Reviews: Guerilla Blues & Beowulf

Guerrilla Blues
Alessandra Bava


People tend to think writers give their friends good reviews because they're pals; the truth is you become friends with people who write stories or poems that inspire you to be better, to do more, to aim for dizzying heights. My jester -- the poet of Rome -- Alessandra's new collection offers wonderful evidence of that. Inspired by poets and revolutionaries the poems converse with everyone from Che Guevara and Simone Weil to Artaud, the Beats, Akhmatova and Pasolini. All are people who burned with inspiration and a revolutionary zeal.

That's the fire that burns through these verses. This dual language edition shows how Bava shines with incendiary passion in both Italian and English. Setting aside the incredible skill that speaks to (composing poetry in one's childhood tongue proves challenging enough, but to practise the art in another tongue --) the inherent desire to find as wide an audience as possible. In Bava's hand poetry is not a detached art of the drawing room, but a call to the barriers and a shout in the streets.

Burn writing to the stake &
immolate yourself in the form of
Poetry. Then, like Phoenixes,
rise in the form of Action.

Every line forms a potential molotov, from the titular poem's description of "Tattered books / of flesh as bomb / shrapnel / bleeding truth" and the ringing lines of "Sons of Disobedience" with its lines of fury, flesh and teeth. "This is No Chimera" speaks to the forces of acquiescence and conformity that press upon us all, maintaining that "The only requirement / is to believe in / hazardous deeds" lest we turn into Gregor Samsa-like bugs as "Wake Up!" warns, too.

It's all part of her "Rules of Poetry" (which also gives the name to her blog) which include "be fearless" as well as "demand respect" but most of all "kill indifference" because in the end

demand attention:
the poet is You.

Beowulf
adapted by Joshua Gray
illustrated by Sean Yates

As a medievalist, I always despair of people's dismissal of the time especially early works like this epic poem. Most people -- if they're exposed to it at all -- get it in school, taught very badly by someone who likewise knows nothing about the poem and its context. I wish I had a dime for every student who expressed surprise at the poem being nothing like they encountered in high school (hmmm, maybe I do...). So I'm always pleased to see attempts to introduce readers to the poem in new ways. Gray and Yates' volume attempts to bring the old story to new, young readers with bold illustrations and a simplified story.

The illustrations capture a dark mood of adventure; they're sufficiently gruesome though only suggestively so -- safe for parents, inviting for younger readers. Gray's text reduces the story to a speedy series of adventures in the conquering of the three monsters with efficiency and some flair. Hrothgar's "sermon" gets boiled down to its essentials: don't let pride rule, when you're king you're responsible for more than just your fame. The publicity materials refer to this as a "verse adaptation" but it reads like prose, but the language is lively enough to be engaging.

There are some contextual errors that made me give very Biggs-ian head snaps: wet suit?! Surely even a child completely ignorant of the time period would know that a wet suit is a very modern invention. A sword does not go into a "holster" and Heorot is not a "castle" in any way. None of these anomalies are quite as egregious as the mistakes in Cigale's introduction conflating time periods, clearly unfamiliar with the difference between a scop and a bard, and missing the cadence of half-lines. But he highlights one lynchpin of this adaptation: the eternal bond between fathers and sons and "all men", which is apparently the aim of all storytelling.

Because there are, of course, no women in this telling of the story (monsters excepting).

I feel like banging my head against the wall again. Why is it the 11th century monks who wrote this story down in England can have more regard for the importance of women than 21st century (seemingly) secular men? It's not as insulting as the Zemeckis film, where women are reduced to powerless concubines, but I'm mystified by this need to completely remove women from the story in order to glorify men. Is that really the message to give your sons? That they somehow exist outside the world of women and girls? I hope not.

Writer Wednesday: Alessandra Bava

A couple bits of news before we get to La Bava: the fabulous Dana Fredsti will be stopping by the Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse on the 19th of this month with prizes (as if she wasn't a gift herself). Also I managed to miss the release of Dogcast #5 which features my piece "Words" right at the start of the podcast.

