But meanwhile my Margarita is roaming through my mind, and the cat, and flying
Have a short interview with me at Stone Telling! I talk about my poem "A Bulgakov Headache" and the reasons I will never make coffee syrup in my kitchen again.
Yesterday we took my parents to the Museum of Modern Renaissance for Somerville Open Studios and got an unexpected concert: a woman with a guitar, singing in Russian. I couldn't tell if they were her own songs or not. One was a poem by Yevtushenko. Her voice had the '60's folk vibrato I associate with Joan Baez and Judy Collins. The sun clouded and brightened through the windows, making green and lavender patches on the polished floor. That hall still contains one of the best mermaids I've seen painted.
Today is mostly work, although in the evening
derspatchel and I have reservations at Tryst, because we've been married for five months and we can do that.
Yesterday we took my parents to the Museum of Modern Renaissance for Somerville Open Studios and got an unexpected concert: a woman with a guitar, singing in Russian. I couldn't tell if they were her own songs or not. One was a poem by Yevtushenko. Her voice had the '60's folk vibrato I associate with Joan Baez and Judy Collins. The sun clouded and brightened through the windows, making green and lavender patches on the polished floor. That hall still contains one of the best mermaids I've seen painted.
Today is mostly work, although in the evening

no subject
Diana Burgin and Katherine O'Connor (Vintage, 1996). There is also a much more annotated version by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (Penguin, 1997) which isn't terrible—I was assigned it for a class—but I encountered the other first in the wild and I like its style better. I'm sure new translations have come out since I was in college, but I'm really not familiar with any.