Ruby Street

A few people have mentioned an interest in Mandelstam. I've been doing some reading and research and came across this useful Indian blog with Mandelstam references. Looks like it may have other useful stuff. The biggest problem for non-Russian speakers is to find a good translation of his poems. My main source at the moment is a borrowed copy (thanks Brian) of the Clarence Brown/W.S. Merwin Penguin translation from, ooh, 30 years back. I'm aware of Brodsky's and Nabokov's criticisms of that. Anyone know of anything better?

from Under Siege by Mahmoud Darwish "And in what remains of the dawn, I walk toward my exterior And in what remains of the night, I hear the sound of footsteps inside me." (translated by Marjolijn De Jager)

* Note: I originally had a story here as a small example of how sad and sorry our media is in Australia, about how one newspaper, The Sydney Morning Herald , selectively reported an incident - because it involved an alleged stoush which resulted in charges against one of it's journalists, and then how the rival newspaper, The Daily Telegraph gleefully 'told all' - because it involved one of 'them', not 'us'. Would it shock you to know that the action revolved around a pub? Of course, both of these rags have become sad facsimiles of real newspapers, although the Terror can be quite amusing with its screeching headlines and oh so obvious bias. At least it's up-front with its skewed, slightly crazed, world view and far less pompous in this than it's tragic 'sister' rag, The Australian, which offers a raft of increasingly tedious pontifications on 'the state of the nation', sourced from some point in the 1950s. Suffice to say, none of ...

I've been reading David Riggs' book The World of Christopher Marlowe . I find it fascinating though I can't quite put my finger, yet, on what the biographer's agenda is. He certainly has one. And, despite or because of all his research, I have no clear picture of Marlowe at all. Marlowe's Doctor Faustus: From scene 1: Ay, we must die an everlasting death. What doctrine call you this, Che sera sera, "What will be shall be?" Divinity, adieu

2. Tears are harder at midday than at midnight heavier, needing the public mass in open space. The first holds do not fight same gravity released by the hesitation time in hours, of night measured more directly of undulations in the brain emotion’s thought of zero, ad infinitum, acceleration. Strange attraction traced in peace transformed by opiates flickering on the video. I have to be harder and more on the air tighter on what leaves.

Here's some great news from Mark Young. He's zooshed the first issue of Otoliths into four (not one but four) books . They look grand. Next issue of Otoliths is due next month. Make sure you get a your view of it.

Thanks to Dean of the Happy Antipodean blog for pointing me to a wikipedia article on my area . Just in case anyone was interested.

Been listening this weekend to Sussan Deyhim , particularly Desert Equations and Shy Angels , this latter being interpretations of love poems by Rumi, Saadi and other Persian Sufi poets.

This was lovely feedback from Ernesto. And thinking of him during Mexico's turbulent election times. Also thanks to the others who stopped by to comment on that poem.

I've just added a blogroll link, very belatedly, to Michael Farrell's next instalment of reading revival , focusing on a book of Ngarla songs. Also, in the process, done some adding and subtracting, multiplying and dividing of my links section. Feel the cleanth!

more news dies in the body illusions rise to lines of trees

ginger air's source palm the sugar line juice along the light soul so it's chilly drink me wine

It seems one of the post that's got most hits here of late, albeit fleeting, has been the one on my fish marinade . Not the most commented on nor most closely studied, certainly. I'm just going on the referrals listed by my site management gizmo. Not that this would be news to me or anyone. Maybe someone should do a poetry book of recipes. Maybe someone already has.

Jen Crawford stopped by Ruby Street and, amongst other things, tells me she's got into blog mode at blue acres . Already there's a couple of interesting posts about reading poetry and whither the manuscript. Jen mentions Samuel Beckett, which is interesting as a friend of mine has just loaned me a number of books, including one of Beckett's poems. I have yet to open that one. I am currently on Mandelstam, but maybe that's where I go next.