I'm delighted to welcome my friend, Alessandra Bava, poet and translator (who just revealed that she will be translating for Tom Stoppard next week, leaving me pea green with envy!). Alessandra was born in Rome in “the year of the barricades.” She holds an MA in American Literature and manages her own translation agency. In 2010 she had a cathartic encounter with SF poet laureate Jack Hirschman and she is currently writing his biography. Over 50 of her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in several journals and anthologies. Her first bilingual poetry chapbook, Guerrilla Blues, has just been published by Edizioni Ensemble. We appear side by side in the Occupy Wall Street Poetry Anthology (which is looking to publish in print, you can help).

Q: What do you write on? Computer, pad o' paper, battered Underwood? Give us a vivid picture.

I write on anything. From pieces of paper to pads to my laptop. I always carry pen and pad on me, but I have also learnt to use my cell phone in case of “emergency.” Muses can be frivolous! I do not have a writing desk, since I write wherever and whenever, even at work occasionally. Managing a translation agency is a great job because it is a great linguistic exercise. Translating from one language into another is a very creative process, as it forces you to recreate a text in your own language. It’s both frustrating and rewarding. It’s both heaven and hell, very much like writing at times.

Q: Do you listen to music while you write? Does it influence what you write?

Music inspires me in many different ways, but I seldom listen to music when I write. I hammer words and make enough interior noise as to require my listening abilities to be fully available. I follow my inner rhythm: writing to me is like singing – so I must concentrate on my own voice.


Q: Do you write in short bursts or carve out long periods of time to work? Is it a habit or a vice?

Poems usually come to me unasked, whether short or long. A word or a sentence pops into my head and usually turns into a poem, often as it is meant to be. I do very little editing. I so wish writing could be a habit, but I can’t afford to be a professional writer and devote 8 hours per day to writing. I am a vicious amateur.

Q: What writer would you most want to read your work? What would you want to hear them say?

I feel lucky for having had poets Jack Hirschman and Agneta Falk read my poems and appreciating them. Jack even wrote the introduction to Guerrilla Blues. What he said and wrote makes me happy in ways I find hard to express in words. I honestly look forward to receiving some critical feedback now. Too much praise won’t do me much good as a writer.

Q: On the days where the writing doesn't go so well, what other art or career do you fantasize about pursuing instead?

I so wish I could draw or paint or even play an instrument, but I can’t. If I lived in the 19th century I would be considered a very unaccomplished lady, I fear.


Q: What do you read? What do you re-read?

I have read and re-read an impressive number of poetry collections in the course of the last 2 years, but I’m attacking fiction again. I’m currently reading DeLillo’s Cosmopolis and George Sand’s Letters.

Q: Where did the idea for Guerilla Blues come from? Do you have a surefire way of sparking inspiration?

I was looking for a publisher for an Anthology of Rome’s Revolutionary Poets Brigade (a group of 10 poets living or aspiring to live permanently in Rome inspired by Jack Hirschman’s RPB in San Francisco that include the undersigned and John Claude Smith as well). And, when I met Matteo (the publisher of Edizioni Ensemble) to talk to him about the project last December, I gave him some of my poems to read. He loved them and decided to make a real book out of them. This is how Guerrilla Blues was born. In other words, it was a collection of poems that I believed worked well together triggered by my idea of poetry as a means of “disobedience” to awaken consciences in our too often “sleeping” world.

 

SONS OF DISOBEDIENCE

Like Thoreau

      I believe that things

            don’t change, but that

               we can and must

change. With superb fury,

      we fight liminally,

          peripherally,

               deliberately.

The Armed Voice

     inspires us,

        unites us,

            re-unites us.

                  We garrison arsenals

                  of poetry and we fear

                  not to be taken to the

                  stocks: words, naked

                  craving flesh,

            bones, dripping

        lines, teeth sunk in

  bowels of sense

         

                     and dissent.

              Hands and hips

   drowned in truth’s

blood

                    ready to give birth

             to several leaves—ready

       to give birth to several

  sons—of DISOBEDIENCE.

Find Alessandra at her blog as well as on Facebook and Twitter. And get yourself a copy of Guerilla Blues: it's simply incendiary as the best poetry always is. Grazie!

Interview & Friday's Forgotten Book

Hey, that's me over at Book Reel talking about book trailers, my prodigious output and where I get my ideas (not Schenectady!). I had a terrific time answering the questions, so stop by and leave a comment if you're of a mind to and feel free to share the link where you can. Help me claw my way out of obscurity!

