Lazy Sunday?

Didn't do much today really. Walked the dog this morning. Took Jesse into Kingston to pick up a CD with a high resolution photo on it. You can see a lot of his photos now at bandoftheland.printroom.com. They look pretty good there and if you like one, they are even available for purchase. He's set the prices pretty low for some quality work (a little plug here).

In the Tour, the GC looks like it did yesterday going into the rest day on Monday. Contador is 6 seconds back of the surprising leader, Rinaldo Nocentini, who is riding in his first Tour. Armstrong is 2 seconds back of Contador so the question of who the team leader is (Contador, Armstrong?) is still pretty much open. Contador showed some power in the final climb yesterday, to pick up the 2 seconds on Lance but I'm not sure that really meant anything with so many days of riding to come.

Then spent the afternoon listening to the Mets beat the Reds 9-7, got close but K-Rod managed to close it. Two home runs in one inning for the Mets after 82 innings without any (the apple didn't come up for some reason for either, and fans started chanting we want apple and at the end of the inning the apple came up to cheers). Two wins in a row going into the All-Star break. The question is how many of the injured will be coming back? Reyes seems to be running again and Delgado took batting practice. If at least some of these guys come back, it could make a big difference.

So today has been sort of a down day although I expect to do a little work after this post. I have started working on translating Hinojosa's La Flor de California and it is as tricky as I thought it might be. I feel like I'm sailing along and then suddenly I hit a real knot. The problem seems to me to be the problem that a surrealist prose-poem presents as it addresses questions of narrative. Strange.

The nice thing is I'm writing a lot of poetry, which is good. And just thinking a lot about writing. Not thinking about teaching--saving that for August.

Our social lives here seem busier than in Brooklyn. Friday night cocktails with some good folks at Portia's cabin across the road (painters and writers all), Saturday Megan came to dinner (great fun, though it meant shopping, which can be time consuming since we have to drive out of Woodstock and into West Hurley to do any real food shopping). Megan brought her two dogs and that seemed to thrill the Cannonball. We took all three for a nice walk (despite the storm that passed through here in the afternoon/evening/night--can a day go by without rain? Today we may have that luck).

So on to some work!

Abrazos.

Mark

Some Time and No Time

The days here pass and I get caught up in writing and reading (new poems, translations, books ranging from Cabrera Infante to Chandler and Hammett), in what's going on with the Tour de France (will Lance really try and pull this off, or will be become a super domestique to Contador? With Lance 19 seconds ahead of Alberto, it's his right to see himself as team leader, something I'll bet with which Contador isn't quite happy).

Went over yesterday for lunch to Bonnie Marranca's beautiful house in Catskill, about 45 minutes away. Pasta with broccoli and sausage, two different bean salads, a nice red wine. Then the usual unfortunate shopping which meant by the time we got home there was no real time to do much more than read a little before listening to the Mets and making dinner. The surprise that the Mets won after so many days was nice after all these losses in a row (and scoring runs!).

Today was more of what I really wanted--a morning of writing, an afternoon of transcribing Hinojosa (both translations and originals). The good thing I'm discovering about typing the original poems myself is that they help me with revisions of the translations, giving me a chance to go back and look at what I've done even more carefully. We didn't do this with Poet in New York. Didn't feel the need to but that's because (I think) there were two of us working on it. Although I do consult Pablo from time to time and some of the stranger constructions (a surrealist is always hard to translate, sometimes the subject is just lost in the poem and finding it is like solving some puzzle).

After all this, Jesse and I went into Kingston to the photo place that is able to put his photos on CD. Very expensive, compared with NYC. Probably because they are the only game in town. Film costs twice as much, as does the making of the CDs. It seems like the best thing to do is not have the film developed here but wait until we get back at the end of July. Hard for anyone to have to wait that long but better than spending money that we don't really have.

At any rate, it hasn't rained yet today (though the skies seem to be darkening). I've been doing a lot of grilling, may tonight or may have do the indoor thing.

An Hinojosa poem:

Reversion

Swallows’ wings
grow from the chestnuts
and their flight is fixed
in the arbitrary game
of light and the laughter
of our guests.

Even though I maintain the shadow
set between my lips
it gave me a taste of once-flowing blood
from the sides
of ten generations
dead at Calvary.

In constant equilibrium
bodies surrounded
wove provincial dances
without an hour of rest,
holding their breath
so to not mist the fields.

The new hearts
in armor rise
and that necklace of dances
remained broken from the moment
in which I set my fingers
in the branches of the tree.

(from Orillas de la Luz)

Straaaaange.


abrazos,

Mark