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Wednesday, June 12, 2019

New Shoulder!

New Shoulder!

Now with a new, completely new shoulder, I walked a few blocks and felt delightful. So interesting, the lowering of possibilities of things, and then the raising of them once more: like growing aged and losing a year or two.
So we will go to France on Aug 13 until September 15, and that seems quite amazing, like almost normal. Waiting eagerly to see what my new very arty book will look like, and it took 3 years to do at least, for the 30 chapters about gathering around tables and in cafes and academies and salons, and I loved every moment. More soon about more art stuff, and prose poems and such....

Friday, June 7, 2019

June 7, 2019

So the summer is with us, and the time and space it allows and affords mean you have to think whatever you are doing matters to someone... outside your household. It is generally about walking and writing and thinking about whatever you are writing about and doing to be relevant to something.
As if everything were to be relevant: so since we need a publisher to bring out and perhaps some financial help for our international anthology of prose poems... In the meantime, Boyce and I went to Dunkin Donuts to pick up our (my and sometimes his) favorite flavors of Baskin Robbins:
Mint Chocolate Chip (0ver which I like Mint syrup) and Pralines and Cream, over which anything caramel or rum-like or and also Marshmallow Fluff... Then we sat outside and shared a Caramel Latte,
now that is New York Living with a delight all around. Many late afternoons I meet a friend from somewhere at the Barking Dog on 3rd and 94th, and that is a joy uninhibited by any academic problems. 

Wednesday, June 5, 2019

And great folk singing, how it matters, and where it matters. I was reading in the New Yorker of May 20  about "Rhiannon Giddens and what folk music means, " about which the heading reads "The roots musician is inspire by the evolving legacy of the black string band" and her singing  recently at Thalian Hall, in Wilmington, North Carolina, where I grew up and revisit to see my sister. This was to make the memorial of the 1898 terrible goings on there, and there was a procession with candles and ritual to hear her singing, and then reading the names of those murdered back then. Who ever knows what goes on where and when we are and aren't? What an article, by John Jeremiah Sullivan,  which is about knowing. 
So here it is June 5, 2019, and however we got here, somehow it happened. Responding to a friends' posting about Amor Fati, I remembered the very strong and very moving work of Alix Kates Shulman on her marriage and loss and survival, To Love What Is, of which the ninth chapter is "Amor Fati."And that brings up what we each can do about what is coming at us, sometimes hard.
I walked up to have a glass yesterday evening with the wonderful poet Grace Schulman at the place I hang out,  the Barking Dog. We talked and talked and then, thanks be, she walked me one block home, and being with someone you can talk about everything with is major important.

Just an hour ago, I walked back up that same hill, having decided I would either go to the wine store to renew our Ouzo and Prosecco, exactly four blocks away on the same level, but up, up that hill. Not much of a hill, but how you notice when your left knee is Kaput and has to be changed, and can only be replaced when your shoulder can bear the weight of a crutch, and your shoulder has just been replaced, and there you are in a heavy black leather and such sling. Now I know noticing and paying attention are essential, but how noticing this and that change things.

Never mind, I get to get home and look at what I am writing, always fun. Just as seeing poet or any other intense friends is a joy. Here is to joy!

Sunday, June 2, 2019

how to mark irony?

So this came to mind STRONGLY yesterday when I had sent a photo of a bunch of sunflowers in a yellow pitcher,  so very van Gogh in feeling,  sent to me by Lee Hallman in Fort Worth and I had sent the picture of it along side the New York Times as the two images were  so remarkably contradictory,  of course. That is, the of course, was no way of course. What was not my surprise to receive a few messages saying how optimistic I seem to be and the times were so contrary to that! I started wondering how you mark irony  in case you need to do that.
Here I am in New York after having my shoulder changed at the Hospital for Special Surgery and I'm thinking perhaps I will start my journal,  that is the blog again. Why not?

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

Central Park and Gospel at Colonus

well, here we are in New York after living in the Vaucluse in Provence, and with a different, but from always, set of friends I adore, and now back, we , my husband and I , are going to Gospel at Colonus in Central Park tonight and I had SUCH a great time standing or rather, sitting, because a brilliant and kind and knowledgeable gentleman gave me the chair he brought, and so on, and you get to speak with everyone about what they are reading (he was reading Stephen Greenblatt's Tryant, and=about Shakespeare, and we talked about Greenblatt's take on Eve and  you know, that other person, and the park gives you everything, free of course. I have been a "patron" for years and years, which just means I come there and today the seniors were told to go wait in the General Line, which a group of us did, and just everyone is unbelievably interesting.  How does that happen? so I will shut up and say, which I think is true, only in New York.

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Strange thing, teaching when you are in principle retired, but am staying on as a Resident Professor and giving a brief workshop course in Cross-Disciplinary Translation, dealing with obsessions, fragments, seriality, and collage. My graduate students seem to be doing all sorts of jobs, some teaching and some editing Just sent in draft of Creative Gatherings: Art Colonies and Schools, Salons, Studios, and Cafes, or whatever it will be called by the publishers, which will be heavily illustrated, and with nineteen different chapters on places my painter grandmother was part of, such as the Academie Julian in Paris and the Florence Griswold House  in Old Lyme, Conn,  and  and others we visited this past summer, from Barbizon near Fontainebleau to Pont-Aven and Le Pouldu in Brittany, after our usual summer hangout in our old cabanon near Carpentras in Provence. Now, the winter thing in New York, not a bad life.