If you haven't already heard, the fabulous Alessandra Bava has a bilingual collection of poetry out, Guerrilla Blues. Her work is amazing: passionate, vivid, fearless. I can't wait to get my copy!

FRIDAY'S FORGOTTEN BOOK: Somebody Owes Me Money

Talk about prodigious outputs! Donald E. Westlake is a legend. Over a hundred novels, many under pseudonyms, mostly in crime but also in other genres as well. He was in the back of mind from some conversation this past week, so when I went to the library this week to return books I checked to see if they had any Westlake and sure enough, they did (not that my shiny shiny iPad Rook isn't groaning with books to be read >_<). This one looked like fun.

First published in 1969, Somebody Owes Me Money got this shiny new edition from Hard Case Crime in 2008. The main character is the hapless Chet Conway, cab driver and inveterate gambler. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he generally catches on eventually. There's something fun about writing a character that's going to be less swift than the reader and Chet fills the bill. The brilliant opening line plays with the gradual reveal: "I bet none of it would have happened if I wasn't so eloquent."

What happens is that Chet gets the tip of a lifetime, scores big, goes round to his bookie Tony and finds him dead. And then Tony's wife arrives and eventually the police and things don't look so good. Chet manages to get the police to believe he didn't kill Tony, but the next thing you know the bookie's sister Abbie arrives with a gun in hand, sure he did murder her brother and ready to get revenge.

Chet and Abbie make a winning pair, bickering and working at cross-purposes; she's way out of his league and Chet's constantly surprised to find her in the vicinity. If it weren't for Abbie, he'd have bought it in the first few chapters, which brings out his chivalrous desire to protect her, though as even he realises, "Abbie McKay was no helpless damsel in distress. She could take care of herself, that girl, I was sure of it."

Fun stuff: suspense, twists and turns as well as laugh out loud moments. Full of those nice little touches that give a richness to the story and fill in its world, like everyone arriving out of breath from the long walk up to Jerry's fifth floor apartment or the insane insurance calculations that obsess Chet's dad. Well worth a ride.

See all the FFB recommendations over at Patti Abbott's blog.

Whoosh, Whomp & Whoogah

Photo by Eileen Smith

Okay, sue me -- I love alliteration. It's the Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse poetry what are to blame. Besides, these are words that are fun to say out loud. Go on, do it. I'll wait.

Okay? So the "whoosh" is because January is nearly done. Eeek! How has the first month of 2012 passed by so quickly? I suppose starting off the year with a fun visit from Miss Wendy and then beginning to teach a course has something to do with that. And I have been writing madly, too. Another whoosh must be the wings of the now-captured Clepington Owl, so alas, I will not get a chance to see her when I get back to Dundee shortly. I'm sure the cats are glad. Yes, more PR from the zeitgeist in advance of Owl Stretching. Hope to hear the release date soon!

I have a short story up at Short-Story.Me -- a little gruesome tale called "Yuletide Feast" that probably would have been a little more timely last month, but you know how it is. I actually wrote this years ago and recently discovered that it had not been published (how does that go, you may ask: well, scrolling through my Stories folder looking for something that I can't remember what title I gave >_< and seeing a title that I also don't remember... see why I need minions?!) and sent it off. Bingo. 

I have also received an award from the lovely Jeanne Andrew: The Versatile Blogger Award. The rules of this harmless bit of fun are: to thank those that nominated you; to copy-and-paste the award logo in your own blog; to tell your readers seven random facts about you; and to nominate further blogs that you follow, and let them know.

Right, here goes: Thank you, Funny Girl Jeanne. You are a delight of my Twitter timeline :-)



Seven random things about me:

1) My favourite thing on the new iPad: bongos! Seriously.
2) I watched Jaws for the umpteenth time last night and it never gets old.
3) I like to sing along with Dusty Springfield and make all her dramatic arm gestures.
4) I wish I could have met Peter Cook just once, to see those eyes and hear that laugh.
5) I want to write sparkling prose that will live forever; I get around the anxiety and paralysis this causes by telling myself, "Well, not today obviously."
6) There is an indestructible happiness inside me.
7) I don't know where the stories I write come from; I just try to be friends with my head, as the great Russell Hoban put it, and simply write down what it tells me. So far, that's been working out.

