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I did not intend to have a dance on the way to the Proust reading on the Lower West Side last night, but did and it was subtle and spectacular. More about to die. And then an idyllic reading including three translators I actually knew which made me feel like part of the tradition of literature. On the way home stepped in time. Not the full throttle dance rocket, but I have to count it.

Marcella Durand reading her translations of Proust poems at Poet's House


coming up out of the Subway into Gotham.

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