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Jeremy's journal

The alternatives are not placid servitude on the one hand and revolt against servitude on the other. There is a third way, chosen by thousands and millions of people every day. It is the way of quietism, of willed obscurity, of inner emigration.

J.M. Coetzee


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Monday, July 18th, 2011

🦋 Counterfeits

My copy of the forthcoming issue of Two Lines -- journal of the Center for the Art of Translation -- arrived in today's mail. A nice feeling to see my name there; my translation of the first chapter of The Art of Resurrection is my first contribution to Two Lines, hopefully there will be more to come.

And -- well, this seems like some kind of sign to me, to me who is always looking for portents: The editor's note from Luc Sante mentions in its second sentence "the late Kenneth Koch, one of my greatest teachers" -- so soon after I'd been thinking about Koch in the context of translation...

posted evening of July 18th, 2011: 4 responses
➳ More posts about Translation

🦋 Nuez de Adán

La pareja sentada en el vagón del tren soltaba risitas y hablaba francés, discutía de lo que miraba en la pantalla del iPhone de la mujer. El hombre era alto y delgado, llevaba traje y corbata, y yo estaba mirando un poco divertido su nuez grande. Me preguntaba de qué hablaban, y me preguntaba si alcanzaría Penn Station a tiempo para tomar el tren a la casa. Su cuello largo estaba estirado mientras buscaba la pantalla pequeña que su amiga tenía en el regazo.

posted evening of July 18th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Writing Projects

Sunday, July 17th, 2011

🦋 Mountain Out, Valley Home: a visit to the farmer's market

Midway along last week's ride up to Eagle Rock, I had the thought that this would be a fun way to ride to Montclair, riding up Eagle Rock Ave. to Mountain Ave. and then down Bloomfield. (I normally ride through Orange, along the west side of Rosendale Cemetery, which is a nice ride of about 6 miles with not a lot of hills.) When Ellen said yesterday morning that she wanted to go over to the Montclair farmer's market and get some vegetables for dinner, my ears perked up... I ended up taking the Mountain Ave. route there and riding home through the valley with a bunch of veggies and some sausage and some bread on my back, about a 14-mile round trip. (Got mildly "lost" or off-course only twice, pretty good for Montclair -- I find the street layout there to be among the most confusing anywhere.)

This is the first time this summer I had been to the Montclair market, and I always forget how great it is, a bit more fun and lively than any of the other local farmer's markets (which are to be sure all organized by the same group and have many vendors in common) -- just something about the layout of this particular market and the vibe... Lunch today and yesterday was just tomatoes and bread, both bought from Vacchiano Farms -- the tomatoes in particular are the first good tomatoes I've had this season. My impulse is to say that they are the tastiest thing I have ever put in my mouth -- I think overstatement is a natural impulse when it comes to the first good tomatoes of the season. Suffice to say, they are spectacularly good tomatoes. Dinner yesterday was grilled eggplant and sausages, also from Vacchiano; their brocolli rabe sweet pork sausage is very nice on the grill. Dinner tonight will be summer squash and green beans; I am thinking now that I will make a curry with them.

posted afternoon of July 17th, 2011: 1 response
➳ More posts about Food

Friday, July 15th, 2011

🦋 Waking Poem

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow
He dreamt of his distributed weight
lying hair's-breadth by hair's-breadth this side of collapse
on the springs of his mattress; his linen-clad pillow,
the thousands of hairs on the nape of his neck; dreamt of
covers and sheets and the million thread count, the
mechanics of sleep, of the pale thunder moon, of the
gasp from his lungs as his body escapes
this cold matrix of wakefulness, bitterness, playfulness:
memories of nuzzling close in the arms of the
black grinning spectre of night.
Woke up this morning without much memory of the dream but with the strong impression that I had been dreaming about being asleep. Within a few minutes the poem had assembled itself in rough outline; over the next hour or so it came into a nice sharp focus.

The epigraph is from a villanelle by Roethke: one I did not know of until today. I like its sense and its sound. "I learn by going where I have to go."

Here is a link to several pieces I've posted over the last few months that I've been particularly happy with: Memories and Dreaming -- 7 original pieces plus 2 translations. Maybe if I get a couple more together, I will make a chapbook.

posted evening of July 15th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Dreams

Thursday, July 14th, 2011

🦋 Toda la narrativa es en primera persona

Un hombre flaco y con gafas de carey y una coleta marrón está todos los días de pie por delante de la estación del ferro-carril y vende con entusiasmo ramos mustios, marchitado por el sol del verano. Esta tarde me he pasado por su puesto y le he saludado y nosotros pasábamos unos minutos charlando sobre el calor extraño, intentaba me persuadir comprarte tulipanes cortados... Mataba el tiempo hasta el próximo tren, me había perdido el de siempre. Varios semanas ya ando siempre atrasado...