Right: so here are some blogs you ought to be checking out, i.e the award winners! Some of these will be to give a kick in the muse for the folks I point to, as they have been neglectful of their blogs [gives severe look]. I see Mr B has already received one recently, so I won't add him to the list, but you should always drop by his gaff for some laffs (yes, spelled that way).

Lochee has has not updated his blog since posting some fetching pictures of Karen Gillan. Tsk!

The fabulous QoE always has some wonderful new art up. Stop by and show her the love.

Miss Wendy will surely have some stories to share about her visit here soon.

The poet of Rome, Alessandra, always has lovely things to share. Her sweetie, John, always has some darkness to offer, too.

The lovely jubbly Chloë also has a blog! She will delight and amuse you.

Have you checked out the Apocalypse Girls? If not, why not! And while you're at it, be sure to drop by UnBound to catch up on all the latest. They will be covering Alt.Fiction, where I will be doing a one-on-one with Graham Joyce (gulp!) about the darkness of fairy tales, as well as another explaining why pretty much all Alan Moore adaptations suck -- and probably reading some flash fiction in the open mic.

The usual suspects: if you're reading my blog, chances are you already read Todd, Patti and Elena as well: if you don't I simply have to ask, Are you mad?! Hee. You have all been given the versatile blogger award: no speeches required, just take a moment to reflect on the work that you've done and pat yourself on the back.

Well, that should give the rest of you plenty to get started reading. Are you blogging? Do I know that? Should you be sending me a link? That's the thing: we're all busy people. I won't know you've written something unless you tell me (see how I trumpet every little thing here). Share your words -- that's why you write, isn't it? Whoogah!

Know-vember: Alessandra

The lovely poet of Rome, monarch of Pandemonium, translator extraordinaire and jester full of sprezzatura -- yes, it's La Bava! How she brightens my days simply by being her extraordinary self. She was my hostess in Rome who took me to all the dazzling sights and fed me the very finest food, most of it at her own table along with her handsome son, the knight Edoardo, and the delightful royal taster, Ghibli the Dalmatian. You must see some of her fabulous poetry and why not check out her devoted partner John, who took this lovely photo of Ale during their holiday in Umbria, Lazio & Tuscany.

1. What's the first thing you do upon waking in the morning?

I curse the alarm clock since it’s usually 5.30 am, then I shower, I get dressed and at that point I am in dire need of coffee. Not to mention the fact that there is a hairy mister wagging its tail demanding to be fed!

2. What's a song you might be persuaded to dance to?

No song in particular, rather the disco dance of the Seventies.

3. Where in the world do you live?

In the most charming spot of the planet. A place also known as the Eternal City.

4. What's a great night out for you?

A happy hour or dinner out somewhere in the center with the people I love and/or with friends.

5. What's a great night in?

Excellent food and wine, a movie and fireworks in the pink room.

6. If you were offered an all expenses paid trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

I would head to St. Petersburg, Moscow and the Article Circle to experience the Aurora Borealis. Japan and Patagonia would be next on my wish list.

7. What book do you wish everyone would read so you could talk about it?

Any of Dostoevsky’s works. It’s one of the authors whose entire works I have read and re-read over the last 30 years.

8. What movie makes you cry?

Many do. Bright Star, to name one. But, Million Dollar Baby is the movie that really had me cry my heart out.

9. What makes you laugh?

Witticism of any kind and my dalmatian -- he is a comedian in disguise. By the way, John and I laugh ALL the time! [Ed: I am unsurprised ;-)]

10. Are there fairies at the bottom of your garden?

Of course! But, the malicious house kobold is the sprite I am more fond of. 

Thank you, my dear!

Publications: Mandrake & Magpies/Songs of Defiance

Just back from a visit with Elena, Rod and Lydia in Dublin where we also managed to run into Bono, Michale Bublé -- and more importantly @sirthopas and Pádraig. Pictures soon! I've also got some good news to share on the publication front.

