This Friday, in St. Louis, courtesy of Ignacio Infante and the Washington University Center for the Humanities: Mobility and Rootedness in Literature Symposium February 8, 2013 – 10:00am Umrath Hall, Umrath Lounge Keynote Address: “Writing in Translation” Rebecca Walkowitz, Associate Professor of English, Rutgers University, Walter Jackson Bate Fellow, Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study Followed [...]
Sisyphus, Outdone. Theatres of the Catastrophal, by Nathanaël, was launched into the world at the Corpse Space on Milwaukee Avenue last Wednesday evening, in the presence of the author and Daniel Borzutsky (my discussants in open conversation), and a sizeable yet intimate crowd. This is one of a score of books recently issued by Nathanaël, [...]
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.
Phoenixlike, and I am thrilled to be launching the Xs in this venerable fracas of a tome with a new entry on “xenoglossia” and the dream of a common language. To order, click to The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics….
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 [...]
Is another man’s mortar: from Hadrian to Maxentius along the Appian Way, frescoed sea-horse becomes filler for an unfinished throne room wall. Our archaeological Virgil through it all (drawings, lacunae-riddled plans, 3D scanners, holes full of dirt and equivocal chunks) enjoying his job exactly as much as one reckons he oughta.
Nature once again reflecting culture, making its own vertigo and mask for a friend in what remains of the ingeniously experimental Greek baths.
Before the famed memorials designed by Eisenmann and Lin, in 1985-89, rose Alberto Burri’s high concrete sacks of a citywide Cretto: grey foundations as petrifaction and geometrical shroud for the rubble of the town of Gibellina—Gibbiddina in Sicilian, from the Arabic Gebel Zghir (“small mountain/height”)—medieval in aspect, though founded before the Greek settlements of Magna [...]
“Non ci passa una lira,” says the lady we meet surveying her high plaza with diamond facade from the waist up, and who justifies our afternoon chocolates by identifying us as her “children” to a daughter several minutes later. Not a cent passes through here yet everywhere—pizzerias, baseball caps, banks—is the immense unidentified Hellenistic goddess [...]
Odescalchi, host of hushed stories of past horribleness, with dashboard, to be precise.
Unakin to the dogged determination of research leading in obedient step to professionalization, the navigation of cities and the production of poetry will always repay the errant seekings of curiosity off the Corso: look further, a second and a third time, for patterns, stances. Especially in Rome….
A fancied word so unfortunate in animation: in the woods punctuated by grazing fields for horses lined by modern sewers, the farthest reaches of the Aqua Paola (e Traiana), great outmoded infrastructural gift, at a tilt, leaking sporadic showers, and in expected picturesque disrepair: contemporary Ruskins our hunters from England hastening to capture the destruction [...]
And drawing as writing in the work of William Kentridge: the potential, I surmise in listening to this brilliant lecture and conversation, to reintroduce provisionality to a stultifying historical record, just as it’s constantly introduced to the Johannesburg landscape of burnt felt (charcoal terrain that draws itself) and mounds of hollow-fallout in crusades for gold: [...]
“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 [...]
And our favorite stone carver, who taught us so much about Rome, shows up on the other side of the world in another medium as our M and S did on East 10th, via an animate map at the tip of just-expired Mannahatta, timed for the 400th anniversary of Hudson’s voyage up the river. Diane [...]
Following an interview with Curtis Fox, further research into the vagaries of the word “wight,” from the first cherished line of Shakespeare’s sonnet 106: by his time it means not just creature, but ghost.
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 [...]
If only the latterday racists who pasted up the thankfully worn & bleaching anti-immigration posters in the neighborhood would take a look at The Emigrants depicted in 1895 by Angiolo Tommasi waiting to embark in Genova (at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna)—however romantic, in its display of backs and packages at large a later version [...]
Of St. John de Matha, founder of the Trinitarians: the aqueduct hermitage where he lived and died, on 17 December 1213, atop the Caelian hill, over the Arch of Dolabella, looks out onto San Tommaso in Formis, the Villa Celimontana, and the other tall curves of the Acqua Claudia, or Claudian Aqueduct—and the seemingly interminable, [...]
Why shouldn’t poems roll across the floor? From Emilio Villa’s The Rolling Balls: Hydrological Antistructures, With 6 Silkscreens (Rome: Edar, 1969), in collaboration with Silvio Craia and Giorgio Cegna….
And the breathless dust of realization that obsession with the language of Emilio Villa and his precursors so deep down and far (hyperpast) really could drive a reader madly into the underbelly of the moment, delightsomely.
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 [...]
Just as once at Pompeii, the name of a beloved grandfather appeared on a street sign, baffling and familiar, resonant of the claim that we could’ve been buried by Vesuvius had history cooperated to immortalize us, yesterday among the organized cracked lapidary list of relics of 2300 saints Pope Paschal housed in his version of [...]
In thinking through the title of Ezra Pound’s A Lume Spento, which cites Dante’s imagination of the unlit transmission of a heretic’s bones to the Verde River, the past days have been full of tides, startled by Lila’s dream of San Clemente full of water: the river Tevere, its eels and desecreated bodies, its healing [...]