Okay, so I went to the Library of Congress last night—it was Charles Simic’s final event as poet laureate, and he gave a lecture. The lecture was on translation and poetry—a favourite subject of mine—and yet I felt grouchy with it. He shuffled papers and told occasional anecdotes, in between repeating the same things I’ve read over and over about the act of translation. He read one poem by Vasko Popa. One? Only one? I was hoping he’d talk about a specific translating—what was involved in translating Popa’s “little box” poems—but he didn’t. I feel a little like I’ve spent the last several months breaking up with Simic. In part it’s that I enjoy reading his poems the first time, and then rereading them, they’re a disappointment.

I wonder if it’s the tyranny of distance wearing off. In Australia I’m so excited when anyone international becomes accessible. Here it feels like so much is accessible, and so the novelty is gone. Instead of feeling like a thirsty girl at an oasis, I feel like I can just evaluate each thing I go to on what it added to my thinking. This, unfortunately, added very little. (He did read the first poem he ever translated—a twelfth century Serbian “poem” that was pretty fantastic. I want to track it down. So—there was a glimmer of joy. Plus, hearing just one Vasko Popa poem read aloud was also pretty great. Not a complete loss.)

Still toiling on George Eliot and thinking through authority and framing texts and the way she defines audience through use of foreign language texts and literary allusion and proto-Zionist rants by Mordecai and the two incredibly anti-Semitic sequels and… you get the general idea. I was telling Professor Ragussis about my big chart and pile of notes on the epigraphs, and the odd anomalies I found, and he was really interesting. Mediating Jewish space and Deronda as Moses, baby.

Bought Cage’s lectures and essays on silence yesterday. Opened it and instantly remembered reading these texts a few times back when I was studying music intently. I’ve been reading a few different music texts recently, and as well as thinking through the implications in poetic terms, I found myself wanting to compose something. Something small. Oh! It’s been so long… Oh! John Cage!

Gewanter yesterday. Wearing a Krispy Kreme Doughnuts t-shirt. Hmm. The class met at his place for pizza and general conversation. A couple of people said they’d be reading more poetry over the summer—success! Surely that should be the measure of a good contemporary poetry class? He amusingly revealed the “key” to getting papers accepted for conferences.

I have to get a couple of conference papers together, actually. Timely advice, oh sage one.

For the second time this week I’m going out to Actually Be Social. Gathering at Robyn’s house for a cheap happy hour. How cheap? I’m tossing up between taking “two buck chucks” wine from Trader Joes, or splurging and taking a bottle of whisky. (I am still amused I’ve become a whisky drinker. Even if it’s only a bit of whisky, and only now and then. Still, my celebratory evening a few months back of mussels, whisky and chocolate mousse will live on in my memory forever. Best celebration ever.)

Robyn! Most likely going to Hungary! On a Fulbright! I’m so, so proud of her. And a little devastated that she’ll be gone… Actually, my friend Carolyn too—to Bulgaria. While I just want to get somewhere to write. To get this paper done, and think about poems and poetics and other writings for myself. The countdown is on.