(herb says the sky is blue because the sea is)
February 18, 2008
language isolation
it's too cliche, too easy, to say i fear the unknown
(herb says the sky is blue because the sea is)
(herb says the sky is blue because the sea is)
sinking or maybe floating
can someone please tell me how i am lost and why am i lost? can someone please tell me where am i going and why i am going there?
February 11, 2008
February 9, 2008
how far can i swim?
when i was younger, i never feared the sea.
i was oblivious to the man-of-war warnings; i swam and ran about with sand in my suit. the sea was my source of giggling, a time of exploration.
now the sea is just my preoccupation. it fills the gaps between us. it elongates my worry, my desires. and i can't stop thinking about time.
i was oblivious to the man-of-war warnings; i swam and ran about with sand in my suit. the sea was my source of giggling, a time of exploration.
now the sea is just my preoccupation. it fills the gaps between us. it elongates my worry, my desires. and i can't stop thinking about time.
February 7, 2008
February 3, 2008
on reading a wave
(a professor so conveniently read this chapter aloud in class a couple weeks ago. it just so happens that an italian wrote it. and it just so happens that its about the sea (and etc). how quaint. so i've added it here for your own contemplation as well.)
Reading a Wave di Italo Calvino, Mr. Palomar
The sea is barely wrinkled, and little waves strike the sandy shore. Mr. Palomar is standing on the shore, looking at a wave. Not that he is lost in contemplation of the waves. He is not lost, because he is quite aware of what he is doing: he wants to look at a wave and he is looking at it. He is not contemplating, because for contemplation you need the right temperament, the right mood, and the right combination of exterior circumstances; and though Mr. Palomar has nothing against contemplation in principle, none of these three conditions applies to him. Finally, it is not "the waves" that he means to look at, but just one individual wave: in his desire to avoid vague sensations, he establishes for his every action a limited and precise object.
Mr. Palomar sees a wave rise in the distance, grow, approach, change form and color, fold over itself, break, vanish, and flow again. At this point he could convince himself that he has concluded the operation he had set out to achieve, and he could go away. But isolating one wave is not easy, separating it from the wave immediately following, which seems to push it and at times overtakes it and sweeps it away; and it is no easier to separate that one wave from the preceding wave, which seems to drag it toward the shore, unless it turns against the following wave, as if to arrest it, Then, if you consider the breadth of the wave, parallel to the shore, it is hard to decide where the advancing front extends regularly and where it is separated and segmented into independent waves, distinguished by their speed, shape, force, direction.
In other words, you cannot observe a wave without bearing in mind the complex features that concur in shaping it and the other, equally complex ones that the wave itself originates.
to read the rest go here.
Reading a Wave di Italo Calvino, Mr. Palomar
The sea is barely wrinkled, and little waves strike the sandy shore. Mr. Palomar is standing on the shore, looking at a wave. Not that he is lost in contemplation of the waves. He is not lost, because he is quite aware of what he is doing: he wants to look at a wave and he is looking at it. He is not contemplating, because for contemplation you need the right temperament, the right mood, and the right combination of exterior circumstances; and though Mr. Palomar has nothing against contemplation in principle, none of these three conditions applies to him. Finally, it is not "the waves" that he means to look at, but just one individual wave: in his desire to avoid vague sensations, he establishes for his every action a limited and precise object.
Mr. Palomar sees a wave rise in the distance, grow, approach, change form and color, fold over itself, break, vanish, and flow again. At this point he could convince himself that he has concluded the operation he had set out to achieve, and he could go away. But isolating one wave is not easy, separating it from the wave immediately following, which seems to push it and at times overtakes it and sweeps it away; and it is no easier to separate that one wave from the preceding wave, which seems to drag it toward the shore, unless it turns against the following wave, as if to arrest it, Then, if you consider the breadth of the wave, parallel to the shore, it is hard to decide where the advancing front extends regularly and where it is separated and segmented into independent waves, distinguished by their speed, shape, force, direction.
In other words, you cannot observe a wave without bearing in mind the complex features that concur in shaping it and the other, equally complex ones that the wave itself originates.
to read the rest go here.
