The Stars and the Cookie Jar

I'm starting to get a better sense of Violeta, of whose work I have so little, other than the fact that 'Hoyt Zikh Mir Di Shich Zerissn' is attributed to her and that she kept a diary which is now gone, and two stunning long poems in Lider un Poemes, and a short poem Raissa copied over. I have three good hours in the morning before I have to teach, and I intend to give some time to 'Lacework', which is about scars, and 'Telling' from which I sampled earlier.

( Because it's good to have a plan, here's what comes next...  )

I am also starting to get a red, itching forehead from landing it in my dusty old Lexikon so frequently. There is serious drool damage to most of Ts.

She was a tiny bit foolish over Raissa, but then, I think you had to be, to tolerate her for very long. :)

Bast would like you all to know that she, too, is writing a book, or maybe it's just a haiku, she can't decide:

I am black and white.

Your wardrobe fears me. Your best

blanket, stylish gray.

Anyway,

....stars in a net, a lacing of silver silk and a meander of blue and red, the dark pools of bruises that stay in the skin for years...

That is all I got translated this morning. Bleh! Bleh!

Yes, it really does fall that well in English, I'm not doing anything to it. I think she might have been one of those foreign speakers who speak the minutiae of a language better than the natives, not that it matters as this was from the Yiddish. Violeta's work has that, distinctly: a sense of... fall. That makes no sense, but my brain is already bifurcating into Tell! Show! Do! mode for the class...

And it's a bleeding fifty-line poem, what do you want, completion in an hour?

Translation, as they say in the vernacular, sometimes tends to screw the kangaroo.

I have survived abuse, incest [yes], upheaval and my cat going completely bald. This is nothing. I am standing. I will stand.