Re: poetry thread

[Guest]

I know... I should divide the work from the poet

...I can't divide the poem from the poet asdf. If a poem moves me I want to know about the mover.

[Guest]

Quince monedas
by Jorge Luis Borges

A Alicia Jurado

Un poeta oriental

Durante cien otoños he mirado
tu tenue disco.
Durante cien otoños he mirado
tu arco sobre las islas.
Durante cien otoños mis labios
no han sido menos silenciosos.


El desierto

El espacio sin tiempo.
La luna es del color de la arena.
Ahora, precisamente ahora,
mueren los hombres del Metauro y de Tannenberg.


LLueve

¿En qué ayer, en qué patios de Cartago,
cae también la lluvia?


Asterión

El año me tributa mi pasto de hombres
y en la cisterna hay agua.
En mí se anudan los caminos de piedra.
¿De qué puedo quejarme?
En los atardeceres
me pesa un poco la cabeza de toro.


Un poeta menor

La meta es el olvido.
Yo he llegado antes.


Génesis, IV, 8

Fue en el primer desierto.
Dos brazos arrojaron una gran piedra.
No hubo un grito. Hubo sangre.
Hubo por vez primera la muerte.
Ya no recuerdo si fui Abel o Caín.


Nortumbria, 900 A.D.

Que antes del alba lo despojen los lobos;
la espada es el camino más corto.


Miguel de Cervantes

Crueles estrellas y propicias estrellas
presidieron la noche de mi génesis;
debo a las últimas la cárcel
en que soñé el Quijote.


El Oeste

El callejón final con su poniente.
Inauguración de la pampa.
Inauguración de la muerte.


Estancia El Retiro

El tiempo juega un ajedrez sin piezas
en el patio. El crujido de una rama
rasga la noche. Fuera la llanura
leguas de polvo y sueño desparrama.
Sombras los dos, copiamos lo que dictan
otras sombras: Heráclito y Gautama.


El prisionero

Una lima.
La primera de las pesadas puertas de hierro.
Algún día seré libre.


Macbeth

Nuestros actos prosiguen su camino,
que no conoce término.
Maté a mi rey para que Shakespeare
urdiera su tragedia.


Eternidades

La serpiente que ciñe el mar y es el mar,
el repetido remo de Jasón, la joven espada de Sigurd.
Sólo perduran en el tiempo las cosas
que no fueron del tiempo.


E. A. P.

Los sueños que he soñado. El pozo y el péndulo.
El hombre de las multitudes. Ligeia…
Pero también este otro.


El espía

En la pública luz de las batallas
otros dan su vida a la patria
y los recuerda el mármol.
Yo he errado oscuro por ciudades que odio.
Le di otras cosas.
Abjuré de mi honor,
traicioné a quienes me creyeron su amigo,
compré conciencias,
abominé del nombre de la patria,
me resigné a la infamia.


Fifteen coins
To Alicia Jurado

An oriental poet

A hundred autumns I've looked on
thy tenuous disk.
A hundred autumns I've looked on
thy island-sheltering bow.
A hundred autumns my lips
have never been less silent.


The desert

Space without time.
Moon and sand are one color.
Now, now exactly,
the men of Metaurus die and Trafalgar.


Rains

In what other day, what Carthaginian yards,
falls this rain?


Asterion

Each year pays me tribute of human food
and there is water in the well.
Knot of stony roads am I.
What can I complain of?
Afternoons
the bull's head weighs on me a little.


A minor poet

The end is oblivion.
I've arrived early.


Genesis iv, 8

In the first desert it was.
Two arms cast a great stone.
No cry. Blood.
For the first time death.
Was I Abel or Cain?


Northumbria, A.D. 900

By sunup let wolves despoil him;
the sword is the shortest way.


Miguel de Cervantes

Stars cruel and propitious
oversaw my genesis;
to the latter I owe the jail
I dreamed Quixote in.


The West

Alley the last with sundown.
Inauguration of the pampa,
of death.


Estancia El Retiro

Time plays without chessmen
here. A crackling twig
bites night. The plain outside
dust and dreams by the league spills.
Shades both, copyists
of shades: Heraclitus and Gautama.