First, my short story "Mandrake and Magpies" -- the first story to be set in Galway! -- has just appeared in the first international noir anthology, Dark Pages from Trestle Press' new imprint. The ebook is available on Amazon for just $2.99 and gives you a wealth of terrific works from a terrific group of writer including my pal Mr B, who also made an off-hand reference to the classic overwrought pop anthem "MacArthur Park" in his story.

I'm sure my ongoing obsession with magpies surprises no one; the "mandrake" part may be more obscure, but it's a reference to a Fall lyric by MES (of course, I hear you say) and actually featured first in a 140 word story I wrote (still floating around out there somewhere). I feel a bit nervous about having my first story set in Ireland out there, but I had fun making use of the areas I know pretty well now (and making a small swipe at the Gardai immigration office, grrrr). Fun!

And I think my contribution to the Drunk on the Moon series will be out this coming week: It's a Curse which is, ah, also named after a Fall song (>_<). Heh.

On a different tack, the lovely Alessandra Bava and I appear together (literally! on adjoining pages) in the Occupy Wall Street Poetry Anthology. A wonderful cause and the collection made more poignant by the brutal destruction of the OWS library by police the other night. Ale's piece "Sons of Disobedience" appears in both English and Italian. My "Songs of Defiance" originally appeared in the Bayou Review and was composed after the 2004 election, when despair filled the corridors of UHD. The fight never ends.

Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Derek Jarman's Caravaggio

What can I say? One of my favourite painters in all the world (and I repeat unending thanks to Alessandra for taking me around to see the Caravaggios in the little churches of Rome). A glorious young Tilda Swinton plus Nigel Terry looking rough, Sean Bean, Robbie Coltrane, Michael Gough. Jarman's eye captures it all with a brilliant palette that mimics Caravaggio's earthy voluptuousness. Get the film. Watch it.

See the rest of the roundup over at Todd's blog (yes, in haste today, much to do).

Rome: Pretty as a Picture

I've just begun to add the pictures: the process turns out to be a slow one, by means of the travel computer, mostly because I have to keep trying to clear memory on it. Then I have to upload pictures one at a time because I can't use up memory by downloading the little helper program. But slowly and surely, they're getting there! Take a look at the slideshow and enjoy a little armchair travel. If you click in the middle of the picture, it should open up full size in another page.

Caravaggios, Artichokes and Agnes' Skull

First off I have to say this is Alessandra's photo. I tried to get the pictures off the camera and onto my travel computer only to find that it overloaded the memory and now I can't upload them to the web. Argh. So kind thanks to Alessandra and she's started writing a blog, so you should check it out :-)

On the second day, we wandered down to the Jewish Ghetto area where the Theatre of Marcellus can be found as well as the fabulous restaurants with giant displays of artichokes. The roasted artichoke we had with lunch was so good! I can still taste it, mmm. All the food was good, but I have generally thought of artichokes as far too much work to be worth it, but this inspired me to make one when I got home. Nowhere as good, but still tasty. My favourite fountain, the tortoise one, is near here in Piazza Mattei (and apparently Bernini added the tortoises!).

The amazing thing about the Caravaggios in Rome is that so many of them are where they were intended to be: in churches. Small churches -- dark chapels in the small churches! The Basilica di Sant'Agostino and the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi that day. When you walk in the church you can always tell where the Caravaggios are because there's a knot of people all staring up. To light up the space there's usually a little box for you to throw your euros in and then the light comes back, so it's a amusing to watch the mini-drama each time the light goes out. Who will be the first to put a coin in the box?

What can I say about the paintings? To see Caravaggios where they were meant to be, to contemplate them in baroque churches that were chock full of gold and art and massive pillars and ornamentation? I always loved the line in Brideshead where Charles talks about being "insular and medieval" in his tastes and how Italy converted him to the Baroque. I won't say I've been converted, but I was certainly dazzled time and time again. One of the truly spectacular things about seeing Rome with Alessandra is that we could turn any corner and she would say, "oh, there's something you must see here." We would step inside a small stone church and suddenly a Baroque paradise! How were the Caravaggios? Indescribably awe inspiring. You'll just have to go to Rome and see for yourself.

