"Beethoven over Douglas Pass" my poem out now in JEFFERSON JOURNAL. May/June 2025, page 46, the print journal of ijpr.org
https://www.ijpr.org/jefferson-journal
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2025
Wednesday, May 7, 2025
Wednesday, March 19, 2025
Monday, March 17, 2025
Alfonsina Storni
My translations of four Alfonsina Storni poems now up at ITERANT! Spanish and english versions, with audio.
https://iterant.org/issue15/alfonsina-storni/
Sunday, March 16, 2025
solidarność
My poem "solidarność" now out in RABBLE REVIEW no. 8. Winter 2025. Buy (or download for free) the whole issue here. [Note: I'm not sure Rabble is even around still, no website anymore]. I would just download this for free, by putting in 0/zero for the the fair payment. I don't know....sorry.
Wednesday, March 12, 2025
Thursday, February 27, 2025
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Exit Opera by Kim Addonizio
My review of Kim Addonizio's new poetry book, Exit Opera, is now up at SPLICE Today.
Sometimes writing feels so stupid I think I should get out into the world & do something
like repairing fountain pens, milking snakes, something useful—...
Monday, December 16, 2024
Miss Rotinski—poem at Porcupine Lit
My poem "Miss Rotinski" now up at Porcupine Literary!
https://www.porcupineliterary.com/post/miss-rotinski
Thursday, November 7, 2024
Saturday, July 20, 2024
Wednesday, July 10, 2024
ITERANT online version now up!
The online version of ITERANT #14, Illiterate Moon, is now up! You can find my translations of poems by Manuel Vilas along with the originals in spanish. And, gulp, recordings of me reading both versions!
https://iterant.org/issue14/manuel-vilas/
Saturday, June 29, 2024
Manuel Vilas translation at ITERANT
My translations of three Manuel Vilas poems are now out in the ITERANT #14, Illiterate Moon.
Soon to be online too, I think, but order the print edition here:
https://iterant.org/product/iterant-issue-14/
Wednesday, May 29, 2024
Monday, April 22, 2024
Get Drunk! by Charles Baudelaire
My translation of Baudelaire's famous poem, "Get Drunk!". I would hand this out on the last day of class to my students, and read it to them the original french too, which they seemed to really like.
Get Drunk!
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden, one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without stopping.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,
ask the wind, the waves, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them what time it is
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time to get drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause to rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!”
by Charles Baudelaire (tr. John Yohe)
Enivrez-vous!
Il
faut être toujours ivre, tout est là ; c'est l'unique question.
Pour ne
pas sentir l'horrible fardeau
du temps qui brise vos épaules et vous
penche vers la terre,
il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.
Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu à votre guise, mais enivrez-vous!
Et
si quelquefois, sur les marches d’un palais,
sur l’herbe verte d’un
fossé,
dans la solitude morne de votre chambre,
vous vous réveillez,
l’ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue,
demandez au vent, à la vague, à
l’étoile, à l’oiseau, à l’horloge,
à tout ce qui fuit,
à tout ce qui
gémit,
à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante,
à tout ce qui parle,
demandez quelle heure il est ;
et le vent, la vague, l’étoile, l’oiseau,
l’horloge, vous répondront :
« Il est l’heure de s’enivrer !
Pour
n’être pas les esclaves martyrisés du Temps,
enivrez-vous ;
enivrez-vous
sans cesse !
De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise. »
—Charles Baudelaire
Monday, April 15, 2024
The solitudes of Babel by Mario Benedetti
My unauthorized translation of a poem by Mario Benedetti, for the interest of doing it, and because his official translator is doing a poor job of it.
