Local Color

This video presents a good deal of the scenery in which I participate during my commutes. It will have to stand in for me over the next few days, as I am abandoning my usual orbits to attend this conference. I will return by the end of the month if not before.

Here to keep you company are the Pinko Feminist Hellcat’s excellent suggestions on how to combat global feudalism, Geoffrey Philp on the preservation of digital memory and access to reading material for one and all, Derek Walcott on NPR, which I know about from Philp, and Lorca’s “Sorpresa,” from Poema del cante jondo (1921).

Muerto se quedó en la calle
con un puñal en el pecho.
No lo conocía nadie.
¡Cómo temblaba el farol!
¡Cómo temblaba el farolito
de la calle!
Era madrugada. Nadie
pudo asomarse a sus ojos
abierto al duro aire.
Que muerto se quedó en la calle
que con un puñal en el pecho
y que no lo conocía nadie.

[He lay dead in the street with a dagger in his chest. Nobody knew him. How the lantern trembled! Mother. How the little street lamp trembled! It was before dawn. No one was able to lean out over his eyes, open to the hard air. For he died in the street with a dagger in his chest, and nobody knew him.]


4 thoughts on “Local Color

  1. Gracias y’all – I am back and it was hilarious! Observe the International Herald Tribune / Associated Press
    report. There was a blog announcement about it by Ross Raihala, whose boot heels may well have wandered through this symposium, and a very amusing article of his in the Star-Tribune (or TwinCities.com) on the bus trip to Hibbing, Minnesota, in which this servidora did not participate.

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