The prisoner

File.
First of the iron doors.
Someday free.


Macbeth

Our acts go their
neverending way.
A king I killed so Shakespeare
would have a tragedy.


Eternities

The serpent who girds the sea, the sea,
the repeated oar of Jason, Sigurd's young sword.
Only those things last in time
that have never been.


Edgar Allan Poe

The dreams I've had. The pit and the pendulum.
The man of the crowd. Ligeia...
And this one.


The spy

In publicly lit battles
others gave their lives
marble remembers.
I gave something else.
I wandered dark in cities I hate.
Forswore myself,
betrayed who thought they were friends,
bought souls,
cursed my country,
accepted infamy.

Translated by Christopher Mulrooney

[Guest]

Canción
by Rafael Alberti

Si mi voz muriera en tierra...

Si mi voz muriera en tierra,
llevadla al nivel del mar
y dejadla en la ribera.

Llevadla al nivel del mar
y nombradla capitana
de un blanco bajel de guerra.

Oh mi voz condecorada
con la insignia marinera:
sobre el corazon un ancla
y sobre el ancla una estrella
y sobre la estrella el viento
y sobre el viento una vela!


Song

If my voice dies on land...

If my voice dies on land,
take it down to the sea
and leave it on the shore.

Take it down to the sea
and make it captain
of a white man-of-war.

Honor it with
a sailor’s medal:
over its heart an anchor,
and on the anchor a star,
and on the star the wind,
and on the wind a sail!

Translated by Mark Strand

[Guest]

Proverbios
by Antonio Machado

I. Nunca perseguí la gloria...

Nunca perseguí la gloria
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles
como pompas de jabón.
Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse.


Proverbs

I. I never chased after fame...

I never chased after fame,
nor longed to leave my song
behind in the memory of men.
I love the subtle worlds
almost weightless, delicate,
like soap bubbles.
I like to see them paint themselves
in the colors of sunlight and scarlet,
float into the blue sky, then
suddenly quiver and break.

Translated by Mary Berg and Dennis Maloney

[Guest]

I. Nunca perseguí la gloria...

Nunca perseguí la gloria
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles
como pompas de jabón.
Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse.

And this is what it sounds like sung by Serrat:



Machado lived for some time in my city. There's a bar here where I go and where Machado used to go, or at least the unused bar in the top floor remains.

[Guest]

...i finally found a good translation site asdf:
http://spanishpoems2.blogspot.com/

[Guest]

I have seen that site sometimes when I was looking for translations into English. That's where I found the "Rains" by Borges translation I posted on eddies thread too.

[Guest]

I have seen that site sometimes when I was looking for translations into English. That's where I found the "Rains" by Borges translation I posted on eddies thread too.

...i was looking up the 'rains' quote to see where it came from and if there was more...that's how I found the site as well.

[Guest]

Canción
by Rafael Alberti

Si mi voz muriera en tierra...

Si mi voz muriera en tierra,
llevadla al nivel del mar
y dejadla en la ribera.

Llevadla al nivel del mar
y nombradla capitana
de un blanco bajel de guerra.

Oh mi voz condecorada
con la insignia marinera:
sobre el corazon un ancla
y sobre el ancla una estrella
y sobre la estrella el viento
y sobre el viento una vela!


Song

If my voice dies on land...

If my voice dies on land,
take it down to the sea
and leave it on the shore.

Take it down to the sea
and make it captain
of a white man-of-war.

Honor it with
a sailor’s medal:
over its heart an anchor,
and on the anchor a star,
and on the star the wind,
and on the wind a sail!

Translated by Mark Strand

I was watching videos of cantaor Enrique Morente and I have found one where he sings it

[Guest]

a song

A Whiter Shade of Pale
by Brooker / Fisher / Reid ?

We skipped the light fandango
turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
but the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
the waiter brought a tray

And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale

She said, 'There is no reason
and the truth is plain to see.'
But I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be
one of sixteen vestal virgins
who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might have just as well've been closed

She said, 'I'm home on shore leave,'
though in truth we were at sea
so I took her by the looking glass
and forced her to agree
saying, 'You must be the mermaid
who took Neptune for a ride.'
But she smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died

If music be the food of life
then laughter is its queen
and likewise if behind is in front
then dirt in truth is clean
My mouth by then like cardboard
seemed to slip straight through my head
So we crash-dived straightway quickly
and attacked the ocean bed.

