Languor Management

Literary Translators Finally Get Their Due

“This is insane. Someone saying they were you just called me looking for money to be wired to California. What is going on?”

This is not the e-mail message that I anticipated from a local bookseller stocking my translation of Osip Mandelshtam‘s Tristia. But it followed a call from my Santa Monica-based brother Keith, who just met the same bookmonger at this year’s Book Expo America in Los Angeles. So I took the double mention at face value. Keith had been approached by a woman at BEA who had mistaken him for me. “Kevin?” she had asked. We’re identical twins, so it’s not an unusual assumption.

Two months ago, I had read from my book at Word bookstore in the Polish-occupied Greenpoint section of Brooklyn with novelist Anya Ulinich, so it wasn’t unexpected that I would receive an email from Word-owner Christine with the subject line “money situation.” I assumed that someone had bought some of the copies that I had left behind and that Christine wanted to make arrangements to get me some money. But it turned out to be quite the opposite. Apparently, I had called her asking for money, offering my wife’s “3-carot” wedding ring as collateral. It seemed that my car had been impounded in Philadelphia and I was in a bit of a jam. Christine offered to call my wife and even my brother to help but--inexplicably--I had rudely rejected her noble charity.

“Kevin,
I have spent the last 15 minutes calling around the Philly impound lots trying to find you and was told that there is no way you wouldn't be able to access the items in your car to pay for the impound. Whether that is the case or not, I clearly offered to help you by calling someone else, and you hung up on me. I am here alone and have to help customers but I could have called your brother or anyone else you needed. I don't know what else I could do. I hope you're ok.”

I am OK. Thing is, I haven’t been to Philadelphia in nearly 20 years--nor have I owned a car within the same duration, let alone, unfortunately, proposed to my new wife with a 3-carat ring. Christine was the unknowing, yet incredibly generous victim, of a scam in which my good name had been impugned. But I’m in good company. Apparently, the same fraud has been committed in the names of established novelist Russell Banks--whose collected short stories I am, coincidently, reading--and new novelist Mark Sarvas, of The Elegant Variation blog:

"There is this sense that bookstores have this special relationship with authors," Kerry Slattery, manager of L.A.'s Skylight Books, told the Los Angeles Times after nearly being bilked out of $200 by someone pretending to be novelist Mark Sarvas.

As tickled as I am to have been cited in the same scam as Russell Banks and Mark Sarvis, I implore readers and book mongers to remain skeptical of *starving* writers begging for money. Still, if you do indeed owe them some money, then, by all means, send it to them. But please don't let on to my wife that her ring might be anything less than 3 carats.

Thanks!

Thanks, everyone for coming out to Polish-occupied Greenpoint last night! It was fun to gather in a basement to talk about the dead...

Transparent Greenpoint

I'm reading from my translation of Osip Mandelshtam's Tristia with Anya Ulinich at Word bookstore in Greenpoint tonight at 7:30pm. Anya will be signing her terrific novel Petropolis, which is being reissued in paperback.

Word
126 Franklin Street
Greenpoint, Brooklyn
718-383-0096

Easter Chimes

Drink-drunk! Red eggs.
Drunk-drink! Red noses.
Beat-bash! Happy faces.
Bash-beat! Heaps of sausage.

Give-gave! Holiday bribes.
Gave-give! This and that.
Trim-tree! Gloved visits.
Tree-trim! Vodka and cream.

Drink-Drunk! Syrups and jellies.
Drunk-Drink! Belly aches.
Beat-bash! Back to work.
Bash-beat! Dream is over.

1909

--Sasha the Black (Translated from Russian by me.)

Drink-drunk! Red eggs.
Drunk-drink! Red noses.
Beat-bash! Happy faces.
Bash-beat! Heaps of sausage.

Give-gave! Holiday bribes.
Gave-give! This and that.
Trim-tree! Gloved visits.
Tree-trim! Vodka and cream.

Drink-Drunk! Syrups and jellies.
Drunk-Drink! Belly aches.
Beat-bash! Back to work.
Bash-beat! Dream is over.

1909

--Sasha the Black (Translated from Russian by me.)

Awakenings

Putting their historical differences aside, the Russians and the Poles have launched a joint two-front offensive against me and my efforts to convince my fiancée to abandon her lovely Upper East Side nest for my somewhat-rundown basement apartment in Polish-Occupied Greenpoint—or at least to spoil our pleasant mornings together....

The return of the finger

While waiting in line to board the bus that would take me deep into Polish-occupied Greenpoint, I watched a drunken day laborer punch one of its windows hard and smoothly extend the middle finger of the same hand menacingly into the air. Along with a couple other people waiting to get on board, I searched for the gesture’s recipient, and found an equally drunken laborer on the receiving end standing inside the bus on the other side of the glass. The recipient smiled at his fellow Pole outside and motioned that the other should come in and join him.

