All posts filed under: Translated Poetry

A Celebration of Poetry for International Women’s Day 2020

Papyrus Fragment It darts, bares a blaze of underwing to plain sight; this endless fragile need to make a mark, to come to light Papyrus Fragment is © Annette Skade   ‘Secrets of a cartographer’s wife’ by Katrina Dybzynska The cartographer’s wife never told him about her contributions to his maps. A few tiny islands hidden in the middle of an archipelago in the name of symmetry. Some borderline moved to resemble a face shape. The territory of England shortened slightly, in personal revenge. One time, she renamed an insignificant river in Bangladesh after her lover. She felt pity for the cartographer that he was more furious about the affair than about her intervention in the world order. She knew that romances were ephemeral, while naming things was changing them forever.   Katrina Dybzynska poet, shortlisted for Red Line Poetry Prize 2019. Author of „Dzień, w którym decydujesz się wyjechać” (The Day When You Decide To Leave), Grand Prix of Rozewicz Open Contest 2017. Laureate of national competitions in Poland. She has been publishing short …

The Blue Hare (An Giorria Gorm) and other poems by Jackie Gorman

The Blue Hare Stepping off the path, a silver car rushes by. I never saw it coming, yet I felt the ground give way. I knelt down within myself. The hare that lives in my mind, snug in her thick coat and safe in her wide-open eyes, breaks free and runs across me. She purrs, sniffs my body, looks up, pisses and moves on. So it happens that I am reborn into my warm russet fur and strong legs. Mountain hare, white hare, Irish hare, blue hare. Many names, one thumping spirit. A hare will not move until it has to, stillness and camouflage its defence, safe in its form of flattened earth. What does it mean to be free? Hare breath touching the ribs. Watching everything going still, galloping through swirls of thyme, sedge and gorse.   An Giorria Gorm Faoi choiscéim den teach tiomáineann carr gheal faoi dheifir. Ní fhaca mé ag teacht é, ach baineadh croitheadh as an talún. Téim síos ar mo ghlúine i mo chroí istigh. An giorria a mhaireann …

“Dreams of a Happy Ending” by Farideh Hassanzadeh

Dreams of a Happy Ending I throw my nightmare into your arms with all my shaking and sweat, but you stick your hand into my heart to pluck my boobs. I throw my fear of losing words into a book, but you throw your shirt on the clouded pages to let me know “It is missing a button”. You have thrown in my face every day all the small particles of dust on the shelves and in every corner, more sharply than a magnifying glass, but you ignore the sandstorms devouring your mate. Ah! how simply you turn our shining marriage ring into a stinging snake slithering so fast towards my so-romantic dreams of a happy ending. “with many thanks for Becca Menon’s help recreating this poem in English”   A song of despair People go to the park together People go to the cinema together People become friends now and then and write letters to each other they even marry each other sometimes and live at a home for long years always together but …

Miriam Calleja

“Pomegranate heart” and other poems by Miriam Calleja

Four million years of eyes Heady honeysuckle sweat Skin ripe fruit Lips floating Scents Four millions years Of eyes (first published in Pomegranate Heart by Edebooks) Pomegranate heart She counts the seeds Of my pomegranate heart The same, always the same No matter how many times she counts. Her fingers are stained And though she may wash and scrub There I will be In her skin, lodged in places Where she cannot wash me out (first published in Pomegranate Heart by Edebooks) A new kind of courage You give me a new kind of courage you’ve seen me crawl out of my own skin frustrated beyond words shaking my fists and my beliefs at a world that just won’t understand because, who am I? and who are you? and what is it we are doing collectively that would matter at all? you’ve seen me rise out of the destruction of my own dreams bright-eyed brushing every bloody tear off my face in the way only long, hot showers and music can you’ve seen me run …

microliths 240-241 by Paul Celan

Excerpts from microliths by Paul Celan translated by Pierre Joris ____________ [These are Celan’s first notes toward the conference project “On the Darkness of Poetry” which remained unfinished.] Pjoris 240 240.1 || Mysticism as wordlessness Poetry as form 241.2 The poem is inscribed as the figure of the whole language, but language remains invisible; what is actualizing itself — language — steps, as soon as it has happened, back into the realm of the possible.“Le poème,” writes Valéry, “est du langage à l’état naissant;” /“Poetry,” writes Valéry, “is language in the state of being born;”/ Language in statu nascendi, thus, language freeing itself. 241 241.1 Yesyes, not only the Geiger-, the “syllable-counters ” too, though despised by a literature that calls itself engaged, register something. ———————————— ↑ → 241.2 aesthesis is not enough; the … ;noesis is not enough; … ; what’s needed is personal presence, what’s needed is conversation; conversation and entertainment are different things; conversations are demanding, straining. 241.3 ——–——– Idea of the bracket (voicedness) syncope also the this vibrato of the words has …