Under the new moon of Granada–
black stain on my pilgrimage
to Lorca–I climbed the dusty waterfall
stairs, traced the arroyo alleys
of Al Abacin under the siesta sun
that turns the olive’s heart to stone.
Mad with thirst and afternoon mirages
I reached the Paceta de Fàtima
and stepped onto the Calle Pagès.
The voices of deep song slumbered,
locked behind lacy iron grates.
In my white-wash…
One of the benefits of Generalized Anxiety Disorder is the squirrels don’t give a damn about seven hours of jet lag, or yesterday’s epic 25 our travel day. A man wakes up to pee after a certain amount of sleep, the merciless digital clock reads 8:00 and they leap to their wheels: the squeaks of anxiety over things to be done, the horrible cogs begin to turn. It is 15:30 Central European Summer…
This week in literary New Orleans, comming to you from Castle Brunnenburg, Dorf Tirol, IT:
& Every Thursday evening the New Orleans Poetry Brothel hosts a Poetry Hotline. Call 504-264-1336) from 8-12 pm CST and we’ll to hear an original poem.
& Thursday at 6 pm check out #wordconnections spoken word event at the Juju Bag Cafe.
&Every Thursday evening the New Orleans Poetry Brothel hosts a Poetry…
First floor, first room: the Vorticists, as if the directors of The Museo Thysen-Borneimisza knew my next stop was Brunnenburg, Italy to study Ezra Pound. So much for my flighty idea to simply stay in Spain.
I am trying not to dress like a tourist, but apparently I am the only man under 70 in Madrid wearing a hat, except the jovenes in their embroidered-bill gansta caps. And I need to get a bag…
1. The guys in the ETA booth (T as in transito, not terroris) are complete fucking idiots. If you want to find your stop, ask a bus driver in your best high school Spanish.
2. The Pop Art exhibit at the Thyssen-Bornemisza was a comlete waste of 7 Euro. The only worth while thing was a small collage of James Dean and Rimbaud in grey-scale and pink by Ray Johnson. And of course the special exhibit…
1. I am dressing conservtively to avoid screaming tourist, but I am apparently the only man in Madrid who wears a hat (as opposed to a gansta-embroidered ball cap).
2. The bus drivers speak better English than their supervisors at central locations and the men in the tourist kiosk at the plaza near the Biblioteque National.
3. I think I need to get a bag mas tipico and vertical than the sling bag…
Madrid, Espana 18 Junio 2014
I can’t help think of Washington, D.C. as I traverse Madrid on the N3 night bus back to my hotel, set in Ciudad Lineal, a quiet apartment block suburb much like Arlington, VA just outide the ring road. Both are great capital cities, but one was built by bureaucrats and acountants and one by kings and their artists. The meandering path from where the N3 night bus drops…
& This Thursday Maple Street Book Shop hosts Bonnie Warren and her book New Orleans Historic Homes. New Orleans is world famous for its unique residents and stunning architecture. Those who live in the Crescent City have crafted homes to suit their tastes and needs, creating some of the most beautiful, fascinating structures in the nation. Explore the private homes of renowned neighborhoods,…