But the man outside wasn’t smiling. Far from it! He looked angry—extremely angry—as he held his upturned finger sternly in place. He didn’t make a move. He just stood there—as much as the vodka he had apparently consumed throughout the day allowed—with his eyes narrow as slits, his jaw clenched hard. His interlocutor, however, changed his tune fairly quickly. His smile melted into a nervous frown, his rheumy eyes flitted with confusion, and quickly looked away. Finally, the angry man punched the glass again—punctuating the tense moment with a resounding full stop—and stumbled off. As I watched his progress, he turned back and threw another deadly finger in the bus’s direction before vanishing into the night.

The incident made me realize that I haven’t really seen anyone seriously flip someone else off in a long time. Sure, there is the occasional finger delivered in jest after a well-launched joke about someone’s mother. Or the one raised upright in the event that one is finds oneself at a loss for words. But, really! People just don’t use it as a meaningful mechanism to give voice to legitimate anger anymore. But this gentleman, the one who had refused to join the other on the bus, had proffered the real deal. As surely as Billy Bones after receiving the Black Spot or Jack Woltz upon waking to find a severed horse’s head in bed beside him, this soused Pole had been Put On Notice.   Along the bus route, I watched the poor, confused man brood over the incident, quite shaken by the whole thing, grimly anticipating a troubled near-term. As uncomfortable as the violence of the offending gesture made me, I had no choice but to admit that it was rather well played.

When it was my turn to exit the bus, I just happened to witness a third drunken man nearly get run over by a Mercedes. Just in the nick of time, the pedestrian jumped back, saving himself. Not taking time to consider what nearly happened to him, he slammed his own fist on the side of the car and raised the middle finger of the other as the car sped away.

Clearly, the finger is back.

My koshka's chakras are cranky

Well, it seems that Dreamka -- at my landlord’s request -- has *agreed* to pursue therapy. This is the report we received from the Cat Shaman regarding her first session. My *only* question is: If she could communicate this clearly with a cat (all the way from Florida, mind you), then why not relay this to us over the brainwaves rather than in an email?

Working with Dreamka was wonderful.  She was open and eager for the work -- even said she was waiting for me.  I'm beginning to think the connection occurs from the time the "people" bring me into their thoughts with the animals.

Dreamka is certainly a very cool cat.  She was pleased when I aligned with her heart and said "take your hat off and stay a while", which was a first for me.  When I connected with her soul light it buzzed like a firefly and she said "that stings", but then it glowed nicely.

Her solar plexus held the aggression you spoke of.  When I connected with her solar plexus on the physical/etheric level there was a wide smoke stack with lots of dark smoke coming out.  So you have a perspective, normally when I sense a problem here there are puffs or narrow streams of smoke, sometimes just steam.  Dreamka's was Pittsburgh, PA smoke stack!  I asked her what was the cause and she replied "it was long ago. pain."  I worked a long time pulling it out and when it finally stopped billowing she said "aahh, that's better."

Connecting with the emotional level in her solar plexus she said "here we go again" and this tight, dark ball came out of her, followed by a whole bunch of smaller balls (like BBs) that just kept popping out as if they were boiling up from deep within her.  They finally all cleared, but I could sense there was something else.  After a stillness without response I asked if there was more to deal with here.  I was shown a huge, heavy ball - it looked like a canon ball - in the bottom of her solar plexus.  When I asked what it was she said "i don't know, but get it out!".  I couldn't move it at first.  I tried to pull it up to release to the Light, then I tried to break it apart with the Light and neither method worked.  Sometimes deep pain, whether emotional or physical, needs to be released to Mother Earth.  There is a different energy in Mother Earth that can absorb heavy pain.  When I started to pull the canon ball into the Earth it was dropping down, but then my other hand started to pull upwards to the Light.  What happened was a kind of slingshot effect that gathered enough strength to pull the dark canon ball up and out of her.  The ball had such a strong energy in my palm I had to wash my hands to rid myself of it after we had released it from Dreamka.  Re-checking her emotional level the energy was now swirling with Light and Dreamka said "beautiful".

These are the responses she gave on the other levels of her solar plexus: 
Mental - "aahhh",  Personality - a smile and "i like this stuff", Soul - another smile, Spiritual - "i can feel it now"

Working with her basic chakra next and starting with her physical/etheric level she said "ouch".  Searching for the source of this she led me inside her rectum.  It was sore and inflamed.  Even had a pulsing to it.  I had the image of something like a fissure.  I sent healing Light and cooled it, but I would have a vet take a look at her to check it.  Has she seemed tender in this area, or had trouble going to the bathroom?

The basic chakra deals with home, security and family.  On the emotional level here she expressed a fear that Kevin would put her out, and was unsure if Kevin needed her.  After I assured her that Kevin did love her and needed her she said "he needs me?", "yes, he does" I told her, and she gave me a smile and kisses.

Her personality level felt as if it was slipping away in her basic chakra, and she said "whoa".  It felt as if her old personality that had held the fear of abandonment was leaving.  I asked her if she was alright and she said "i'm ok", but I asked again "are you sure?" and she said "yeah, i'm ok with it".

She enjoyed connecting on the soul and spiritual levels in her basic chakra.

When I reached the sacral chakra she said "this parts fine", but I went ahead to check it any how.  Her personality level indicated that the best of her was yet to come forward, and her soul/spiritual levels were very strong.

