lupanare

Lupanare is the Italian word for brothel. It was used in the poem I translated last night and is, I imagine, one of those words that makes serious translators go a little bit crazy. You see, the root of the word--lupa--means shewolf. And there's just no way to bring that into an English translation. It made me a little bit sad to let it go, but I did use "bordello" because it's more fun to say.

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I'm getting a slow start this morning because the one most time consuming thing on my to do list--the one I should have started already instead of blogging--is to read Conscripts of Modernity by David Scott. I hear it's a fascinating book. But it doesn't have anything to do with my interests. You think when you sign up for grad school that you will not have to take classes you don't want to take. Not so. Especially at UIC where two classes is a full load and there are typically only 4 grad seminars offered a semester but you have to take 3 workshops, which means you only have 5 other classes to take, and three of them are the core courses everyone takes, which means you get to choose 2 classes OR take more credits than you have to and even then there's no guarantee that you'll take a single class you like. So far, in my 3 semesters here, there's been ONE grad class on poetry and if you're a long time reader, you already know I hated it.

I cannot wait to start reading for my exams. At least then I'm the one picking the topics.

And...rant over.

Now Available!!

Yep, that's right. You can buy your very own copy of my chapbook now. Just click here: Flood Year

But...there are several folks who will be getting little presents in their mailboxes as soon as I get my next batch of copies. I thought I'd go to UA when I was in Ohio to hand-deliver some copies to friends and mentors, but my family snatched up all my author copies. I also owe some folks a trade, so you all will be getting those too.

Otherwise, I hope you'll think about buying a copy and supporting dancing girl press, which does such great work.

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I translated a poem about sailors and prostitutes tonight. From Italian. It was fun. The poem is "Citta` vecchia" (Old City) by Umberto Saba. Next up: a poem in sapphics. I guess that means three lines of 11 syllables each plus one line of five syllables, repeat as desired. I'm terrified because it isn't just about counting syllables, but also about counting stresses, and I have a tin ear. You'll never catch this girl writing sonnets or blank verse. Well, never say never.

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What a strange, strange world this is. I still can't believe I live in Chicago. I still can't believe it's almost winter.

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My sister Carla is coming to visit in a few weeks. I can't wait to do touristy things with her and introduce her to my friends.

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Workshop started in my intro to poetry class. It's going so, so much better than the first half of the semester did. Some of my students are really talented and they are all working really hard. I'm proud of them and (finally) excited to walk into the classroom every day. I feel like a big nerd, but I love it. Oh, and the number of students who have come to see me during office hours has quadrupled in the last week. That's always fun.

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I'm happy in a sad way right now. Does that make any sense to anyone?