We saw the Pantheon and marveled at how lovely it looks still -- as Michaelangelo said, "the work of angels not men." Then wandered over to the Piazza Navona, once a stadium for sports, home of an amazing Bernini fountain, Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi -- partly inspired by the artist's desire to show his superiority to his rival, Boromini, or so the story goes. The fabulous Palazzo Pamphili overlooks the piazza and it's also home to the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone. Agnes' chapel was open, so we had the chance to peek at her little skull. Agnes was a popular figure in medieval martyrologies, patron of chastity and gardeners, always pictured with her little lamb. People wanted to touch her and feel some reflected glory -- the way that people want to grasp at celebrities now.

Bella Roma: the video!

Bella Roma

In the nineteenth century, wealthy Americans went on "The Grand Tour" of Europe, visiting famous historical and artistic sites and hoping to run into other wealthy Americans whom they might marry or titled aristocrats if they wanted a little more social cachet. Now we Americans run off for our ever-so-brief holidays and hope for nothing more than keepsakes. My eyes were the chief repository of keepsakes: the glory of Rome fills your vision and the colors of that golden afternoon light live in memory. The extraordinary blue of the sky, the yellows and oranges -- breathtaking!

The flight over from Philadelphia was not only sold out, but there was a large contingency from a Baptist college, including one ebullient young woman right behind me who could not be more excited about going to Italy. Fortunately I had earplugs so I could get some sleep -- once the grumpiest man in Italy changed seats with his wife so his very loud music didn't resound quite so harshly. Most folks tried to get some shut-eye on the flight, but some of the Baptists were too excited to sleep and kept up a steady stream of chatter, that I only heard when waking occasionally. I got enough sleep that while I was groggy on the first day, I was fine by the second. I bet the Baptists were dragging, however.

How wonderful to land in a country for the first time and be greeted by friends :-) Alessandra and her son Edoardo met me outside customs and whisked me away to their lovely home. After a little refreshing, we headed out to the Baths of Caracalla, that gathering place of old Rome where Keats and Shelly found inspiration. You can see where the pools stretched out, hot and cold, gymnasium and more. Some of the mosaics remain, though most of the statues had been taken away to museums or homes long ago. It's a beautiful spot and like so many landmarks of the ancient world, nestling right in the heart of the busy city. In Rome the ancient and the modern live comfortably side by side. NB: Alessandra and Edo took these pictures. I find that the camera I borrowed from Catherine does not speak to Macs, so once I get that sorted out, I will post mine.

Not too far away lies the Protestant Cemetery, final resting place of both Keats and Shelley as well as other notables and home to many cats! There are cats all over the place in Rome, especially at burial grounds it seems. More on the cats later. We stopped by Shelley's grave which is also by Gregory Corso's and Shelley's friend Trelawney's. Nearby is the famous Angel of Grief. I suppose Edo and I look a little too happy here, but we were having fun despite the light rain. The beautiful spring flowers  brought color to the greenery, especially the lovely violets on Keats grave. The cats peeked through the gravestones everywhere and the amazing pyramid overlooked the scene. It's quite a sight to see.

For a more unusual sight, we headed over to the Centrale Montemartini museum. On the way we saw a rather wet cat riding on the shoulders of a scooter driver -- quite amazing! Rome is full of surprises. Here's the thing: when you travel, be guided by one who knows. Alessandra seems to know everything about her beloved city, and can turn any corner and have something interesting to show you. I never got over my amazement at her encyclopedic knowledge! I usually have a good sense of direction, but Rome is such a sprawling organic tangle that I found it impossible to keep oriented, but delights permeate the city. One of them is this fantastic power station that's been turned into a museum. At first it seems incongruous to see classical statues from gardens and temples ranged in front of turbines. But these are the engines of our lives, both the practical and the creative. Here's me with the Muse Polyhymnia, trying to look thoughtful and inspired. Not too difficult! This trip has replenished my muses for sure!

Videos to come soon...

Re-Entry: A Challenge

Hundreds of emails and more to wade through: bear with me and for the moment, enjoy this lovely photo Alessandra took of me at the top of the Spanish steps with my "Bright Star" badge from the Keats house and Rome behind me. Pictures, videos and more to come!

Ciao, Bella!

UPDATE: read my review of the Winter's Bone soundtrack over at Night and Day, the Spectator's Arts blog.

