I feel like I’m juggling blogs—I started to get into my research blog… which is fun. It’s thinking out loud (how’s that different from here, you ask?) about the boring parts of my study that only very select nerds are interested in… so select that hardly anyone in the English department has looked at it! But I made it pretty.

And after a week or so without independence days to worry about, there’s a sudden barrage of them coming up.

Tonight I’m meant to be starting a series of workshops for the Liberal Studies students. I’m looking forward to them—but I don’t know if I got the word out soon enough for tonight’s workshop, so I don’t know if I should expect anyone to come. Oh dear. It’s supposed to be on “the conventions of academic writing”—to which I should could add (in the American context), since it’s so different for the British. Talk about re-learning. Old dog. New tricks. That’s me. Except, I’m not that old. 29 is the new black.

What’s not the new black? Well, at this stage, the bail out.

Oh my. As further evidence that a combination of work and world history have taken over my life, the Independence Day Project is about to overtake poor miss kate, underground or otherwise, in its number of postings.

I realise that there are a lot of countries and territories in the world, and September has been a busily Independent month… And July was just insane. I’ve just been realising how, being so busy suddenly (aftermath of illness?)

They’re trying to bring back a Galapagos tortoise from the dead. I don’t know how I feel about this—scientists thinks they can “tap into” this particular extinct Galapagos tortoise’s DNA from descendents, and recreate the original. Have these people read Jurassic Park? Okay, I do find it really interesting—and in truth I love turtles and tortoises, especially giant ones… But this makes me feel a little uneasy.

The election is starting to get to me. Sarah Palin is getting to me. (Her smugness in that interview with Charlie Gibson: Gibson, basically respectful; Palin, “oh, yes, Charlie; oh, no, Charlie; In what respect, Charlie?”—I know it’s his name, but I found this so, so forced.) And where is Biden? I’m hoping to go out to see a viewing of the first debate—and I spoke with a friend today about finding some bar full of politicos on 4 November to sit and watch the results coming in.

Wow. I’m already planning for 4 November.

Oh. 15 percent of meals eaten today in America are eaten in cars. I’m glad I don’t have a car.

I keep thinking that I’m going to come up short with the Independence Day Project—there have been a few countries recently that have left me scrambling until the last minute to find a poem that I can use. I’ve been writing entries ahead of time recently, as the next month or so has a few days with three or more countries celebrating on the same day. I’m trying to write two a day this week, at least, so I can get ahead. I look back on the quiet month of April… Which is not to say that I miss those days. Now is the perfect time for me to spending so much time on the project. I’m getting so used to searching and writing, that when it gets to the end of January next year I won’t exactly know what to do with myself. (A second round? A new project?) There are days, though, when I feel independenced-out. Usually when I’ve been reading about genocides and especially cruel colonial practises.

In the mean time, yesterday I went to hear some music at the Kennedy Center—taking advantage of the free performances at the Millenium Stage again. Two violinists from the NSO (Natasha and Zino Bogachek) and a pianist (Darya Gabay), a program of chamber music. Looking up the violinists, I find they've recorded a CD of Telemann's sonatas for two violins. I wish they had played Telemann... I hadn’t heard of any of the composers before hand, and so I was hoping there would be some contemporary music—unfortunately not. I’ve looked up the composers since, but I didn’t need to really—it was clear that Ysaÿe, Moszkowsky and Sarasate were all late Romantics, caught up in the trend for nationalism. Fine. There are some good pieces of the genre—I find it hard not to get into the spirit of Sibelius, for example. But these were lesser composers (hence, I suppose, them being unfamiliar.) For the most part I found myself playing the game I haven’t in so, so long: unfolding the piece ahead of what was being played. Once I’d figured the sound-world they were in, it was alarmingly easy to see where the works were going most of the time. I sometimes think that my entire music degree has somehow slipped out of my memory, but then I go to something like this and realize that, no, it is simply dormant.

Still there were some really nice moments. In Ysaÿe’s (he's the chap in the picture)Amitié I loved a moment when one violin played a scalic passage and then held a note, and the second violin came in on the same note—not immediately heading into a scale, but holding the same note, as there was a subtle shift from one violin to the next. I think this is typical of my reactions, though—I find myself responding to the stiller moments, find the climax so often in the quietness of a single note. And I know that to get that impact, you need that creation of a thick texture in order to pull back. I think it was that in these pieces the thick texture was so typical, and the moments of freshness only came through in stillness.