January 27, 2008
musica
i simply cannot resist attempting to tell the world about vinicio caposella. when i first began pen-palling with fabio, i asked him about music, and vinicio was his first suggestion. this was probably about the third sign i knew i would love fabio. (the first and second of course being that he had long hair, and spoke italian- HA!; he was a wonderful story-teller and incredibly intelligent - is this more than two?)
anyhow, vinicio capossela is an amazingly talented musician that really can play about anything -- he's constantly experimenting in his music. a wonderful storyteller. and he has finally been recognized in america on NPR!! so here is an interview; it's short, only 12 minutes. he plays a new song about america, and there is a translator for those that need it.
enjoy this interview!
anyhow, vinicio capossela is an amazingly talented musician that really can play about anything -- he's constantly experimenting in his music. a wonderful storyteller. and he has finally been recognized in america on NPR!! so here is an interview; it's short, only 12 minutes. he plays a new song about america, and there is a translator for those that need it.
January 25, 2008
January 21, 2008
mancare
It’s an ache that is impossible to satiate. It’s a longing that embodies me, that I cannot escape. It seeps into each pore of my skin, it gloves me. I slide into your world without an escape. How do I amend this gaping hole of salty water, these countless kilometers, the visions I have in your kitchen? I cannot be healed here.
I surround myself with pictures, maps, I look at you all the time. And I think of you constantly. Not just you, the entirety. I wake, disoriented. There is no aroma of tomatoes boiling, swimming in a bath of the purest extra virgin olive oil. There is no sun, and you are not next to me in bed. My body aches.
Dici: Non piangere. Che c'è?
Dico: Non lo so. Ti posso vedere. Vedo tutta la casa e tutte le cose dentro. How we share the colperta on our bed -- our sofa bed. How I like to wrap it around me, like a mummy, my feet tucked in all warm. But this isn't how you do this, which causes a problem. We're close in this little bed and if I tuck my feet in, yours fall out. How if you don't place your arm just right, I get a crick in my neck. And all of this matters now because why?
Because I see all the house, I see me there, and I am here eating a bowl of berries. And you are there eating primo: spaghetti con pomodori. Secondo: forse carne, forse pesce. Poi, formaggio. E poi: una sigaretta.
E cosí: abitudine.
I surround myself with pictures, maps, I look at you all the time. And I think of you constantly. Not just you, the entirety. I wake, disoriented. There is no aroma of tomatoes boiling, swimming in a bath of the purest extra virgin olive oil. There is no sun, and you are not next to me in bed. My body aches.
Dici: Non piangere. Che c'è?
Dico: Non lo so. Ti posso vedere. Vedo tutta la casa e tutte le cose dentro. How we share the colperta on our bed -- our sofa bed. How I like to wrap it around me, like a mummy, my feet tucked in all warm. But this isn't how you do this, which causes a problem. We're close in this little bed and if I tuck my feet in, yours fall out. How if you don't place your arm just right, I get a crick in my neck. And all of this matters now because why?
Because I see all the house, I see me there, and I am here eating a bowl of berries. And you are there eating primo: spaghetti con pomodori. Secondo: forse carne, forse pesce. Poi, formaggio. E poi: una sigaretta.
E cosí: abitudine.
January 20, 2008
a comparison
just as wine's flavor is altered by the soil the grapes grow in, the same happens to tomatoes. i simply cannot make spaghetti con pomodori freschi here. not good like there. it's impossible. it's maddening. i eat and live vicariously through telephone conversations -- "what did you eat today for pranzo?".
right now, napoli is 60 degrees, and right now we are 5. but that's not totally fair. it's 9:15 am here, and 3:15 pm there. nevertheless, this is our upcoming week compared:
this is not to complain. i think in winter it is much easier to miss italy (i miss it always though). the winters here are terrible and the sun is so rarely out (ironically, though, we have sun now at 5 degrees). if one wants to make themselves feel colder, simply convert our degrees to how italians see it: celsius. right now, italy is 16 degrees and we are -15. -15 sounds really really cold.
remember that i am posting new images on flickr. you can see them here.
right now, napoli is 60 degrees, and right now we are 5. but that's not totally fair. it's 9:15 am here, and 3:15 pm there. nevertheless, this is our upcoming week compared:
this is not to complain. i think in winter it is much easier to miss italy (i miss it always though). the winters here are terrible and the sun is so rarely out (ironically, though, we have sun now at 5 degrees). if one wants to make themselves feel colder, simply convert our degrees to how italians see it: celsius. right now, italy is 16 degrees and we are -15. -15 sounds really really cold.
remember that i am posting new images on flickr. you can see them here.
December 2, 2007
per natale
Well, I leave in three days again for Italy. This will be the last time I can go before I hang and write my thesis in the spring. I plan to video and photograph, and I hope to make audio tracks.
