In the lurid purple apparition of the Ponte Rotto and cherished summer passeggiata schmaltz, resisting the surreptitious yet certain sense of possibilities clamping down with the passage of the weeks and the neighbors, even if the morning, recall pixelessly, among the myriad possible pixeless lessons of the year of explosive potential in love with the [...]
For the moment, in sandstone: and a circle commemorating the full lunar eclipse and the changefulness toward the pain and toward the bright unknown it brings.
Occupying the ruins now framing a deejay set ranging from Volare to hiphop all’italiano and the hospitality of Earthquake Jack: scene of palpably postwar pregentrification Palermo.
And then went back to the book, into confrontation with styles of cognition fading, past?
Odescalchi, host of hushed stories of past horribleness, with dashboard, to be precise.
“For those who submitted to disorientation, it was a success.” “Submit,” says Tom: “that’s the perfect word.” An old archaeologist friend, alongside whom I worked at my first and only dig, two decades ago, veering over the hole listening for voices. Hearing the unconscious, seeing the strata of history in the strata of bricks above [...]
Performing pop-up choruses surrounding postpastoral landscapes from Exit 43/Uscita 43 with the Difforme Ensemble (Marco Ariano, Renato Ciunfrini, Roberto Fega) and with Ersela Kripa & Karen Yasinsky this Saturday night at the Centro Sociale Corto Circuito in Cinecittà: be there/ sii lì!
Came home to a lecture on building in—as—time, concept so floral for would-be tragic Venice-of-water, and to walls—of taverns and cities—made conceptually permeable via their blooming, ground as cherries.
And this flight away, not toward (this being a recollection predated after the flood), the exquisitely hammered-away granite isle of perfect crossings will give rise to a conversation about compression: the constraint of the cube, on the one hand, producing energy by compression, and the infinite permutations of the grid.
I am finishing the lecture I’ve written on Amelia Rosselli’s composition of a cubic stanza, or chamber, as receptacle for a post-Fascist poetics—to be delivered this Friday into Saturday at the conference on her work. Those in New York City, please join us uptown from that frenzied Square for discussions of a poet who dreamt [...]
A conversation-poem on national, cultural, linguistic and psychological dislocation created by Jennifer Scappettone—installed in the gravelly space inside a moat of liquid loggia projections and sculpted ambient fountain/fowl for X Locus, a collaboration between Scappettone, Paul Rudy, and Stephen Mueller and Ersela Kripa (AGENCY Architecture), held at the courtyard of the American Academy in Rome [...]
Adrian Van Allen photographs a seemingly unphotographable installation (“questo happening” Stefano calls it), ours, last night—X LOCUS: with the mounting of tramonto the invisible becoming visible, but only by a third of the quadrant: witnessing as if detached with anxiety over the hegemony of vision the vernissage crowd seeking, drinking, confused, drifting, circulating with the [...]
On Thursday, April 28 at 8 PM in the cortile of the McKim, Mead and White Building at the American Academy in Rome, there will be an opening reception for a collaborative installation titled X LOCUS, featuring environmental media by Founders Rome Prize winners in Architecture Ersela Kripa and Stephen Mueller, sound by Elliott Carter [...]
And a girl converted to colorism out of Venice returns as if in dream to its marriage with the linear abstraction of an ideal maturity.
A simple plan—planting Galileo’s asters on the ground—becoming marvel in the vapor that the rain sent. A simple solution—that the violist play from under the umbrella of the house—becoming Shakespearean courting and debate between strings and zeros & ones, near midnight among the olives cherries and the pines and the neighbors becoming directors, spectators becoming [...]
That energy and courage of invention (oui, inventio, what heresy to the epoch of tied wrists) should infuse architectonic and ideological space as well on a cloudy 400th anniversary: after the coining of the “telescopio,” these studios hopeful, explosive: Galileo, Corey Brennan, brilliant comrades bearing keyboards, violias, keycards for piano, windchimes, and plan-B umbrellas, thanks. [...]
According to Trajan: sublimity of illegible legibility or legible illegibility as imperial totem, beyond mortal or plebeian sights, craning their little necks against the blaze Rome makes, and the manic craftsmanship and centuries of unsung scholarship that have been vacuumed into its glintful spiral. Parallel to the high Gothic devotional, to the internet as military [...]
As planes and trams move one through shifting tablesettings of alliances, in advance of a celebrated guest of the state cancelling flights, the street glimpsed in transit reliable as ever in rendering the difference in any e pluribus unum eloquent.
For Belgrade Cultural Center’s World Poetry Day Manifestation—UNESCO’s refreshing counterpoint to National Poetry Month— after a noon tram ride circling the city with live poetic soundtrack for unsuspecting commuters, Stanka Hrastelj of Slovenia reads behind a rack where poems have infiltrated merchandise— in our experiment which yields over the course of an hour the unstupefying [...]
Joe Milutis’s question: see the interview here for my response. [Image courtesy of Jeremy Mende's Anxious Futurism.] Milutis: Given this poetry requires a lot of research, is there a sense of regret that such a signature is not enough, and that your filtration process leaves out material that could be used to educate or elucidate? [...]
The first response (composed in January) in an episodic interview with Joe Milutis about the “poetics of enormity” as laid out in a talk in verse I gave at the Penn-Columbia “Rethinking Poetics” conference last June (available for download here) is up. I wrote the piece with the demands of the Gulf oil spill and [...]
Patron of Dante, on Scarpa’s stage, 700 years on, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny— of the bells of Cangrande silent in bronze below and above, displaced from their official functions in the chronicle, ringing.
With Huck the composer at dinner the other night, marveling over the ever-echoey dining room’s sudden subsiding into silence, spontaneous: and how the composition of talk and nontalk would be of interest or non, even beyond the sixties: and of late from my tenebrous Galilean tavern much thinking about the writer’s unwitting vow of silence [...]
As stone, sky, & the cantons between.