It also made me realize that I always find the slow movements too short. That a typical four-movement work will have only one slow movement, and then it will be over quickly: apparently it’s only meant to be a palate cleanser so you can dive into more displays of virtuosity. I measure a lot of works by their slow movements—I think that is why I always return to Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time: every movement is wonderful and complex, but the fifth and eighth movements are transcendental: they seem to lose track of an absolute sense of metre and move into this other place. I am still waiting for a repetition of that first real profound musical experience I had as a student at the conservatorium hearing the fifth movement of Messiaen for the first time in concert class, played from memory by the best cellist we had. I’ve had two complete musical experiences since then, but I guess it’s like a first kiss. It can’t be recaptured exactly.

It’s so nice, though, to find that this thing that was such a huge part of my life for so long is still there, and it still takes up the same amount of space inside me, however much it isn’t the current focus. And listening to these pieces last night, jotting down descriptions of moments that interested me, for what seemed right, or what seemed wrong (wrong words, but hopefully you get the sense of what I mean…) I felt again that I would like to try writing music again. I’ve long wanted to write a piece for flute, with “an occasional second flute,” and I realized last night that I wanted another instrument in a lower register for a counterpoint. Perhaps I will use piano, perhaps cello or viola. It’s something to think about. Though it’s so strange to find myself thinking about—I don’t have any manuscript paper, and I’m going to go looking for some in the next few days. I’ll see what happens.

As for today—who knows? I have some student writings I need to comment on this afternoon, and then I may dash off to a free film, or another performance at the Kennedy Center, or I may even go see a film that I have to—horrors!—pay for. 2001 is showing at one of the Smithsonians tonight, but I have already seen it on the “big screen.” So—maybe I’ll wander down to DC’s good cinema and see one of the new films I’ve read about.

Things keep running away from me—well, time does. Things keep getting done, and then I find suddenly it’s several days down the track, and I’ve read a few books, written a few scraps, thought some things that later it may have been useful to have thought… I’ve been making notes and underlining things and making little connections in my mind. It’s been a nice week.

Though I didn’t make it to Philadelphia—devestation! There was some talk last night of driving to West Virginia today, too, but that was talk over whiskey and crème brulee. So. It could just be that my potential-intrepid-co-traveller hasn’t awaken as yet. Or she could just be disappointer that the town of Intercourse that she proposed we visit (because of its Amish population) is in Pennsylvania and not West Virginia. Either way, I’m guessing that there’s no getting out of DC today—but I hold out hope. Maybe tomorrow?

I asked a friend to recommend me some readings in poetics and poetic criticism—just to have a bit of roving reading through the summer before I settle into a more directed reading list. So last week I read James Longenbach’s The Resistance to Poetry, which I loved. I haven’t managed to sit down and write much this week—no poem or article, just Independence Day Project entries—the Independence Days come thick and fast at this time of the year—but I’ve got some ideas.

My housemate was fasting a week and a half ago—though she was drinking a concoction of water, maple syrup and lemon juice, so it wasn’t a complete fast. Anyway, I believe she went for five days. This reminded me that I’ve had a fascination with fasting ever since I read a book by Sharman Apt Russell entitled Hunger: An Unnatural History. It makes me want try it for a week, just to see what it’s like. (And then, of course, have the opportunity to write about it.) I do find the history of fasting and the religious and political uses of it fascinating. And now there are apparently secular fasting clinics in California… go for three weeks and eat nothing under supervision. There’s something beguiling about the idea, though I’m not entirely sure why. (And I don’t expect everyone to be beguiled as I am.)

Last week I was interviewed on 3RRR in Melbourne. I forgot to tell my friends, and yet they seem to have caught it by chance anyway—even a guy from my primary school who emailed me a “did you happen to be on the radio...?” note a few days later. Apparently I spoke in complete sentences, which is nice to know.

I do feel like my life is turning into commenting on student writing and reading books at the moment. Which is not at all a complaint—there’s a glorious slowness to it all. I occasionally think—maybe I’ll go look at some art. Or—maybe I’ll go watch a film. But by and large the days are mine.

I still don’t have enough enrolments for the class I’m meant to be teaching—I’ve got to admit I’m sad about this. I both wanted the teaching experience, and the money that accompanied the experience. I don’t expect to find myself entirely destitute, but—. The work I’m doing with Professor Bradford’s liberal studies class on the Renaissance is really rewarding, though, and I may get a chance to lead a segment on Renaissance music. I’ll have to cast my mind back to those motets…

And of course there’s online Scrabble. A very important part of my life. Trying to find seven letter words does keep me up nights…

