hoarse horse

last night we went to the cemetery to see the black angel. we told ghost stories, and then two kids actually disappeared. it began to thunder and lightning as we looked for them. we spotted a ghost woman.

best night so far, minus the bronchitis i caught over the weekend, in my little pied de terre at Burge Hall.

un nouveau compartimente

quelque fois je pense qu'il est plus simple d'ecriver en français. je ne sais pas c'est comme ça. peut être parce mon critique interieur n'existe pas ici, ou parce j'ouvre une autre compartemente dans ma tete. la derniere et le prochaine semaine, je travaillais au camp internationale, comprise des arabes et les russians. c'est formidable, ils sont tres maturees et curieux. moi, je sens qu'ils sont tres heureux d'etre ici, a iowa, et nous serons tristes a la fin de cette semaine. j'habite dans Burge Hall, et c'est le seul chose que je deteste! 

araby'un ana

last night was Arabic 101. We danced debkah, ate tabbouleh, learned about Mahmoud Darwish and Sahar Khalifeh and Khalil Gibran, counted to ten, learned colors. Fatima, a shy Palestinian BTLer living in Israel, sang a song about freedom. Yazan the Jordanian-Palestinian recited his own poetry in Arabic. We then walked to the bridge over the Iowa River, we took selfies together, and we watched night ducks.

Today we go to the FIGGE in Davenport and Wild Den State Park. And then the mall, which is all they really want to do. 

Turgenev girls

Last night was Russian 101 night at BTL. The Russian students taught us about the long history of suffering Russian writers, like Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Mayakovsky, and of course, Pushkin. We watched Russian cartoons, we learned how to count to ten. Later this evening Artyom, one of the more romantic Russian men here, recited his poetry in the original. We swooned. At lights out I knocked on one of the girls' rooms, and it opened to reveal twelve of them seated in a circle on the floor, including several Arabs un-hijabed. They are bonding inter-culturally, and it warms me.

shower caddy

Between the Lines, the international writing camp that brings together Russians, Americans, and Arabs, began this past Saturday here in Iowa City. I am one of four counselors, in charge of 34 kids total (22 girls, 12 boys. Why are women unequivocally more drawn to writing than men?) We worked all weekend, receiving them at the airport and bringing them to the dorm, Burge Hall, where we all live for the next two weeks. On Saturday I had my first scare, when I brought them downtown for a tour and lost every one of them. But as they are in high school, they managed to find their way back. Every kid is so far wonderful. The Russians all speak Russian of course, but for Arabs it's a bit different, as Arabic varies in dialect between the Levant and North Africa. I've found that I can practice both my Arabic and my French, speaking the former with the Levantees and the latter with the North Africans. One of the Russians recited some untranslated Pushkin to me, and now I am eager to learn Russian as well.

Tonight we karaoke with the Iowa Young Writer's Studio. The Russians have been preparing all late-afternoon!

Worst part: lofted dorm room bed. Several near-accidents already, must figure out how to get down without slipping.

deflation, control

there is always someone -er

thoughts to follow up on.

Isn't it arrogant to say there's no such thing as luck?

She looks like poet, N said this morning at the sight of a poet. Like she's been damaged by emotions.