18 April 2012

Wolves and other cool things (Linky dinks IV)

So, my short story about the benighted Emperor Arcadius went live ysterday. You should read it! (Unless you arrived here from it, in which case... read it again?) My Greek professor approves! This is a big deal because he is a big deal.

Also, some cool things are on Bandcamp. For one, Alpha Stasis, who have shown up here in the past, have a new album out, which I highly recommend -- and it's free, so what are you losing? However, if you want to pay for music, get this album which is only $3 and very sad and pretty (think Lydia).

Please have a look, too, at my sometime-stomping grounds, The Fortnightly Review. They're doing a special series in the form of chapters from Alan Macfarlane's book on modernity and how everything you think about it is probably wrong (I think).

And in completely personal news, I was delighted to (re)discover the name of this artist, whose work I was privileged enough to see in Lugano ten years ago. The images of it neer left my mind, though unfortunately the artist's name did; I am very pleased to report that Igor Mitraj is now a name I can add to my List of Artists I Adore.

11 April 2012

Cheap Kicks.

This is why I shouldn't be allowed to stay up this late. It's because I start doing half-assed translations of stuff, then posting them online as if they're good.

Oh well.


Tibullus, I.iii.83-94

And you, I pray, stay chaste, blessed chaste,
sitting in the care of that old woman.
She tells you stories and puts the lantern down
to draw ou coiling thread from full staff;
grave pensive girls sit with you in a circle
as little by little they sleep and let their spindles fall.
Then thieflike let me come, with you all unawares.
I want to seem heaven-sent to you.
Then -- just as you are, long hair unbound and curling --
meet me, Delia, run to me on naked feet:
I pray that blazing Dawn
and Daystar bear this happening to me on roan horses,
and let it come to pass.

04 April 2012

All This.

So what I am doing these days instead of blogging is piles of Latin. It makes me cry, it's so beautiful. My poor sister; she's always having to put up with my emotional breakdowns from Dido or whoever it is this time.

Greek is a bitch. It always is.

Alongside these, I'm running my school's classics club literary magazine. I'll link to it when the issue's put together, okay?
I've been reading Camus' L'Homme Revolte, which is good. I like reading in French, though it kind of makes me look crazy. I tend to read it under my breath, moving my mouth and all. Maybe it doesn't, though (make me look crazy). No one seems to notice.
I'v met this nice guy and that's distracting. Not unpleasant, but it heightens things.
La Dispute also heighten things. God, I don't know...
I'm having a hard time sleeping, but I don't know. This is all pretty much par for the course.
I had two hours sleep last night and stream of consciousness seemed like a good idea, probably because of that. I'm sure I'll post something that will refer to this post with embarrassment later, but what the hell.
I'm also doing National Poetry Month or whatever. I'm writing a sonnet every day and let's see if it makes me better at it. Here's today's. Maybe it's okay? I don't know. Anyway, here it is. The slanty rhymes are on purpose, just by the way.

This morning I went out before the sun
a yellow hydrant fluttered nd the birds
were fishes in my gaze, as low as words
across the screen in foreign films. The one
thing I could see most clearly was the van
left in the lot -- I thought it was a ship
to sail through stars; it was the baited lip,
it seems, of some low-sunken fish-eyed man
who tried to say the air was nice. My son,
you're younger now than me:  We are submerged;
this is the sea; we're drowning, having won
the right to walk upon the boiling sand
where light crawls thick through heavy waves and tricks
us, gaping fish, into its soft, dark hand.


Have a better one than I'm having, kids.