All posts filed under: Translation

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‘ The Wind of the World’ & other poems by Müesser Yeniay

The Wind of the World For my grandmother you are under the earth I am on the earth with your body that is tired of carrying the wind of this world -a stone in the middle of my heart has been rolling without stop- I don’t know where you have gone the only thing which is clear is that you are not here The Phenomenology of Writing Now you are an empty page inviting writing –maybe- because of lust just not ready -your call is on my mind for quite a while- call me call me the flow of ink is a remedy for my wounds Illness You hit me like you were punching the wall woman isn’t your cave in which whenever you like you can lie down you can’t climb over her like a squirrel. not of his nectar but of his pee he lets inside he loves like he shakes a tree manhood is a serious illness Rajm Outside is night inside is separation this must be the last day of the …

“Woman’s Song” and other poems by Gülten Akın

Poems from What Have You Carried Over?: Poems of 42 Days and Other Works by Gülten Akın, translated by Saliha Paker and Mel Kenne   Spring Oh, no one’s got the time to stop’n think about fine things With broad brush-strokes they move along Sketching homes kids graves onto the world Some are obviously lost when a rhyme starts up With one look they shut it all out And the rhyme enters the night, as fine things do Some pus in your breasts, some fish, some tears Sea sea sea you turn into a giant Evenings your fog creeps up the river-mouths Raids our hazel-nuts What to do with their blackening buds We beg our children: go hungry for a while We beg the tycoons Please, one less “Hotel,” one secret marriage less to sketch Please one less bank, a plea From us to you and from you to those abroad We send our wives out to get a manicure, to say —sir, if you please— We send our children out to beg We’re off …

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Dowsing/ RABDOMANTICA – by Daniela Raimondi

Dowsing/ RABDOMANTICA & other poems is © Daniela Raimondi, the english translations are © Anamaría Crowe Serrano DOWSING   Mother pregnant with rain. Mother of virgin sounds, with music in your marrow and the chirping of a bird in your mouth. Mother sewing and unsewing the waters and the tides holding between your teeth the source of all rivers, the alphabet that gushes on the tongues of poets and leaves damp traces, the imprint of a lamb wet from birth. Mother of the dark-dark Mother of the black-black night. Moved by a primitive thirst, the same need to flee from light that pushes the hare deep into the scrub. Touch me with your clear fingers oil my lips with your blind love. Like a heavenly valley where only light falls. Your blue within another blue, the intense azure breath of your sky.   RABDOMANTICA   Madre pregna di pioggia. Madre di suoni vergini, con un midollo di musica e sulla bocca il gorgheggio di un uccello. Madre che cuci e scuci le acque e le …

“Morning in the Garden” in Şiirden 37

My thanks to Müesser Yeniay who is editor of Şiirden Magazine (of Poetry) and who translated “Morning in the Garden” for issue 37 of the magazine. The poem first appeared in ANU 48 (Editor, Amos Grieg). You can read some of Müesser Yeniay’s work at the following links, Three Poems, Phoenix and other poems, and Kafes (The Cage) and other poems. For me, poetry  can be about cross-cultural pollination (translation) and it can occur at very simple levels, without the trumpets and big budgets. Ekphrasis need not be limited to the image, nor need it be static. The issue is always quite simply about the poet’s response to the poetry of another. I am very grateful to Müesser for her translation of my work.

“Bookmarking The Oasis” and other poems by K. Srilata

Things I didn’t know I loved (after Nazim Hikmet) I didn’t know I loved windows so much but I do – enough to wrestle someone to the ground over them, so light can, once again, flood my eyes. I didn’t know I loved bare feet so much, or walking away on them to wherever point, my heart slung over my shoulder like a sheep-skin bag. I didn’t know I loved small islands of quiet in the middle of the day, but I do – they feel like old friends. I didn’t know I loved the idea of night descending like a tired bird or birds flying in and out of rooms and poems but I do. I didn’t know I loved so many things. Only now that I have read Hikmet, am I setting them free, one by one. from Bookmarking the Oasis(Poetrywala, 2015) Looking for Light, Sunbirds I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being. (Hafiz of Shiraz) Looking for light, sunbirds …