The solitudes of Babel
Solitude is our most private property
of rite of juggling fires
we move in it and invent walls
with mirrors of those who we always flee
solitude is time / fast or stopped /
waterwheel reflections / spirals of smoke /
with loves in vitro / dislikes in pectore /
and I double check methodical the good lust
solitude is night with open eyes
future sketch that hid memory
worries of hero buried in his panic
and a sense of guilt / retired from oblivion
it is the tepid conscience of how they should be
to have been the crosses of life and death
and also the rescue of small sparks
born from the encounter of death and life
solitude is known only in the world of the alone
and it asks itself sometimes about other solitudes
not as crossroads between spirit and soul
but rather with entomological interest
a short time ago still / really not too long ago
solitudes / alone / each on in their space
spoke a single frayed tongue
that in key moments served them as bridge
as well as a hand a signal a kiss
the contiguous solitude grew closer to the alone person
and a solitary web of the alone connected
geographies and hopes
in love and the tango the alone embraced
and since it was the language of the world for all
they could share sadness and pleasure
and they could even convince themselves that they were not alone
but something has changed / is changing
every sole person debuted their new cave
new game of keys and locks
and temporary the dialect of one alone
now when the lone men and women dance
they no longer connect / they keep distance
in love they embrace but they think
of another embrace / that of their solitudes
the solitudes of babel ignore
what solitudes graze their side
they will never know by whom their project is
of the ghost tower that they build
thus / scattered but together
near but far / alone side by side
each one in their bubble / unsupported
they grow old miserly like islets
and even though the tower keeps skyward
in search of that poor god of always
they collapse/break down without knowing
solitudes below / dream below
—Mario Benedetti (trans. John Yohe)
Las soledades de Babel
La soleded es nuestra propiedad más privada
viejo rito de fuegos malabares
en ella nos movemos e inventamos paredes
con espejos de los que siempre huimos
la soledad es tiempo / veloz o detenido /
relfexiones de noria / espirales de humo /
con amores in vitro / desamores in pectore /
y repaso metódico de la buena lujuria
la soledad es noche con los ojos abiertos
esbozo de futuro que escondió la memoria
desazones de héroe encerrado en su pánico
y un setnido de culpa / jubilado de olvido
es la tibia conciencia de cómo deberían
haber sido los cruces de la vida y la muerte
y también el rescate de los breves chispazos
nacidos del encuentro de la muerte y la vida
la soledad se sabe sola en mundo de solos
y se pregunta a veces por otras soledades
no como vía crucis entre ánimo y ánima
más bien con interés entomológico
todavía hace un tiempo / en rigor no hace tanto
las soledades / solas / cada una en su hueco
hablaban una sola deshilachada lengua
que en los momentos claves les servía de puente
o también una mano una señal un beso
acercaban al solo la soledad contingua
y una red solidaria de solos conectaba
las geografías y las esperanzas
en el amor y el tango los solos se abrazabban
y como era de todos el idimos del mundo
podían compartir la tristeza y el goce
y hasta se convencían de que no estaban solos
pero algo ha cambiado / está combiando
cada solo estrenó su nueva cueva
nuevo juego de llaves y candados
y de paso el dialecto de uno solo
ahora cuando bailan los solos y las solas
ya no se enlazan / guardan su distancia
en el amor se abrazan pero piensan
en otro abrazo / el de sus soledades
las soledades de babel ignoran
qué soledades rozan su costado
nunca sabrán de quién es el proyecto
de la torre de espanto que contruyen
así / diseminados pero juntos
cercanos pero ajenos / solos codo con codo
cada uno en su burbuja / insolidarios
envejecen mezquinos como islotes
y aunque siga la torre cielo arriba
en busca de ese pobre dios de siempre
ellos se desmoronan sin saberlos
soledades abajo / sueño abajo
—Mario Benedetti
Thursday, April 4, 2024
Minor Poet/Poeta Menor by Mario Benedetti
Going rogue on translating Mario Benedetti poems because, 1) it's interesting to do, and 2) I don't agree with how his official translator is doing it. And 3) I feel he deserves to be known outside of South America, where he's as popular as a poet can be. This is one of my favorites, so far:
Minor Poet
The goal is obscurity.
I have arrived before.