Her heart chakra shared the Light between us and I could see it grow in both of us as we went back and forth.  It was very sweet.

Her throat chakra balanced, and she even expressed a bit of prose.  Kevin are you a musician, or do you play a lot of music?  She said she likes music.

The brow and crown chakras balanced, too, so I asked her why she cuddles with Kevin in the morning and then gets aggressive.  She showed me that she didn't like to be rubbed or scratched between her front legs on her chest/belly.  She showed me a fist as if it made her want to fight.  I don't know if Kevin tries to rub her there, or if she anticipates it somehow and it sets her off.  She did say that if he wants to scratch/rub her behind her ears on her neck that would be nice.  She also said "i'll do the cuddling", which means that she'll decided when and how much cuddling will occur.  Kevin may have to resist the tendency to bring her into him.  She wants control.  Maybe over time with respect for that, and with the releases she experienced tonight, she might relax and let Kevin pick her up and return the cuddles.

She really is a warm cat, and I think that releasing the canon ball energy and her fear of being needed will help her true self to come out more.

The fee for tonight's session is $90.

Enter the Shaman

I moved into a new apartment a few months back. I love it; it's large and spacious, and I even get backyard access to a wonderfully landscaped space overgrown in flowers and greeny plants. Contingent upon moving in, however, was the stipulation that I become the foster parent to one of the landlord's cats.

Apparently, Dreamka had been found by my landlord after she had been struck by a car in front of his Greenpoint home. As a result of the accident, she had broken several bones and now suffers from some vision loss. The landlord kindly took the koshka in and his wife and two lovely young daughters cared for her and slowly nursed her back to health. As Dreamka began to heal, however, she became increasingly mistrustful of humans and would lash out at anyone for no apparent reason. One minute, you'd be scratching under her chin and she'd be purring up a storm; next thing you know, you're calling 911 and she's hissing at you like a snake.

Though the family had come to love poor Dreamka, they had also come to the difficult conclusion that she could no longer be allowed in the house. The youngest daughter--about three years old-- was particularly vulnerable to Dreamka's unpredicatable assaults. So they put Dreamka out in the lush backyard. But they continued to put food out for her and try to play with her in the yard. Unfortunately, this being Brooklyn, the neighborhood, particularly this backyard with its overgrowth and shade, is plagued with numerous wild cats. In my yard alone, you can often see three or four enormous males sunning themselves openly on the cobble-stone walkway on any average day. Poor Dreamka was no match for these bullies who dominated her and ate all of her food, and she soon began to lose weight and to show up scratching at my landlord's door with cuts and scratches from her daily brawling.

So when I moved in, he asked me if I didn't mind taking Dreamka in. He explained how much his daughters were fond of the troubled little soul. Since, I had been considering getting a cat at the time, I readily--perhaps too hastily--agreed to take Dreamka on. So we moved in together in May. It took some weeks of getting used to and learning to trust each other, but Dreamka now sleeps in my bed and even greets me impatiently at the front door after work, like any normal cat from a loving home. Each morning, at about 6 a.m., she nuzzles and licks any exposed flesh until I wake up and start petting and scratching her. Her purring alone can wake you up. She gives you about three minutes of serious petting to build up your confidence before she starts hissing, scratching, and biting. On more than one occassion, I have thrown her off of the bed with no regard for her safety--seeing as her claws were so deep in the flesh of my thigh or arm that I was only thinking of saving myself.

While she's generally quite sweet, she can turn on a dime, especially if I try to groom her. Her pelvis was severely damanged in the car accident so she won't let anyone brush her out or clean the long hur on her hind quarters. I've tried and given up. I value my life too much.

Enter the Shaman.

It was Queenie who called me into the equine world, and I will forever be grateful to her for opening my eyes to the special needs of horses, as well as the very special gifts that they give to mankind. Prior to meeting Queenie my healing gifts and therapeutic training were intended for the two legged world. Now I am deeply aware of the huge void of healers in the equine population and I have committed my healing work to horses.

I recently received an e-mail from my landlord's wife, telling me of the success that she has experienced with her other cat, Gustav. Gussy, she explained, was a bit too energetic and feisty. But a few sessions with a friend of hers who is an Animal Shaman--particularly a Horse Shaman--has chilled him out considerably. She was asking for my permission to let the Shaman work with Dreamka. Since my landlady said she was going to pay for it, I agreed. Why not?

So my landlady approached her Horse Shaman who agreed to take on the case, provided, of course, that Dreamka agrees to the pursue therapy. At this point, I have been informed that the Shaman has reached out to Dreamka from Naples, Florida, and if she--the cat from Brooklyn--agrees to pursue therapy, then it will commence post haste.

So We're all waiting on the edges of our seats to see what Dreamka wants to do! I'll keep you posted.

Dreamka?

They seem to own the place

Tennis Mafiya takes McCarren courts:

“They seem to own the place,” complained one young player from Williamsburg, who said that in the past the men cursed at him when he asked them to move after their scheduled time was up.

Another irate — and intimidated — player corroborated those claims, saying that the men have hurled “more Polish at me than I know what to do with.”

[Spaceeba, E!]