Ben, armchair researcher, informs me Moscow has a Hemp Fest in April. Hmmm. Followed by a Renfaire. Might take a lonnnng time to come back to the present after those festivities nose-to-tail. Coming up sooner is the Hemingway festival; seems the old fellow spent some time here, so now a Big Deal is held every year in commemoration. Sounds fun. Maybe. Curt and manly.
I am reading an online literary journal entitled Blackbird in preparation for an essay about it for my poetry class. I don't know when I've read so much poetry at one time. I'm tangled in a taffy of words; I'm crossing a river of thoughts and images...each poem is a spongy rock underfoot. Oh, yes, lacking sleep too...Could you tell?
Blackbird is featuring 2011 Nobel Prize winner Tomas Transtromer's work this month. (His last name is supposed to have double dots over the "o." I forget what that's called--oh yes, umlaut. Don't know how to make it appear, alas. Let us squint at the "o" and pretend.) Anyhow, his work is wonderful. There's often a clarity and simplicity of expression found in translated poetry when it's well done, like this work by Patty Crane. I find it so appealing. Especially here in Mr Transtromer's selections from his book with the lovely name, Sorrow Gondola.
Today I sat in on Serendel's speech class to hear her tell us all how to make cheesecake, which she did swimmingly and with fierce competence. The sample cheesecake she brought for everybody was a big hit, too.
Now, off to bed, or finish the Laurie R King podcast? I follow her grand Sherlock Holmes/Mary Russell books. No I don't, I hug them tightly to my chest. My eyes are giving way from so much happy reading.
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