This whole week is all about: getting sick / trying not to get sick.
The conference I've been at is now over. Our booth was located near the door, and I was never able to figure out if the insidious & continuous gusts of wind were coming in through 1) the gaping, open door funneling air from a long hallway or 2) what looked liked gigantic vents from the ceiling right above us. I think this air was meant to filter the entire conference hall. This is good in that we were breathing the cleanest of the air but very, very bad in that talking from 9am-5pm without a break to prospective authors in the middle of a wind tunnel is not the best for fighting off The Troubles. If you ignore the cough, my voice is rather sultry now. I've always wanted a sultry voice.
Yesterday someone sincerely told me, "It's not uncomplicated."
Yes, yes, it's complicated.
Is it possible to use the phrase "oily wren," "not uncomplicated," and "Toyotathon my favorite word" all in the same poem?
I might try.
Is it weird to say I want a poem to read like a strobe light?
Anyways, I am waiting for these three books to come in the mail:
Ashes for Breakfast
by Durs Grünbein
Translated by Michael Hofmann
The Curved Planks
Poems / A Bilingual Edition
by Yves Bonnefoy
Translated from the French by Hoyt Rogers
Foreword by Richard Howard
In the Western Night
Collected Poems, 1965-1990
by Frank Bidart
Why not? We shall see. I hope they arrive next week.
I'm doing this at 4pm tomorrow:
New York City
Saturday, March 29, 4 p.m.
Rodrigo Toscano and Mark Wallace
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery @ Bleecker, right across from CBGB's and
just north of Houston.
For more details, including directions:
I'm going to be in my office most of this weekend. Send me emails & comments & babysnakes to keep me company. Ok? Hopefully I will remember to make myself a mix tape to blast while I'm here. The benefit of working on a weekend is you get to unabashedly adulterate the quiet.