[Guest]

fandango

what does fandango mean there?

https://acrosstheuniverse.forummotion.com/t969-fandango-boccherini-vs-padre-antonio-soler

Edit: your signature... I didn't remember it lol

[Guest]

fandango

what does fandango mean there?
https://acrosstheuniverse.forummotion.com/t969-fandango-boccherini-vs-padre-antonio-soler
Edit: your signature... I didn't remember it lol

'light fandango'...a fandango with fire-twirling?
wiki:
In the Philippines, which was a Spanish colony for over 300 years, the fandango lives on in the dance called Pandanggo sa Ilaw (Fandango with Lights) where instead of castanets, the dancers carry glasses with candles inside and swirl it over their heads or sometimes while kept inside handkerchiefs.

also:
wiki
Figurative meaning
As a result of the extravagant features of the dance, the word fandango is used as a synonym for "a quarrel," "a big fuss," or "a brilliant exploit."

...I'm trusting that my signature isn't obscene

[Guest]

Edit: your signature... I didn't remember it lol

...do you have a problem with your memory?

[Guest]

...ah well it's just lazy memory

Dios I've just discovered this awful song

maybe you prefer the Argentinian one:

[Guest]

...for dad, who would have been 82 last week.

Of course I am strong

Of course I am strong
I was taught by a master
Whose prescient words
Were his legacy:

You’ve got to learn
How to fix things
With barbed wire.

that’s what you do
If you want to be free.

blue moon

[Guest]

...this is for Otto

Where they stood

A beach...hmm…maybe
an extravagant word for
a strip of exposed coast

...say they stood
on a sliver of coast
that wasn’t choked
by mangroves.

-choked

not here the golden grains
but white talc streaked grey
and tidelines of green pods
gnarled wood and shellgrit
rocks stacked like pancakes

under a deepening sky.

grey streaks of sand underfoot,
compressed from the first wet season rain

That’s where they stood.

On damp patches of grey
with an infinitely fine overly
of dry powder that shone silver.
So wispy a light breeze would lift it.

That’s where they stood
when he showed her qi gong,

The memory etched for a lifetime
recalled through time
a tableau in the mind to return to
again and again and again.

The scenery is usually defeated
…distorted…by the blistering ball
of the sun—but this is that magic hour
before the sun sinks into the ocean
when the colours unfurl and deepen.

Tide lines of white shells against wet grey,
of mangrove leaves and seeds against the pale,
and driftwood and sticks in stark relief against
patches of crackled shellgrit.

like cracked eggshell…a tempura masterpiece in the glory of dusk.

A strip of exposed coast,
the only strip that wasn’t choked
by mangroves,
that’s where they stood.

That’s where…with the caress
of a warm wind and the watchful
dark closing in.

blue moon

[eddie]

THE APOCALYPSE AND GEORGE


On all points of the compass, London burned:
From Tottenham High Street to Coldharbour Lane,
From Ealing Broadway to Bethnal Green.

George was the calm eye of the hurricane:
The night man at Aldgate underground station,
Hard by the shadow of the old Roman wall,

Booking in the orange hi-vi’s, issuing keys,
And booking them back out again,
The cunts. The demons were bad enough:

The howling Bedlamites, whipped and chained-
Restless centuries uprooted by the diggers-
Dead ears deaf to the tested fire alarm’s insistence.

George sported his namesake’s badge,
Red-on-white shield of the dragon-slayer,
So all was in order: condition Green.

At 4am, the sleepy early turn booked on,
Untimely ripp’d from restless dreaming,
Coat off and kettle on and a numb Good Morning.

George stepped outside for a breather:
The western sky a royal blue,
Stray scud of vapour over a gibbous moon.

To the east, a lowering mass of cloud
Against the harsh white blur of the street lamps.
And, dead ahead, the Jolly Roger

From a second-floor casement window flew:
The grinning white skull of Calico Jack
Above the clean white thigh-bones of the slain.

