And whew, what a spectacular full moon it was: moon at perigee and in Cancer (whose sign she rules, no less; and my sign, yes, I confess).
Busy days here in Rome: many many polyglot parties. I think I've figured out a path toward instant improvement in my conversational fluency in Italian: try to speak French! It seems to work: try to speak a language that's been billiarding about in your head for what, 35 years now, and Hey presto, the one you sputter around in, day in and day out, often frustratedly, turns out to be the default. Really, in my next life, I'm going to be a neurophysiologist and draw up a map of where all this stuff happens in the brain: This is your brain on French. This is your brain on Italian. This is your brain on poetry. This is your brain on Kant.
Right now, this is my brain on tired and busy, if happily so. We Baltiromans are exceedingly happy that the only pro football team that's named after a poem is moving right along in the play-offs. (And I've been teaching Damiano how to say GO RAVENS in a Baltimore accent. He almost has it.)
And really, as promised, Massimo Gezzi's interview with John Ashbery from POESIA. Soon. Meanwhile, buon anno!