So, I’ve started knitting again. Some of friends have seen the blanket I made, sewing together patches I had knitted while travelling around North America and Europe in 2003. I have two friends here, Marie and Rebecca, who do a lot of knitting, and watching them has given me an urge to start again myself. So, I found the nearest yarn store and bought needles and a small selection of yarns. The 2003 blanket was colourful—in each country I bought wool that was a colour that for me represented the country: the pale blue of a still-snowy Montreal spring; the lush green of Cambridge’s fields, as on a walk to Grandchester, the shiraz-pink sunset of Corsica, the tomato-red and dazzling yellow of Italy… Well, this is an American blanket, and so there will be reds, whites and blues—but not the normal reds whites and blues of the flag. I want to play with it a little. This is, too, inspired by Lisa Blas’s exhibition “Meet me at the Mason Dixon,” which was also a patchwork derived from nomadism. I’m hoping that I will be able to travel more, and as I go to buy wool (and, a rule, only real—not synthetic—yarns this time) as I go. I think I’ll have to play with the often-jingoistic aspect of American patriotism. And I think it will be calming, for the moments I’m not buried in reading.

One day I’d like to knit a large desert blanket, with all the desert colours. Another year.

The Li-Young Lee quotes, if you are wondering, come from the fact that I’ve been reading the book of interviews while sitting at Barnes and Noble, not buying it. And an awareness that one of the things this hotchpotch of a blog is for me is a notebook. My notebooks are full of quotes. So—apparently a blog of all things. Or simply a blog of the chaos (the secret city?) of my mind.

A brief respite from Independence Days—after Iran today, it’s Senegal this Friday, and then a whole week off. The first half of the year is comparatively light when it comes to National Days. September—with 29—will keep me on my toes.

I’m trying to make some plans for getting out of DC in the summer—I had a slightly crazy notion of going to Costa Rica or Panama as soon as my final paper is in, before I come back to Georgetown to teach in the summer, but I don’t think I’ll have quite enough time to organise it—though Central America will happen before I go home. I feel it. Instead, I’m really thinking about the Four Corners area. Dreaming, really. As usual, I’ve got deserts on my mind.

I think I will start Daniel Deronda tonight. Though I will treat myself to some Lorca first, most likely. Have been reading more Bruce Chatwin too. It seems strange to me that it’s taken so long for me to really fall in love with travel writing—though I think I was always seeking out a very specific kind of travel writing, that is almost anthropological in its scope. Or just plain magical, like the Travels of Sir John Mandeville.

How satisfying! I’ve begun what I guess will have to be my last series of ripping apart my manuscript. (Someone just has to take it away from me soon… That’s hopefully in the pipeline.) Looking at it now, ruthlessly, it’s so fun to wield the scalpel. Take this out, extract that stanza… I’m really glad, now, that I didn’t publish it before now. I feel like I’ve learned all these new ways of looking at poems recently, and that’s been so good for me.

When I caught up with Elena Knox—gosh! over a week ago—I was delighted to hear that her book looks like it’s also in the pipeline. She’s been on a train overnight from Chicago, and (from what I remember) had been working on edits during that trip, as well as, more generally, while she’s been in the States. Apparently an Australian editor had looked at her book, told her he liked it, thought it was great—couldn’t publish it. “It’ll sell 20 copies in Australia.” So, she’s been talking to an American publisher. Elena and I met several years ago at Varuna, the Writers’ House in the Blue Mountains (and, really, a little oasis) when we were there for a mentorship program during an absolutely delicious week of poetry. Our fellow-poets Ivy Alvarez and Kathryn Lomer have published their books already—Kathryn, precocious lady!, has published two volumes of poetry and a novel—so it’s nice that their stable buddies are slowly making good on the process too.

Is it cheating if, unable to find a poem from the Marshall Islands, I choose to use a myth instead? I’ve found a lovely one. But I’ve got over a month before my Independence Day hunt for poems from this particular nation of Oceania becomes pressing. In the mean time, I’m backing up the effort with the myth. I’m holding it in reserve.

Spoke to a friend who is fluent in Portuguese—I’d like to work in partnership with someone to do some translating. I don’t feel that any of my languages are fully up to the task—I can muddle my way through reading most Romance languages these days, but wouldn’t trust myself on a translation, except for some simpler Italian pieces. So it was time to find a helping hand. Or tongue, so to speak. Now I have to find something untranslated that I think it would be good to work on. The next step. I don’t know exactly when this will happen, but speaking to a translator last weekend, he said all I can really do is dive in—you’re never really “ready” as such. When are we ready for anything?