—J. L. Borges “A Minor Poet”
One time they told him
in code of calm hate
that he is / that he always has been
a minor poet
and suddenly he has noted
that he felt at ease
in that hierarchy
in the years of return
it is very gratifying
to be a minor poet
when he reads and rereads
their major poets
and dialogues with them
no longer as equal to equal
but between unequals
without mistrust he assumes
the cordial and also
stellar distance
which seperates him from them
the good thing the best thing
is that in that distance
envy doesn’t circulate
the major poets are truly major
among other reasons
because they are compared
with the minor poets
their genius is the advantage
over the defenseless people
who write badly
by vocation and sometimes
by mistake
after all what
would become of the major
poets without the minor
poets
without their inspiration?
the minor poets
at times write from love
from trembling
and they call bread bread
or viceversa wine wine
they write verses alone
on terraces
in airports /
they construct their silences
in the middle of the roar
and fill the caution
with words
certain readers say
that they are almost like them
(they’re minor readers
of course)
some admire
the minor poets
and nourish themselves with dates
of their complete works
in the years of return
it is very gratifying
to be a minor poet
—Mario Benedetti (trans. John Yohe)
Poeta menor
La meta es el olvido.
Yo he llegado antes.
—J. L. Borges «Un poeta menor»
Alguna vez le han dicho
en clave de odio manso
que es / que siempre ha sido
un poeta menor
y de pronto had notado
que se sentía a gusto
en ese escalafón
en los años de vuelta
es muy gratificante
set un poeta menor
cuando lee y relee
a sus poetas mayores
y dialoga con ellos
ya no de igaul a igual
sino entre desiguales
asume sin recelo
la distancia cordial
y también sideral
que los separa de ellos
lo bueno lo mejor
es que en esa distancia
no circula la envidia
los poetas mayores
son mayores de veras
entre otras razones
porque se los compara
con los poetas menores
su genio es la ventaja
sobre los desvelados
ue hacen mala letra
por vocación y a veces
por equivocación
después de todo ¿qué
sería de los poetas
mayores sin los poetas
menores
sin su aliento?
los poetas menores
escriben a menudo
por amor / por temblor
y llaman al pan pan
o viceversa al vino vino
hacen verson a solas
en las terrazas
en los aeropuertos /
contruyen sus silencios
en medio del fragor
y llenan de palabras
la cautela
ciertos lectores dicen
qaue son casi como ellos
(son lectores menores
por supuesto)
unos y otros admiran
a los poetas mayores
y se nutren con citas
de sus obras completas
en los años de vuelta
es muy gratificante
ser un poeta menor
Wednesday, April 3, 2024
Music/Música by Mario Benedetti
I don't have official permission to translate poems by Uruguayan writer Mario Benedetti, but I'm putting some up here because, 1) He's not well known outside of South America but should be, and 2) his official translator is doing a horrible job (adding words, changing sentences structure). Here's the first:
Music
If one could insert oneself into the music
and rest there while the world
continues being a combustible racket
maybe I could stop death
without weighty reasons / simply
because it is maddening and never defeated
if one could install oneself in the music
be violin or guitar or clavichord
and choose sweet hallucinations
or timid temporary questions
the soul would sound like a dream
or the miracle of a bird suspended
but no one has been able to introduce themselves
like a spy between two modulations /
in that odd strip of ringings
the music will always be for others
others who prowl through the night
until threading the needle of insomnia
—Mario Benedetti (trans. John Yohe)
Música
Si uno pudiera insertarse en la música
y descansar allí mientras el mundo
sigue siendo un estruendo combustible
tal vez podría detener la muerte
sin razones de peso / simplemente
porque es latosa y no se rinde nunca
si uno pudiera instalarse en la música
ser violín o guitarra o clavicordio
y elegir dulces alucinaciones
o tímida pregunta temporales
el almo sonaría como un sueño
o el milagro de un pájaro en suspenso
pero nadie had podido introducirse
como espía entre dos modulaciones /
en esa franja impar de los tañido
la música será siempre de otros
otros ue por la noche merodean
hasta enhebrar la aguja del insomnio
—Mario Benedetti
Saturday, March 23, 2024
Central Avenue Then & Now
Good mail day: The editors Dale Harris and Merimée Moffitt, of an old zine I used to publish in long ago—so long that I didn't even remember some of my own poems!—called Central Avenue, out of Albuquerque around the years 2001-2006, decided to track down as many of their old contributors as possible and ask them to submit new poetry for an anthology. The result, called Central Avenue Then & Now, features at least one poem from the old zine and one new one.
Real actual book available thru Amazon:
Saturday, March 9, 2024
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