Gusty winds do blow
so I sat on my porch and watched them do it, first time in a long time- August was too hot, September too cold. Am displeased to note that I have a harder time getting out of the low porch chair than I did in July, three kilos ago. Ah well. Exercise, exercise.
Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane
-- not as resonant as when I first read it, but may be down to having read more Gaiman in the interval so that his tics are more familiar now
Coupla Hazel Holt genteel mysteries. Note that nice Mrs. Mallory never has trouble suspecting her friends of being murderers. Nor does anyone remark on the number of murders that happen among her circle of village acquaintances. Maybe we're supposed to assume that each murder happens in a separate trouser leg of time and is the only one in her experience.
Next Vinyl Detective book, again wih murderous record collectors.
Earl Miner, Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry
-- now that Waiting for the Wind draws near its end, back to the basic sources that Carter has been referencing all through it, though in fact what he cites is the much heftier Japanese Court Poetry by Brower and Miner. Which I don't think I own, having decided in my unilingual ignorance thirty-five years ago that Japanese court poetry has no there there. It's true that in English it decidedly lacks resonance, but once you come at from even an imperfect understanding of Japanese, it becomes delightful. Miner has a passage in the Introduction about poetic vocabulary and how there's a range of terms that the English translator can only render as 'sad'. Also I notice translators will work all the lines of the poem into a coherent English sentence, where what I'm seeing often enough are the nongrammatic juxtapositions you get in haiku
and the world is one colour-
the sound of wind
Kafka chugs along, Villon doesn't. Should probably start something else in French.
I keep forgetting I have Piranesi to read. Should read it.