I mentioned to a friend that Namibia’s Independence Day falls today, and she told me that all she knew about Namibia was that it was where Brad and Angelina went for the birth of their child. Somehow this information had passed me by—I mean, I knew it was Africa, but I have to admit that I hadn’t been interested enough to learn which country in Africa. I’ve been wondering whether this ignorance about the movements of Brad and Angelina makes me more or less shallow? It’s an oddly troubling question.

My friend Sheena spent time in Namibia, as it’s a place where she could use her German (though English is the official language, both German and Afrikaans are recognised—and of course all three languages reflect Namibia’s cultural heritage)—so my main association was with the fact that she had lived there for a time. But reading about it, I’ve got to say I felt a real desire to go there—it’s the pictures of the Namib Desert that got me.

I used to be so overwhelmed by the ideas of Africa—and, too, Central Australia—that I just didn’t know how to engage them. Their vastness was so difficult to comprehend. I guess it’s a reasonably common experience in that situation that people turn away from contemplating the hugeness. (It can be as mind-bending as solid light currently is to me…) I’m still not one hundred percent sure what turned me around—although I do know that a major factor was the writing of the sadly deceased Polish writer Ryszard Kapuściński. His work is so extraordinary—if you haven’t read it, all I can do is urge you to do so. I can’t wait for the rest of his work to be translated into English—at the moment not even half of it is available. (Alternatively, I can’t wait to learn Polish—there are so many Polish writers I would love to read in the original…) It’s wonderful to place him alongside the other writer I’ve working my way through outside of university, Bruce Chatwin. (I'm currently reading In Patagonia. Learning more about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, too.)

It has been suggested that, at the end of a year of researching independence days, I will be the perfect partner for a trivia night. As if I'm not trivial enough already. And since when is independence trivial? I'm tempted to mention the notion to an American on the Fourth of July...

I have to write about catching up with Elena Knox yesterday—that will come. Later. Right now, I plan to spend a few hours highlighting the uses of silence in Paradise Lost. Perhaps an odd pursuit, but I'm sure it will have a payoff.

Some days I feel like perhaps I’m a little crazy. I’ve been coming to the realisation that I’m happier writing on poetry than I am on prose—when I’m writing about poetry, I’m (obviously) thinking about poetry. I feel that it’s more likely to lead me back into my own writing. This means that I’m thinking about what exactly to do with my thesis next year… The work I’d like to do on Dickens is, I feel, an important project—and it’s less about Dickens than about Australian national identity (yes, I’m feeling a little self-exiled these days, and have become, perhaps, more Australian than ever) which appeals to me. But—I want to write about our poets, and promote contemporary writing that is exciting. I’ve thinking and talking and wondering. (Perhaps I can do some smaller papers on Dickens. I don’t know if I would be able to get hold of the materials I need to do the kind of large-scale study I have in mind anyway. The records I need are most likely all in Australia.)

Speaking of writing on poetry, I’ve been having some slightly crazy thoughts on Milton’s Paradise Lost. These emerged from thinking so much about travel literature recently—and I was thinking of the ways Milton employs aspects of travel writing in the poem. And then—perhaps crazier—I’ve been listening to a lot of (Australian) Radio National podcasts as I’ve been going to sleep, including a few science shows. The most recent one was talking about solid light and the idea that at a critical point light crystallises. This got me thinking about the ways Milton uses light and darkness in the text, including light that “pierces.” But thinking it through I just couldn’t figure out how to turn either into a paper in the next month, and instead it looks like I’ll be looking at patterns of silence and sound in the text. At times I start to realise that I have “grad school brain.” But then, I don’t exactly think it’s even a normal grad student reaction to listen to a science show and think “Ah! Milton!” so perhaps I just have my own (extremely idiosyncratic) brain.

Today I’m seeing a face from home—like ships that meet in the night, I’m going to have an hour or so with Elena Knox, who’s passing through DC on her way to elsewhere. She has three hours at Union Station, and I’ll spend about half of that with her. There’ll no doubt be food, talk, and possibly a (very) quick interview—I want to catch up with the creative force that is Elena, and hear all about what she’s up to with her writing and performance.

Also today, the beginning of the Split This Rock poetry festival—more poets to meet. There’s an exciting line up over the next few days. I just hope that my (sometimes delicate) energy holds up and that I actually get some university work done at the same time!

I went looking for poetry from Pacific islands yesterday—I found a lot, which was lovely, but am particularly keen to find a poem/poet from the Marshall Islands. Anybody got a suggestion?

A few frivolities:

On the weekend, I gave myself my first completely solo haircut. I’ve had good feedback so far. And, yes, I’m glad to save the $50 + it would cost to get it done by someone else in DC. I went the route of first cutting it in a ponytail, though in reality my hair is too thick for that, and then tidied up from there. Opinions? (The very sexy decor of the Georgetown Writing Center lies in the background.)

