Life seems to be getting busier by the year. I will write two short blogs today. This one just to catch up and the other to put on some music and a poem, not a new one but one that fits the music in some respects.
The Thursday before it was Hungarian National Poetry Day at the Danubius Hotel in London. The next dy it was the read-through performance of Virág Erdös's play The Death of Mara that I had translated for the Chalk Circle Company, a fierce feminist absurdist farce might describe it. On the same bill György Spiró's two-hander, The Jackpot. Quite different, much more naturalistic and bitingly comic.
Saturday and Sunday were at home, trying to catch up with work. On Monday it was down to the London Book Fair for me, to the Romanian stall to take part in a conversation with Paul Bailey, Alan Brownjohn and Tessa Dunlop. But it was also a chance to meet Alvin Pang again, as well as talk to Jmes Tennant of The White Review and Daniel Medin of CWT, Music and Literature, and many other things. A quick bite with Gabriel Josipovici. Imogen Forster kindly gave me a pin-on crab for mny lapel as a token of Langoustine. But most of the world was there in the vast apparent chaos which is dizzying just to think about. And in thinking about it I also think of the smaller spots where one or two representatives sat alone in expectation and possibly despair. But something or someone would turn up.
On Tuesday I was at the Assembly House making a speech at the Norwich Writers Circle Open Poetry Competition where I was this year's judge. On Wednesday went with neighbours Tony, Anne, and Nigel the film to see Argo showing at the local school theatre. A decent enough film that I would not go out of my way to see again. On Thursday into university to get photocopying done for Saturday and pick up necessary post (delighted to find letter to say my work is to be submitted for REF, and saying very nice things about contribution, etc).
On Friday down to London to see the George Bellows exhibition and to meet - for the first time - Hungarian poet Krisztina Tóth and her husband, László Perecz. That was a pleasure. Back lateish. Then yesterday a really early rising (5am) to get down to Swindon by 11:00 for a full day of poetry workshop and brief reading (a nice account by one of the participants here), arriving home about 10 or so. In the meantime finished reading Imre Kertész's Dossier-K for review for The Times.
This is a rather out-of-breath account, and of course I forget the article for The Guardian's Comment is Free spot that go about 200 replies, some as rude as I expected. The Hungarian right and the Fidesz camp as a whole never disappoint in the ranting stakes.
Next Tuesday I read sonnets in Cambridge. On Thursday I am in London for the PBS Board, on Friday in Warwick to discuss translation and on Saturday back in Norwich for a long workshop on form again.
I could write in detail about all of this if I had the time. Meantime I go on translating and writing as best I can. I'll link some of this tomorrow.
Now to the next blogpost for some music.
3 comments:
Next Tuesday I read sonnets in Cambridge - I'll be there, making due allowance for the doppler effect, red-shift, etc.
That will be nice, Tim. We met at St Albans, didn't we?
Could have done. Most recently you've done a back-cover quote for someone who goes to our local poetry group, for which much thanks. Means a lot to her.
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