Yes, I am off to Rome today assuming all goes well. I have my boarding passes printed and surely I will be all packed and ready (!). I am not taking a computer with me (gasp!) except for Ianto the iTouch (mostly so I have music on the flight). So, I'm not sure how much I will be online. So I'm going to put the Twitter feed here as that's an easy way to check in and if I can, you will see what I am up to. I'm returning late on the 9th and I'm sure I will have much to share upon my return. Arrivederci, America!

BitchBuzz: The Value of Telling Your Own Story

Oh my! A week from today I will be in ROME with the lovely Alessandra! I can hardly believe it and so must redouble my efforts to make sure everything that needs to be done is done. Deep breath. I can do it! Yes, yes. But I'm so excited :-) and yes, doubtless I will have one of my many travel journals with me to record everything. Well, not everything -- that's never possible. However, I agree with Socrates about that unexamined life thing. I tend to write in my journal in the morning when I first wake up, sometimes capturing a dream before it fades. I find it an extraordinary gift to be able to see parts of my past in such vivid detail in my old journals. It's never too late to start up!

The Value of Telling Your Own Story

By K.A. Laity

Even if no one else every reads them, there's value in recording our own histories.

In one of those zeitgeist ripples, BBC Radio 4 was completing the second series of its programme My Teenage Diary when the Morgan Library and Museum opened its exhibition, The Diary: Three Centuries of Private Life. While we tend to focus on the journal writing of famous people—hoping they unveil juicy secrets or heretofore unknown connections between the public and private spheres—the fact is diary writing remains a great resource for anyone. Inappropriate thoughts, fears, fantasies, hopes, goals can all fill the pages of the diary without repercussion. It's like a best friend but without the dubious advice and possibility of gossip.

As the curator for the Morgan writes,

For centuries, people have turned to private journals to document their days, sort out creative problems, help them through crises, comfort them in solitude or pain, or preserve their stories for the future. As more and more diarists turn away from the traditional notebook and seek a broader audience through web journals, blogs, and social media, this exhibition explores how and why we document our everyday lives.

The advantage of being able to manage the divide between public and private in our revelations has only increased the use of online blogs and journals. The tension between the privacy locks you can put on your LiveJournal and the brash confidence of letting your thinking evolve aloud in the public forum of a blog has changed many of the ways we divide public and private space...

Read the rest: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/the-value-of-telling-your-own-story.html#ixzz1EtHm3gtk

Things to Celebrate

UPDATE: I'll be reading as the narrator for the College of Saint Rose Women's Initiative's presentation of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues Saturday night at 7pm. The show plays on Sunday at 3pm with my fabulous colleague and friend Angela Ledford as narrator. Tickets benefit Equinox. Girls Next Door will be performing at the interval.

The desk wombat announces (though the odd angle makes it look like a two-legged creature, eh?) that there is some news to share. First, that my William Blake-inspired short story "Eating the Dream" has received the FEMSPEC: The Best of the Second Five Years first prize in fiction. They're going to announce the prizes at the Popular Culture Association Conference in San Antonio and also at Wiscon, but I won't be able to be there. FEMSPEC also gave prizes for criticism, memoir and poetry. A big party has been planned to celebrate. Congratulations to all the winners!

The other good news is that I have my ticket to Rome for spring break where I will be staying with the fabulous Alessandra. I can't wait! I've never been to Italy. I was hoping to go last fall, but things didn't quite work out. So tell me your useful Italian phrases and recommendations! I definitely want to see the Caravaggios and probably the Coliseum and the catacombs and who knows? Dance in the Trevi Fountain! I want to relax and eat good food and drink good wine and laugh and talk. Whatever happens, I'm sure I will have a wonderful time.

Kit Marlowe has been busy, too, talking about making book trailers at Tease Publishing's blog and she'll be reading from The Mangrove Legacy for the Tuesday Talking Teaser this coming week over at JoJo's Books.TODAY! Kit is the Friday Guest at Isabel Roman's blog: stop by!

Alessandra Bava: In Quest of Poetry

I want to introduce you all to a very special friend, my jester nonpareil, Alessandra: Translator, scholar, poet, insightful reader, bon vivant, fount of sprezzatura. I can't wait until we meet face to face at last when I visit Rome this summer (all too briefly!). She tells us about one of her favourite spots in her city, one I'm sure a lot of you will love, too.

