Passwords: Jennifer Scappettone on Amelia Rosselli Poets House, New York City April 25, 2013 – 7:00PM Kray Hall $10, $7 for students and seniors, free to Poets House Members Poet, translator and scholar Jennifer Scappettone discusses the work of the Italian poet and musicologist Amelia Rosselli (1930-1996) — whose first book was introduced by Pier [...]
In which I chat with Cris Mattison about the cube as poetic constraint and Pentecostal space of all possible rhythms—presented in tandem with relevant translations of Amelia Rosselli and my own experiments in the cube form, courtesy of Zoland Poetry.
The Woodberry Poetry Room’s schedule of events for Fall is out, and I’m delighted to be presenting on “Experiments at the Borders of Poetry and Translation” with Mary Jo Bang on Wednesday, October 17: OMNIGLOT SEMINAR: EXPERIMENTS AT THE BORDERS OF POETRY & TRANSLATION Mary Jo Bang & Jennifer Scappettone Mary Jo Bang (author of [...]
A review of Locomotrix: Selected Poetry and Prose of Amelia Rosselli by Marco Giovenale appeared in last Thursday’s Il manifesto, one of the precious dailies that covers experimental aesthetics. Read the review as a .pdf on Charles Bernstein’s blog. (And consider making a donation to the newspaper, endangered by the financial crisis!) In the print [...]
Nine minutes, expertly snipped and sewn, of our 1.5 hour dialogue and reading surrounding Amelia Rosselli in Chicago, with poet and Director of Mondadori Libri Antonio Riccardi, hosted by Andrea Raos of the Istituto Italiano di Cultura, in March 2012.
Book Presentation and Panel Discussion: “Where the I is the Public”: Amelia Rosselli in Translation New York University, Casa Italiana Zerilli-Marimò 24 West 12th Street New York, NY 10011 Thursday, 5 April, 6:30 pm A musician, musicologist, and self-defined “poet of research,” Amelia Rosselli (Paris 1930– Rome 1996) was one of the most important poets [...]
The book as thing in grayscale stands out against the images that presided over its pixels for the past twelvemonth. The anxiety of the thing—it’s not a book, Randy says, until it’s fixed and open to errancy….
….We had to express something better: allow ourselves this rhetoric that was a howl of protest against undaunted destruction in our frightened houses. (I lost that vertical love of solitary god revolutionizing myself in the people removing myself from heaven.) —trans. Jennifer Scappettone
How the writing of Marco Giovenale and other current Italian “poetry of research” can and has to be distinguished from Flarf, with which it identifies (to a certain extent): history. (fou / fenêtre) Glockenspiel – e nel freddo nel pieno è che il freddo è nel pieno della schiena: sulle scapole sulla spina per agosto [...]
Much talk, at Barnard, about poetry and enclosure and prison, as a merely formal strategy, or a political one too?, amid my reckonings that Rosselli was responding to the aesthetics that just preceded hers. Philology and its shortcomings. Isn’t it the case that a writer responds to the just-passed Zeitgeist even when we can’t track [...]
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 [...]
“Stanza as Prison, Homicile, Cube, Sphere: Emilio Villa, Amelia Rosselli, and the Spaces of Post-Fascist Ytalyan Poetry” is the name of the talk I delivered tonight at the American Academy in Rome. Such rare pleasure to present, incommensurately perhaps given the material of dislocation, to a room full of neighbors, however hailing from the strange. [...]
& the proposal some days ago to climb a sinuous Scarpa “tromba delle scale” / “conch-shaft of stairs— that’s how, late one night, we solved the phrase in translation of Amelia Rosselli’s “The Libellula”— wrong foot first: more infant steps up through the byways of history & love at first insight, & second & third.
Paris, March 28, 1930—Rome, February 11, 1996 On the fifteenth anniversary of a tragic death, a general strike brings 30 years of autocratic rule in Egypt down. Words, vs., not composed in vain. (Wall Street Journal, however: “US Stocks Climb Higher after Mubarak Steps Down.” vs. AR’s “I try one market—then I try the next….” [...]
As recounted by Tullia Calabi Zevi (1923-2011), a song in Milanese dialect her freemason father said had been discovered on the walls of Corso Buenos Aires at dawn— before the family’s 1938 escape from Italy to NY, where they founded the Mazzini Society— Caro il me Benitute me cunscià pulitute me cala la pagate me [...]
that reign in their shelter just inside the Aurelian walls— walls as continuous ancient plot of what Ersela calls “the infrastructure of paranoia” in a discussion of U.S. planning, over chard soup— so as we were saying, on the other side of an ad-hoc hairdressing outfit that unfurls on the benches that line the walls, [...]
Locomotrix: Selected Poetry and Prose of Amelia Rosselli, now in transit across the waters: a decade in the making. “[T]he language in which I write at isolated moments is only one, while my sonorous, logical, and associative experience is certainly that of all peoples, and reflectable in all languages….” —Amelia Rosselli, “Metrical Spaces” Dancing as [...]
Refocillate, dug up in the colonial dictionary as a word Donne liked: re-enfocus, to warm into life once more, reanimate, comfort. ….Afterwards of joy sank hell after paradise the wolf in its hole. After the infinite was the merry-go-round. But the lamps fell and the beasts were refocillated, and the wool was prepared and the [...]
And never ever ever a dull moment when it comes to translation of another’s passion and mind: “Lo sdrucciolo cuore che in me è ribelle,” or “The proparoxytone heart that is rebel in me,” from Amelia Rosselli’s Documento, indexing a heart whose antepenultimate syllable is stressed, as do words not often in Italian but in [...]
An apparition in Milan, her adolescent banks turning unliquid in a landed metropolis of lobbies requisite chic, reflected in the freshness of a cosmopolitan woman poet over twenty years of age— nearly “Christmas cake“— who composed pink difficulty (though unfortunately, in translation I was obliged to use the term “rose”). Nonprogress: in the brand-new vortextual [...]
Trip to the Ghetto fish market in tandem with translation of a “Panegyric to Liberty” —subtitle to Amelia Rosselli’s poemetto “The Libellula” (oscillation between libellula (dragonfly, corporal, adderfly) & liberty, libel, & libellare—Latin for setting into text) —yanking the classical eulogy, panegirico, down to earth as the giro del pane, or circuit of daily bread. [...]
Afternoon of rushed exposure to perspectives multieval into the exile of an author whose work arrived to me, a decade til recently, in practically biographiless, iconoclastic form, the box dragged across Rome vis-a-vis a friend’s mom, acquaintance, it turns out, vis-a-vis Emily D., with the highlight the certainty, glimpsing four angles in a small album, [...]
…And if limping paisans are these verses it is because we’re ready for another history we know perfectly well we’ll ultimately do without, the instinct for instantaneous rhyme lost because rhythm had ultimately been eyeing you from the start. —last lines of Amelia Rosselli, from “Impromptu”