Renata Golden

Greetings and news from Santa Fe —

 

January has been cold here in Santa Fe, and I find myself staying home, staying warm. I have been reading a lot of poetry lately, and have found work by Tomas Venclova, Lithuanian poet, dissident, and activist. Venclova's work is hard to find online; after much digging, I have requested one of his poetry collections via an interlibrary loan. In the meantime, I found this great interview with Rimas Užgiris, one of Venclova's translators; its title is "Translation: It's like acting, minus Brad Pitt." It can be hard for some to get into writing in translation, but without it, I wouldn't have been able to read Neruda or Rilke, or Olga Tokarczuk or Han Kang. When the Venclova book comes, I will share some poems (translated into English). In the meantime, I encourage you to keep warm with a work in translation.

 

In other news, I will be speaking at the Irish American Society in Albuquerque on Valentine's Day. This event is free and open to the public, and I've been promised tea (I'll bet it's Barry's). I'm also delighted to announce that Mountain Time: A Field Guide to Astonishment has won the Southwest Book Award from the Border Regional Library Association, and got this glowing review from Publisher's Weekly:  "Golden unites nature and humankind into a breathtaking, give-and-take dance, transporting readers from immigrant stories and insightful explorations of displaced Indigenous peoples to considerations of the animals at her doorstep, all connected by threads of love and respect."

 

To keep you company by the fire, here is Madra from NewDad, a band from Galway. The Irish Times calls their music "shoegaze music – those steel-fist-in-a-velvet-glove rhythms." "Madra" means "dog" in Irish, so this tune will be a good companion for you as we move into February.

 

Hope you are staying healthy and well.

 

Renata

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Hello —

 

The end of the year approaches fast, and I understand some holidays can be difficult. I also understand this is a time of sadness and loss for many people, on so many levels. In addition to the sad state of the world these days, I know people have been devastated by hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, wars, and personal struggles. Some friends had to say goodbye to beloved pets. Other friends have lost family members they were especially close to. 

 

I am sad to say that I had to cancel my conversation with James Aronhió:ta's Stevens at Geronimo's Books in Santa Fe, originally scheduled for November 16. That was the day I grabbed a 6:15 AM flight to be with my sister in Chicago. She had been in hospice care for several days and I knew I had to get there as quickly as I could. She was unresponsive by the time I arrived, but her daughters (who never left her side) assured me she knew I was there. The tragedy is compounded by the fact that my sister had lost her husband the month prior; they had lost their eldest son exactly a year earlier. When I joined my sister, brother-in-law, nieces, and nephews for Thanksgiving dinner in 2023, my sister had set a place for her missing son, whom we toasted before sitting down to enjoy our meal. My sister's strength and resilience had always impressed me, but as we toasted my nephew who was no longer with us, I was amazed at how well she was keeping it together. I was also impressed with the integrity and closeness of her now-adult children. My sister had made it a priority to raise a loving, cohesive family, and she was successful in achieving that goal. Most of us around that dinner table realized it could be the last Thanksgiving my nieces and nephews would celebrate with their parents, and indeed it was. I was grateful to be with my nieces and nephews during this difficult deathwatch, and to be at my sister's side at 1:55 PM on November 18 when she took her last breath. 

 

For those of you going through your own losses, please know that I understand grief. My own grief continues to change shape; now that the wake and funeral are over, I find myself wanting to call my sister to ask her questions that will never be answered, or to give her the news of the day, or just to say hello. The realization that I will always miss her hits hard. 

 

My conversation with James Aronhió:ta's Stevens has been rescheduled for January 11, 2025 at Geronimo's Books in Santa Fe. 

 

I will leave you with three poems by Marie Howe that I find myself reading these days. And this video of Nikki Giovanni (who died on Monday at age 81) reciting her poem "When I Die."

 

Remember to tell someone today that you love them.

 

Renata

Greetings!

 

I hope you are enjoying some fall weather, wherever you are, with a beautiful change in seasons. The aspens on the Sangre de Cristos here in Santa Fe have been showing off their bright yellows for the past week, and the ash trees and bigtooth maples are rich red. I am especially enjoying the Santa Fe weather after returning from Greenville, South Carolina, where I arrived just in time for Hurricane Helene. Although Greenville experienced long power outages and many downed trees, the city was spared the devastation that impacted parts of western North Carolina, including Asheville. My week of no internet and canceled reading events was nothing compared to folks who lost everything—family members, animals, livelihoods. You can read updates on the area, including ways that you can help, at the local Asheville newspaper.

 

But I do have some good news to share. "My Eight-Snake Day," an essay from the book, is currently up at Terrain.org—take a look and I think you might be surprised at what you don't know about snakes. Also, I will be reading at Columbus State University on October 23 and the Georgia Center for the Book in Atlanta on October 24. Both readings are at 7:00 PM and are with Ellen Birkett Morris, winner of the Donald L. Jordan Prize for Literary Excellence. If you are in Georgia or parts nearby, please stop by and say hello!

 

In my last email, I told you about a conversation coming up with James Aronhió:ta's Stevens at Geronimo's Books in Santa Fe on November 16, 2024 at 4:00 PM. I was already excited about this event, and then James told me about a conversation he had with a breakfast server in Hawaii (where he photographed Mountain Time in a bamboo grove). James said, "The first morning she asked me what I was reading and I told her they were nature essays. She asked me to tell her about the ant essay. The second morning I told her about snakes. This morning she said, 'We left off on bluebirds. What can you tell me about today?' So we talked about prairie dogs. We bemoaned this being my last morning but she said, 'I know so much more than I did four days ago!'" Hearing about this conversation makes me ridiculously happy.

 

I will leave you with a song by a singer new to me, who you probably are already familiar with. I can't get his songs out of my head. (But don't be put off by the thought of an earworm; I really think you'll like this.) Here is Teddy Swims singing at a pub in Dublin. (Thanks to the poet Sean Hill for the introduction.)

 

Enjoy the fall weather!

Renata