Odescalchi, host of hushed stories of past horribleness, with dashboard, to be precise.
Henry James ardently to the friend (lover?) Hendrik Christian Andersen, coaxing his companion toward specific lived experiences and places, expressing doubt regarding “any use on all the made earth … for a ready-made city, made-while-one-waits, as they say, & which is the more preposterous & the more delirious, the more elaborate & the more ‘complete’ [...]
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 [...]
in phonemic translation from translation out of a notebook running circles round the “past”‘s totem and taboo by Emilio Villa, taking inspiration from the delirium of the book et ab hic et ab hoc: batabìk batabòk patabot babeek babohk betock, betel & from the “here & from this re” lied book, The narrative Hoo— Hook
“I do not know what meaning classical studies could have for our time if they were not untimely – that is to say, acting counter to our time and thereby acting on our time and, let us hope, for the benefit of a time to come.” —Nietzsche, Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen Betrachtungen=observation: consideration: speculation. As to translation [...]
The measured, fatigued ol Ez sez, syllables, as they’d say in Italian, to Pier Paolo Pasolini’s legible amusement & faint stupefaction: “Lei dice nazioni industrializzate e quindi culturalmente avanzate. È questo quindi che non mi va. Difficile per me rispondere a questa sola domanda perché non è solamente in Italia industrializzata dove ci sono nuovamente [...]
As defined against the fascist ossario, bone chamber for the martyrs of the Risorgimento glorified by the wannabe-Byzantine religion of the modern state (“veglia con voi l’angelo della patria”): “CUSTODI DELLE GLORIE PATERNE” “CUSTODIANS OF PATERNAL GLORIES” versus three animate kin.
Why the idea of order, like the idea of progress, is just and tragically that: an idea, abundant in keener sounds, in rage, and more than occasionally in futility. She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and [...]
white cherries, and shadows write with better clarity than any ii at a certain hour over the Aurelian wall—to emerge from the rustic house & let them do it, as Ruskin did, casting agency with bliss into light unelectric.
Punctuating the approach to the grocery store, for example: An uncanny capacity to provoke as well as document the anxiety of a postutopian future become our heritage in scraps and sprawling damage: Jeremy Mende‘s installation now hitting the viali and vicoli of Rome, offering nothing, in spite of exquisite design skills, as spectacle and nothing [...]
Peering as ever, captivated, up through the thin filigreed iron barrier between monochrome and color, underground and over, death and life, making the current uncanny, unhomely—dreams haunted by missing digits and their turgid, sluggish, anxious replacements—and Felipe’s well-founded compassionate laugh at the unsolicitous inheritors of “Old Masters,” which over lunch conversation about crumbling walls of [...]
And then it was back to time, its contour, advance, clinging, its weather, blur.
“Mi porti qualcosa di antico.” Unconsciously and not through appearance, but through the voice? Lidia, in conversation to the soundtrack of noxious tremors in an out-of-order Vespa on the tram avenue, following Jeremy Mende‘s “Anxious Futurism,” a study in negation (of the beautiful, the image, the individual, the sponsored, and the futurist, of anything but [...]
“Hurry up slowly”—motto of Aldus Manutius, Venetian typographer, grammarian and humanist, turn of the sixteenth century. “City of Aldus”: it’s this figure that’s cited by the puerile author of A Lume Spento who wants to boast about where he’s self-published his first 72 pages of verse.
& just in time, courtesy of Jeremy Mende.
Of “trasmigratori”: Man-Horse-Moss, at EUR. Most frequently heard question of the morning: which came first, De Chirico or this? The artist.
Contra-diction bene-detta (“blessed,” in translation that falls quite short) in the Foro Italico, once the Foro Mussolini, still marked by recordbreaking marble projectile; the mosaic DVCEDVCEDVCE DVCEDVCEDVCE DVCEDVCEDVCE become mere arrowing pattern alongside Luigi Moretti’s monolithic slabs, poised, once, to receive the progression of incising episodes of Fascism that Duce, pointy at sky over Foro, [...]
Antipasto of cauliflower, leeks, beets, and fennel with salsa rustica: food for wonder, in response to Sarah & Noga’s solicitousness about the weekend past, over the fact that ambient historical overload has led to a predilection for defensive simplification of late: head drunken merely in patterns of light and the natural cycles expunged from my, [...]
Cleft: within a lent “America,” the calming to those displaced because orderly, rectilinear, lawn of graves (replete with glazed panorama and remote control): at Anzio, the landscape of a girl’s ancestry translated into immaculately strategic terms, depicted in futurist radiation by Italian artisans: the taking of Rome. “1941—1945 / MEMORI E FIERI / DELLE GESTA [...]