In quest of poetry...
...when in Rome.

Those who have been fortunate enough to visit the Eternal city have certainly found themselves reading , deciphering, questioning, interpreting , admiring and eventually falling under the spell of its breathtaking beauties. As no other city in the world, Rome may be compared to an immortal poet who -- over the course of the millennia -- has been very busy penning probably the most spectacular of all poems on its unparalleled monuments and dipping the nib in deep, rich hues, such as pink and ochre. A native to this spectacular city, I myself cannot help being seduced on a daily basis by the ethereal grace and the poetical nature of the places that surround me.

Given my love for poetry, I would like to introduce you to one of the most poetical places that this city holds in her very heart. A place full of wonders. A sort of secret garden which invites people to spend one's time absorbed in deep contemplation and reveries. Many will probably fret at my choice, since it is the least roman -- not to mention the fact that it is also the least catholic -- of all the monuments. Some would probably not even consider it as a monument in its own right. But, despite all, this cannot be helped: the Protestant Cemetery of Rome is the one that holds such a special place in my heart, so much so as to make it my absolute favourite spot.

You may wonder why a cemetery could be deemed by any roman as the very epitome of charm and poetry. Well then, you will have to allow me to be your guide to this place, so that you may be able to see it -- albeit fleetingly -- through my very eyes.



No other cemetery in the world that I have ever visited inspires such a sense of infinite peace, hope and awe. In the august shade of the Pyramid of Cestius, amidst cypress pines, myrtle and laurel, wild roses and flaming camellias, 4,000 men and women of all races and nations, languages and ages sleep their final sleep here together. And among them, two of the most gifted English Romantic poets, John Keats and Percy B. Shelley.

The very spot where John Keats rests is perhaps the most beautiful of the whole cemetery. The rich meadow that surrounds it is dotted by very few tombs and roman ruins. At the backdrop, the shape of the pyramid lies still as if guarding it. The 27-year-old poet, as he was dying of consumption, in the small palazzo close to the Spanish Steps, would question his dear painter friend Severn as to how the place where he was to be buried looked like. The answer had seemed most appealing to his ears, upon learning that the very place was rich with grass and flowers, including innumerable violets. Approaching his tomb, we can now rest our eyes on the engraved epitaph: "This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English poet, who, on his death-bed, in the bitterness of his heart at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraved on his tombstone : ‘Here lies one whose name was writ in water.’" Fame and life are fleeting like the powerful words that Keats himself chose. This might explain the reason why he did not want his name to leave a trace anywhere including his own gravestone.



Following the path that leads back to the monumental area of the cemetery and skirting the pyramid, one is greeted by the merry presence of the many roman felines that have chosen this place as their abode. As we walk uphill, along the walls through a narrow passageway, our eyes will remain bedazzled by the impressive weeping angel carved by sculptor William Wetmore for his own and his beloved wife's tomb. A few steps further still and on the left , we won't fail to notice a white tombstone shaded by a giant statuesque pine tree which reads "Percy Bysshe Shelley COR CORDIUM" followed by a Shakespearean quote from The Tempest: "Nothing of him that doth fade/But doth suffer a sea-change/Into something rich and strange.” The ashes of the "heart of hearts,” drowned in the Gulf of La Spezia at the age of thirty, rest here. The poetical words pronounced by Ariel do touch the heart. Shelley's fame and fate resound like an echo in those words.

Just in front of Shelley's grave is the tomb of another poet so deeply in love with Shelley's work as to desire to be buried close to him. Gregory Corso -- the American Beat poet -- sleeps his final sleep beneath a tombstone bearing a most moving epitaph: "Spirit is Life it flows thru the death of me endlessly like a river unafraid of becoming the sea.”

Many lovely afternoons have I spent here wandering in the sun, in the shade, or simply sitting on a bench reading verses. The grace of this place, with its austere or beautifully decorated tombs bearing angels and statues of all kinds and shapes, brightened by the singing birds, the flutter of butterflies, the intense hyacinths or the dozing cats, is unique. Many a time have I whispered here John Donne's powerful words: "Death thou shalt die.” Indeed so. Because poetry will live eternally, carved on the tombstones and in the hearts -- now ashes -- of the poets that rest in this place forever and ever.