Waiting for me are countless pizzas, pastries, gelatos, caffès, and kisses.
This will be my first Natale in Italy.
Waiting for me are countless pizzas, pastries, gelatos, caffès, and kisses.
This will be my first Natale in Italy.
November 30, 2007
November 15, 2007
Shameless
selfishly, i would like to remind you that i do have prints for sale at my etsy account.
ETSY
you can support my small bank account, that could certainly use help!
in fact, all images on my flickr account are available, just email me with something you'd like printed, and i can negotiate a price. I hate to be salesy on my blog, but I gotta get the word out somehow.
rachel.
ETSY
you can support my small bank account, that could certainly use help!
in fact, all images on my flickr account are available, just email me with something you'd like printed, and i can negotiate a price. I hate to be salesy on my blog, but I gotta get the word out somehow.
rachel.
Show
(a story from a while back)
Last night I went to a show. The bass player just oozes "Euro" and I'm weak in the knees. He's really not that attractive, but he is euro so who cares? He's jazzing about in this smoke-free Columbus establishment. And here he suddenly appears with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Yes, he is for sure euro now, with his disregard for rules and overly indulgent habit of smoking. And here I am in the middle of the floor, front and center watching this guy. But instead I'm watching you roll your own cigarettes. And now I can smell what I hate so much, and I'm yearning it. How you make small cigarettes, "not strong like company made." Just a little pinch of English tobacco in your short, thin Rizla papers. You even use filters. What the hell for??? And my mind works like ping pong: everything I think returns to me with you. And bassman is still prancing about with his dangling cigarette, granny ash and all. Except now it's euro ash from the euro man who is so cool he doesn't care about rules or health. He doesn't even care that he's in the middle of a performance. Instead, he keeps looking suave, poofing away. How did I get to be so googly eyed and enraptured with all this silliness?
I know exactly your perfume when I arrive in two months.
Last night I went to a show. The bass player just oozes "Euro" and I'm weak in the knees. He's really not that attractive, but he is euro so who cares? He's jazzing about in this smoke-free Columbus establishment. And here he suddenly appears with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Yes, he is for sure euro now, with his disregard for rules and overly indulgent habit of smoking. And here I am in the middle of the floor, front and center watching this guy. But instead I'm watching you roll your own cigarettes. And now I can smell what I hate so much, and I'm yearning it. How you make small cigarettes, "not strong like company made." Just a little pinch of English tobacco in your short, thin Rizla papers. You even use filters. What the hell for??? And my mind works like ping pong: everything I think returns to me with you. And bassman is still prancing about with his dangling cigarette, granny ash and all. Except now it's euro ash from the euro man who is so cool he doesn't care about rules or health. He doesn't even care that he's in the middle of a performance. Instead, he keeps looking suave, poofing away. How did I get to be so googly eyed and enraptured with all this silliness?
I know exactly your perfume when I arrive in two months.
October 8, 2007
citizenship
me:on saturday i read online that i cannot apply for dual citizenship.
you: but why not??? you are italian rachel!! you can trace your lineage!
me: ha! i know. but SILLY great grandma was born a woman!! oopsies. that's right folks. my ancestor is a woman AND (gasp) immigrated as a minor. apparently girls are citizens of nowhere.
you: fuck that shit.
me: i know, bummer big time. so instead of being super mad and steaming all day i made some awesome pasta.
you: cool, what was in it?
me:
sauteed squash, sweet onions, greek olives, and parmesean.
you: but why not??? you are italian rachel!! you can trace your lineage!
me: ha! i know. but SILLY great grandma was born a woman!! oopsies. that's right folks. my ancestor is a woman AND (gasp) immigrated as a minor. apparently girls are citizens of nowhere.
you: fuck that shit.
me: i know, bummer big time. so instead of being super mad and steaming all day i made some awesome pasta.
you: cool, what was in it?
me:
sauteed squash, sweet onions, greek olives, and parmesean.
October 1, 2007
prego
ave, o maria, piena di grazia.
sono piena con i ringraziamenti.
lo sai perché. non devo spiegare.
cara italia, grazie per tutto.
sono piena con i ringraziamenti.
lo sai perché. non devo spiegare.
cara italia, grazie per tutto.
September 22, 2007
September 6, 2007
"stai tranquilla"
ho perso le parole, infatti. "triste" non é parola giusta. forse "manca" invece. mi manca tutto. tutto di la. l'estate ha finito. devo ritornare. non voglio dire niente. solo voglio sentire l'italiano.
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