Why is he, the one I'm thinking about, who is leaning
over a writing table, why is he so motionless, why
does he wait and listen for something to happen outside
of himself; how could anything give him instruction
in sorrow or bring an end to the endless succession
of doubts moving through him? All around him are mere
routines of veiled melancholy; and the opposite side
of the street, in its formless silence, wears an statement
so uncommonly empty and so unpleasant that in his
suffering he gratefully seizes on the rattle of a
carriage on the paving stones as the point of departure
from this moment to the next.
Proč ten, na koho myslím, jenž sklání se nad psacím stolem, proč je tak nehybný, proč čeká a naslouchá, že se něco stane vně něho; jako by mu mohla nějaká věc dát pokyn v zármutku a závěr té nekonečné řady nejistot, jež jím prochází. Všechny věci kol něho jsou pouze zvyky zastřené melancholií; jen protější stěna ulice má v beztvarém tichu výraz neobyčejně hloupý a tak nepříjemný, že trpě s povděkem chápe se hrkotu drožky na dlažbě jako východiska z této vteřiny k příští.
At 4 am she found herself under
the Broadway Bridge, Mrs. Harney said. Mama said that
the woman got no right talking about who done what
and where. Mrs. Harney come from a good family, Mama
said, but they all gone now. Just poor old Mrs. Harney
left. I wondered where families go, I been thinking
about that. Mrs. Harney lives in a nice house. She
got pretty lace on the windows and Mama keeps it so
clean your sneakers squeak on the floor. I go to Mrs.
Harney's after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That's
when Mama cleans. But Mama only really cleans in the
morning. After lunch she just usually talks with Mrs.
Harney. Mama says Mrs. Harney's a lonely old woman.
I ask Mama why Mrs. Harney ain't got people visiting
her? Mama tells me ain't ain't a word.
I By Venus Khoury-Ghata
Translated by Marilyn Hacker
In those days I know now words declaimed
besides pebbles, there were moons, but no lamps
the stars would emerge later from a brawl between
Dan Castellaneta, who is the voice
of Homer on The Simpsons, and I have long been fans
of each other's work. I was impressed by his versatility
as an actor on The Tracy Ullman Show, as well as his
live appearances with an improvisational troupe and
his own one-person, multi-character show. He in turn
enjoys my writing and has attended several of my stand-up
performances. So, when Danny Goldberg, who runs Artemis
Records, invited me to do another album, I felt comfortable
asking Castellaneta if he would consider introducing
me in Homer's voice. He said it would be "an
honor and a pleasure." I was very excited.
1942. 'One cannot always like the
unfortunate.' The second secretary from the British
Embassy, Gareth Whitebrook, whom Iakobos has been
deputed to see, makes this remark as if it established
something in common between them. Neutral tone, neutral
ground; nothing personal; on we go then, you and I.
They are on a quayside on the Bosphorus; two men allotted
the same short straw. Iakobos frowns, as if the English
language, not the messenger who speaks it, were what
puzzled him. 'Nothing more H.M.G. can do.' Having
done what? Official sentence is passed; full stop.
I. nods in disagreement.
Here To There FELINE ITINERARY By Luisa Valenzuela
Translated by Jonathan Tittler
Read this in - english
I was a shipwreck on Lake Titicaca
- Nicanor Parra.
Forgiving everything I shall go out and populate the
world with deathcats. That's certainly required in
Rome, for example, or in Chucuito: there people don't
die they morph eternally like flies they morph. In
Chucuito I saw an old lady turn into a stone, a stone
into an old lady, old lady into stone, and so forth
until all the ruins were human beings and the human
beings, ruins. As it always goes. But I will be magnanimous
and making the enormous sacrifice I will take the
cats to Chucuito so they eat the fish in the lake,
which are dead, and fulfill their destiny.
Y naurague en el lago Titicaca -
Perdonándolo todo saldré a poblar el
mundo con gatos de la muerte. Buena falta le hacen
a Roma por ejemplo, o a Chucuito: allí la gente
no se muere perdura eternamente como moscas se transforma.
En Chucuito vi a una vieja convertirse en piedra,
a una piedra en vieja, a una vieja in piedra, y así
como en cadenas hasta que todas las ruinas fueron
seres humanos y los seres humanos, ruinas. Como siempre
sucede. Pero yo seré benévola ya costa
de enormes sacrificios llevaré los gatos a
Chucuito para que coman los peces del lago, que está
muerto, y cumplan su designio.
Chuck Palahniuk was telling me he'd
just finished Lullaby, "the book for next year."
It was a dreary November day & the book's release
was still nine or ten months away. A big theme of
the book, he said, "is what we think of as nature
- isn't natural. Nature is so filled with invasive
plants and animals that I begin to question if I've
ever seen a natural place that wasn't in some way,
if not completely, replaced by the invasive culture.
It's things that people don't want to know but I find
myself having to know them."