, but with the attitude.

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Taking a Walk

Every day, as my sister Peg used to say, in NewYork you should take a walk. Of some kind or length or purpose, she didn't say. I am often too lazy to Go Out and Do That, wearing, of course, a mask. 
But when you don't, you lose the light. I am going to try that bizarre sounding diet, in which you don't eat anything except between either one and seven, or between three and seven, and that would mean. supper at six, eeeek. and, worse even, what to do about the rum and nuts I have in the middle of every night?
I will let me know how it works soon, for I am starting tonight. 

Mina Loy Critical Lives

Today, August 4, is the day before my son Matthew's birthday, and I remember my surprise at his birth, because, having had my daughter Hilary only two years before, I was certain that this time again the baby would be a girl. But it was Matthew, who could have been called Jonathan, but since -- unbeknownst to either of us -- she was to marry a Jonathan, it would have been awkward as to which one one was addressing. So it came out correctly, as he did, and now I can't remember why it and he were not the way young persons of baby age are generally welcomed into the world. 

And I believe that , thanks to my daughter, I can fit my endnotes to the Mina Loy Critical Lives volume I have finished for the third time. It was FUTURISM that was almost the downfall of the project, not because of Marinetti and Papini, with both of whom Mina Loy had torrid affairs, but because how hard it is to fit a poem suddenly into a chapter where yo will have to add a note between two others. On top of that, two comic things: first, that since it says "footnote" to get to the place you add in the endnote and THEN you choose not foot but end, and every time it sends you first to foot. 

So that is funny sort of , but this other is not. Mina Loy's poems are found in two different volumes, one marked "The Last Lunar Baedeker" and it is not at all the last but the lost -- very much out of print. -- and the last one, very much found and lately, like 1996 whereas the "last" is from 1982 and is definitely not the  last but the lost, whose name is given to the other. Try keeping that straight on the endnote fabric, that has no perceptible sense of humor. Many such things, like her aphorisms of Futurism whose name she wanted to change to aphorisms of Modernism, and did that in the left behind papers (of which there are Many Many at the Beineke Library at Yale, all deliciously available on the internet). 

So then there is the Next Thing, which is either putting together my articles on surrealism, for the same publishers, Reaktion Books, or launching out into something like women of modernism, broken down into whatever category.... Laziness will surely win out, and I can drift back into surrealism, which, I suppose, I never really left.