I come along smoke in tunnels earth's high altars the crushed finials slowly my sad my limited answer invaded caved human trapped into night causes are obscured sad eternal consequences ticking machine heat time changes sky culpable persistent graceful my sad answer white towers came distance to ground parts of world ached with energy graceful a voice slow and sad my body labour acts in changes

Just found these notes for a fish marinade, in case it's of interest: fish sauce lime juice garlic ginger chili light soy mirin palm sugar lemon myrtle You wouldn't have to use all these ingredients but the lime juice, ginger, and chili would be pretty basic in my book. I promise never to post a knitting pattern. Apart from anything else, I can't knit and that's a fact.

what really matters ... doesn't

bodies fall onto their own shadows

... quiet this week. But am particularly enjoying Miles Davis In Person Friday Night at the Blackhawk , and just especially Disc 2, Track 2, 'Neo'. Really got me goin'. Overall, these discs demonstrate a much more extroverted Miles than you usually get on the studio albums.

A bit of publicity for sound event, Liquid Architecture , featuring the fabulous poet and performer, Amanda Stewart. Not often that poetry gets into the pages of the Herald these days. (Is it just me, or are newspapers becoming increasingly unreadable these days? I used to religiously read the paper.)

Speaking of 'sound', I'm currently listening to Jon Balke's Batagraf album, Statements . Although it's essentially a percussion-based album (four percussionists plus Balke), it features numerous voices and vocalisations, in various languages including English and Wolof plus 'unknown media announcers' and the talk of a baby. It works, it's not as twinky as it sounds, being meaty and beaty in parts, and sometimes more airy, playing constantly between musical rhythm and language, both in a meaning and a material sense. It's not easy listening but neither is it hard to listen to. If you go with it, it's pretty neat. I think there's some sound samples on the Universal Records distribution site, but it's best to listen to it as a whole.

fog that sits on our houses

I have a wee drop of viking blood from way back so it was good to see cyclist Thor Hushovd triumph over adversity after bumping into some race furniture yesterday which left him with five stitches in a deep cut in his arm (oouch). He came back and was third in this second stage of the Tour. And I only just found out that Robbie McEwen 's kiddie is called Ewan McEwen. Poor little tyke.

If you feel like going for a blog-walking tour, here's some views of Marrickville , also home of Ruby Street. This blogger, another Jones, must live very near me as the greengrocer, the houses, the Tibetan Emporium and the chewy and statuary - the things mentioned on her blog - are all within a coupla minutes walking distance of my own good self. Even the cat looks familiar. The greengrocer is, indeed, cheap as chips and he's a good guy, to boot.

Are the circumstances as ghastly as you think? Or is it sun melting all to flesh? Or somehow I’ve become cadaverous on a table. // Death has no emotion. This is what we twigged. It’s the music of the rays past a state of the heart into the dance. // Love we shared accordion, strings. Darkness dangles its allure. Supreme court of magic its propulsion where, ever thankful lights out territory of the further.

* city moves through itself as forms list songs mysteries self that makes place image hides in the city no dreams journey with object’s place

... there is more than one surface

Speaking of Tom Beckett, he posted a fine-sounding recipe , linguine alle noci, at Soluble Census a little while back. It inspired me to get hold of some pasta again (we've steered clear of pasta for some, long story) and do something, but using hot pancetta (layered with chilli), bought from Charlie's Deli up in Petersham, with some mushrooms and garnished with flat parsley. Well, something like that. Tomorrow night. Tonight, soup with lots of pulses and root vegies and pancetta (not hot and not from Charlie's) plus a nice bottle of Portuguese red wine, Reguengos from the Alentejo region, in eastern Portugal. Of course, Petersham (Little Portugal), is about to go 'off' tonight, hoping, hoping, hoping (also, lot of Brasil flags - a strange kind of colonial interchange there - and still some for Socceroos - alas, etc - and then, sometimes all three flags in another weird kind of co-hoisting, multicultural, soup-stew-salsa thing).

Richard Lopez talks to Michael Farrell : "my processes arent countless, but there are a lot ..." - at Tom Beckett's e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s .

... a poetics that works itself out as it goes along ... sounds like a form of Australian pragmatics. Not sure that is such a good thing. But if 'working it out' also signals that it's a process, that it's a working and not finished, that seems to fit, that 'working out' is 'out' but not completely ...