Texteé a tu celular que estuviera tarde; entré en la estación para ver si habían publicado ya la pista.

posted evening of July 14th, 2011: Respond
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🦋 No soy de aquí, ni soy de allá

Facundo Cabral died on Saturday, shot down in Guatemala while he was on tour. “Y que no te confundan unos pocos homicidas y suicidas, el bien es mayoría pero no se nota porque es silencioso. Una bomba hace más ruido que una caricia, pero por cada bomba que destruya hay millones de caricias que alimentan la vida.”

posted morning of July 14th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Obituaries

Tuesday, July 12th, 2011

🦋 ¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Pablo!


Come open up the door of my prison!

posted morning of July 12th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Pablo Neruda

Monday, July 11th, 2011

Two more poems from the "el maestro de Tarca" series:

EL MAESTRO DE TARCA (â…¦)

Con el oído atento
al fragor de las olas
y los vientos
el Maestro de Tarca
nos decía:

En el rencor del Lago
me parece oír
la voz de un pueblo.

EL MAESTRO DE TARCA (â…¦)

His ear turned, alert
to the clamor of the waves
and to the wind
el Maestro de Tarca
would tell us:

In the rancor of the Lake
I seem to hear
the voice of a nation.

EL MAESTRO DE TARCA (â…ª)

El maestro de Tarca
aconsejó al marinero:
Si tu pensamiento
alcanza menos
que tu corazón,
piensa dos veces:
La nave tiene
la vela a pájaros
y la quilla a peces.

EL MAESTRO DE TARCA (â…ª)

El maestro de Tarca
gave counsel to the sailor:
If your thoughts
cannot reach
as far as your heart,
then think two times:
Your ships possess
a sail, like birds
and a keel, like fish.
The four I have not yet made a stab at are going to remain untranslated for the nonce: #2 is a series of couplets about sailing conditions betokened by different cloud covers (after the manner of "Red sky at night, sailor's delight") -- I would not know where to begin with it. #5 warns of a tiny fish called La Pepesca, which will invade a sailor's body via his asshole and devour his innards. (Can't find any evidence pointing to this being a real thing? A couple of sites refer to the tetra astyanax fasciatus as "la pepesca" but they don't mention it being dangerous, which you'd think they would mention...) #6 is a long, attractive poem with advice for what to hunt and to cook during the summertime. #10 is similar to #2, but concerns sailing at night.

Besides these, the maestro makes a brief appearance in one of the final poems of the book, "The Islands", which is dedicated to Ernesto Cardenal. Here he is telling the people of the Lake a legend of a once and future king:

-- En Solentiname,
archipiélago de las codornices
pereció Tamagastad
contra los escollos de la Venadita.
Allí lloró la tribu a su héroe.
Allí todavía lloran los que pasan
esperando una antigua promesa.
Allí dice la leyenda
que ha de volver a su pueblo
con una palabra nueva.
-- In Solentiname,
archipelago where quails nest
Tamagastad bled out his life
on the reefs of Venadita.
His tribe wept there for its hero.
And all who pass by there still weep;
they're waiting on an ancient promise.
For legend tells us there
that he must come back to his people
bearing a new word.

posted evening of July 11th, 2011: 1 response
➳ More posts about Poets of Nicaragua

🦋 Mountain Station on stage

Ellen got some nice photos of us at the show last night -- click through for the slide show.

posted morning of July 11th, 2011: Respond
➳ More posts about Mountain Station

Sunday, July 10th, 2011

🦋 Songwriters' Circle: Mountain Station debuts

Me and John played our first show this afternoon! We were one of the featured groups at Michael Locker's Songwriters' Circle, at the Crossroads in Garwood -- there were five acts playing rotating sets of three songs apiece, we were on stage three times for a total of about 40 minutes of music -- way more than we've played before for an audience. (Sparse to be sure, but still.) Our set list:

  1. "Red Red Overalls" by Jeremy -- this song gets a little better and a little faster every time we play it.
  2. Praying Mantis by Don Dixon
  3. "Japanese Radio" by John and Jeremy -- we were extremely loose on this song and having a great time. We had never really worked out the arrangement with any precision and ended up not being sure, at a lot of points, whether we were going to go into a verse or a chorus or an instrumental -- but somehow it worked really well.
  4. NJ Transit by Jeremy
  5. Walk Right In by Cannon's Jug Stompers
  6. "Killer Diller Smile" by John
  7. Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan -- this was an encore in our second set when a guy in the audience asked us to play another song.
  8. Revelator by Gillian Welch
  9. "Meet Me in the Morning" by Bob Dylan
It was a great time. Also had a blast meeting and listening to the other musicians on the bill, including Christa Orefice and Anthony Rocha.

posted evening of July 10th, 2011: Respond
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