Alessandra Bava's Blog

I have read so many works by Marina Tsvetaeva since last summer that I'm totally obsessed by her. It seems to me that I have swallowed a whole world and that I now need to process it, much like an alligator digesting its huge prey. I have had a poem about her 2 daughters whirling in my mind for weeks. It's so heartbreaking, that I fear I may never be able to write it down.

Wish me luck!

I am extremely grateful to Editor Jill Khoury for accepting two of my poems for publication in her Rogue Agent Journal. "Wishbone" was published in Issue 23 and "Rebirth" in Issue 22. They are somehow visceral poems. I hope you enjoy them!

I have three poems in the newest issue of Menacing Hedge . "Pockets Full of Stones" is a poem inspired by Virginia Woolf's suicide. "Meet me at Hotel Elsinore" was written after watching Hamlet 2000 , starring Ethan Hawke. It is an odd movie which left a lasting impression. The third poem, "Seeking Francesca," was inspired by a visit to the Pastificio Cerere, here in Rome, one of the plants where photographer Francesca Woodman, took many of her iconic stills.

Check the whole issue and fall in love with Susan Yount's amazing collage! Many thanks to Editor Kelly Boyker Guillemette and all the other Editors.


Francesca Woodman, Untitled (Rome 1977-78)                                       

We are just a few days into 2017 and I am happy to celebrate my first publication of the year. Two of my poems have been included in the latest issue of Arsenic Lobster, edited by Susan Yount. The first of the two "70s Blues" is one of the first prose poems I wrote. It deals with growing up in the Years of Lead and it is a sort of "conversation" with my dad. I am very fond of this poem and I am glad it found such a lovely home. The other poem "The Fury of Hummingbirds" is a tribute to Frida Kahlo, one of my artistic icons.

Check out all the poems and reviews and thank you for reading my work!

The end of the year is just a few hours away and I've spent the afternoon reading some poetry by Frank O'Hara. Some lines from his poem For the Chinese New Year and for Bill Berkson have somehow struck a chord. I am sharing them with you:

[...]

it is perhaps the period that ends
the problem as a proposition of days of days
just an attack to the feelings that stay
poised in the hurricane's center that
eye through which only camels can pass

but I do not mean that tenderness doesn't
linger like a Paris afternoon or a wart
something dumb or desplicable that I love
because it is silent [...]

Poetry and figures don't seem to get along too well, but they do on my record sheet. I have a file where I track my yearly submissions, as well as my acceptances and rejections. 2016 has been a slow year for me. Life and work have somehow hijacked my creativity, but I am particularly pleased with the few poems I have written, which are mostly prose poems.

This said, of the 85 poems that I have submitted, 15 have been accepted for publication. And, two of these poems will be included in 2 American anthologies.

I am also very pleased with my first all-Italian collection, A rima armata . It was indeed a pleasure to present it here in Rome together with Jack Hirschman and Agneta Falk Hirschman last June.

I still have to hear back from 2 literary journals about my 2016 submissions, but for the most part I am looking forward to 2017. I toast to more poetry and more words!


Jack and Agneta Hirschman & me

I was curious about Jim Jarmusch's recently released movie, Paterson . In the first place as it deals with a poet and poetry, and secondly because I truly loved his Only Lovers Left Alive , starring Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston.

Jarmusch's mood permeate his movies in a unique way. The atmosphere is always the real thing even in his Paterson. The movie deals with an apparently simple story, the life of a bus driver, whose name is Paterson just like the small NJ town where he lives. We follow him as he wakes up every week day, goes to work carrying his lunch box and a notepad in his jacket, where he pens his poems before starting his daily rides or, after dinner, as he walks his dog to the pub to drink his daily beer. Life is simple, filled with the poetry of small things such as a box of matches that inspires him to write a love poem.

In this small town Paterson and his wife, Laura, are clearly not the average people. Despite routine they both strive to pursue some form of art, whether it be writing or decorating anything compulsively, as Laura does, from shower curtains, to clothes, to cupcakes. Laura keeps Paterson anchored to reality, but sometimes he fails to listen to her suggestions and this will lead to the doom of losing his most beloved object. But, this is the karma that changes things, the turning point that leads to an apparently fleeting encounter. As the name of the main character and movie suggest, we cannot forget that one of the movie's tributes is to the poetry of William Carlos Williams and to his well known "no ideas but in things." Even after a great loss, gifts happen and these turn into lines.

Paterson is a precious little gem for poetry lovers and for anyone with the disposition of appreciating life's small things.

Solstice's Day. Winter is finally tapping at the door. The days are chillier, the air quite crisp. I bought a new notepad to celebrate the season and to remind myself I need to write more. Maybe the Yule's stag, the wild spirit of power and inspiration, will visit me. He is a gift giver and I secretly hope he will provide me with some of his lunar illumination. Colored scarves, hot cocoa and words. This is how I plan to celebrate the new season. Bring it on!

This has been an interesting year for my writing. I haven't written many poems in terms of quantity, but I am totally pleased with the few pieces I have produced. Conciseness and a dry style seem to be the key of my latest work. I am also very happy of realizing that I can write quality prose poems (one I am very fond of has been accepted by Editor Susan Yount, to be published in a forthcoming issue of Arsenic Lobster) and that they work so well to channel my childhood memories. I am a 70s girl. Proudly borne on the barricades. The Years of Lead have shaped me. So glad I get a chance to talk about that period through my writing.

How sad to wake up to the news of Michel Butor's death, this morning. I read the news on my friend, Daniele Ferroni's Facebook feed. Daniele had a special relationship with the French novelist and poet, certainly one of the most iconic figures of the Nouveau Roman . The two have been good friends for almost fifteen years and Daniele produced exquisite publications of the master's work. He was also so generous as to ask me to translate some of Butor's poems. A demanding task in many ways, because Butor would use the French language in a down-to-earth way but filled with poetical genius that made me strive a lot. I so hope to have done justice to his words. May his path be forever graceful now, as was his life.




  Michel Butor