St Patrick’s Day. Yes, I made the effort to wear green. The thing I love about St Patrick’s Day, though, is that it is also the assigned birthday of our family friend Tram. She was born in Vietnam, and doesn’t actually know the date of her birthday. My dad took it upon himself to give her a birthday, and St Patrick’s Day is the day. It makes me happy.

A week ago Sir Walter Scott and I weren’t getting along so well. Our relationship is improving—the second volume of Waverley is somehow more engaging than the first. Or maybe Professor Ragussis has piqued my interest more.

My friend Amy Espeseth said she felt really famous when I mentioned her on my blog previously. So, I’m mentioning her again. You should look out for a novel from her sometime in the future. It’ll be something special.

After what I saw almost as a challenge from Hazel last week, I dropped in at The Bean Counter on the weekend to try their coffee. Good stuff! This reminded me that there are many more cafés to try out around Georgetown, before I swear complete allegiance to one. But then, I’ve never sworn complete allegiance to a single café. Within a few blocks of each other in Carlton, you would be equally likely to find me at Tiamo, Trotters or Big Harvest. I miss Big Harvest’s spectacular muffins.

I found a beautiful poetry anthology on the weekend—Language for a New Century: Poetry from the Middle East, Asia and Beyond. It helped me fill in some gaps by finding some poets for countries I didn’t have “covered” for the Independence Day Project.

This week I need to look for a poem from Namibia. I have a list of poets—good start—it’s just a matter of choosing the poem.

Speaking of African poets, Dennis Brutus will be in DC next weekend for the Split This Rock poetry festival. I’ve been reading some of his work recently, and I’m excited I’ll have a chance to see him.

Still some catching up to do today—more of Waverley to read before 4pm. I have faith it’ll get done. Based on the experience that I somehow always do.

I expect over the coming months new corners of the library will get to be quite familiar. I’m glad I’ve started to isolate the work I’m interested in for my final projects so early in the semester—I can chip away at those essays as I go from now, trying to figure out how I’m going to move around the texts I’m interested in. I was surprised when I went into the library that the Maria Edgeworth section was so small. It seems people are only starting to get interested in her now.

After spending this morning completing my list of world Independence Days, and their equivalent celebrations, I found that the initial information I’d found on Nepal’s national holiday was wrong, and this in fact took place yesterday, on 19 February. With any luck, now that I’ve got it sorted, delay in posting should be minimal from now on.

Speaking of the Independence Day Project, I’m looking hard for a poem by a poet from Brunei. It’s proving to be my most difficult search so far. (That said, initially I thought from searching on the internet that finding a good translation of a good Nepali poet was going to be difficult—and then I found a beautiful anthology.) I’m hoping that, as time goes on, some more people might get involved and send suggestions. Or am I in dreamland?

I sometimes am amazed that I’ve found time to keep juggling all these things—but at the moment all the balls are still staying up in the air. It makes me think of a juggler I used to know, Brian, who was studying at NICA. He was practising juggling seven balls when I met him. One falls, they all fall.

Not that I’m anticipating a crash! I have a lot of practice at this.

I have a few other interesting bits to catch up on here, but I think they might have to wait a few days—I’ve seen three very interesting writers speak this week.

I wanted, too, as a kind of reminder to myself to record the list I made at the start of this year as to the things I wanted to get done this year. I make these lists every year, and there are always a few that fall by the wayside, but a lot of things that I manage to fit in. This year’s list is as follows:

• Apply for PhD Programs
• Write 20 poems
• Give 4 conference papers
• Visit 10 or more states in the US
• Go rock climbing
• Blog at least once a week
• Visit all the Smithsonian museums
• Take dance lessons again
• Start taking photographs again
• Cook more

Obviously some of these are more prosaic than others (yes, on the day-to-day front, I’ve been cooking a lot. And glad of it too.) Overall, though, it seems like a list that is fairly rounded—it encompasses all the types of things I love. And I’m pleased to say, since the start of the year I’ve written about 5 poems—they’re not all finished (far from it) but they all have something happening in them. I’m looking forward to some time to work through them. Time? I’ll find it someday, somewhere.

I'm giving two conference papers in March (one, as already mentioned, at the University of Virginia, the second at the University of Rhode Island) and then I'll wait until next semester - I'll probably try to do one in then. I've been chipping away at most of these things...

I have a list of things that I still need to write about, but in the mean time, you may be interested in my new "Independence Day Project", which will be a blog of world poetries, and occasional history lessons (for myself, at least). I hope you'll consider checking it out.