No allegiance, no nation and no pity.
Who had flown it there, and why?
It was more than the mind could encompass.

On the last day, the last alarum
When the graves open and give up the dead.
The working man could make no sense of it:

Godless logic, but duty all but done.



by eddie

[Guest]

THE APOCALYPSE AND GEORGE


On all points of the compass, London burned:
From Tottenham High Street to Coldharbour Lane,
From Ealing Broadway to Bethnal Green.

George was the calm eye of the hurricane:
The night man at Aldgate underground station,
Hard by the shadow of the old Roman wall,

Booking in the orange hi-vi’s, issuing keys,
And booking them back out again,
The cunts. The demons were bad enough:

The howling Bedlamites, whipped and chained-
Restless centuries uprooted by the diggers-
Dead ears deaf to the tested fire alarm’s insistence.

George sported his namesake’s badge,
Red-on-white shield of the dragon-slayer,
So all was in order: condition Green.

At 4am, the sleepy early turn booked on,
Untimely ripp’d from restless dreaming,
Coat off and kettle on and a numb Good Morning.

George stepped outside for a breather:
The western sky a royal blue,
Stray scud of vapour over a gibbous moon.

To the east, a lowering mass of cloud
Against the harsh white blur of the street lamps.
And, dead ahead, the Jolly Roger

From a second-floor casement window flew:
The grinning white skull of Calico Jack
Above the clean white thigh-bones of the slain.

No allegiance, no nation and no pity.
Who had flown it there, and why?
It was more than the mind could encompass.

On the last day, the last alarum
When the graves open and give up the dead.
The working man could make no sense of it:

Godless logic, but duty all but done.



by eddie

....bravo eddie. the compass intro - encompass outro is lovely. Each stanza summons an image (or revenant) the way kinnell's words do.

That flag...i read years ago, i think it was in the book the da vinci code was based on, that that partular skull and crossbones was a masonic symbol...that persons of high degree were buried in that manner, with their skulls over crossed thighbones. There was an accompanying photo of an excavated grave.

...if the underground's your night job and writing is your day job, then...don't give up your day job eddie.

[Guest]

...also eddie, on the ABC radio this morning there was a program on the Situationists: advocates of passionate living, of 'drift' through the cityscape, and of psychogeography.

I'm reading about the movement now. It's vey interesting. (wiki)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Situationist_International

[Guest]

On the last day, the last alarum
When the graves open and give up the dead.
The working man could make no sense of it:

Godless logic, but duty all but done.

by eddie

alarum: do you mean this more as 'alarm' or as 'a call to arms'?

[eddie]

The positive response is much appreciated, Moony. Constance has read this one, too. It's in the book, along with the "Treacherous young witch" poem, and a couple of others.

If you've checked out the Paintings & Photography section in recent weeks, you'll be aware that a skull-and-crossbones flag has indeed been flying from the building opposite Aldgate Tube station for the last couple of months, a rumoured brothel due for demolition.

George is a good mate.

I think I've already mentioned that Aldgate station was constructed on the site of a 1665 Bubonic plague pit, and not far from the burial ground of the original medieval Bethlehem (hence, Bedlam) mental asylum.

The coincidence (Jungian?) of the Jolly Roger and the burial grounds was just too good a psychogeographical/poetic opportunity to let slip.

I can't look at the sunken-shoebox architecture of Aldgate station without thinking of a mass burial pit.

'Alarum' is a Shakespearean stage direction. He lived and worked a 10-minute walk away from Aldgate, in Shoreditch.

[Guest]

The positive response is much appreciated, Moony. Constance has read this one, too. It's in the book, along with the "Treacherous young witch" poem, and a couple of others.

If you've checked out the Paintings & Photography section in recent weeks, you'll be aware that a skull-and-crossbones flag has indeed been flying from the building opposite Aldgate Tube station for the last couple of months, a rumoured brothel due for demolition.

George is a good mate.

I think I've already mentioned that Aldgate station was constructed on the site of a 1665 Bubonic plague pit, and not far from the burial ground of the original medieval Bethlehem (hence, Bedlam) mental asylum.

The coincidence (Jungian?) of the Jolly Roger and the burial grounds was just too good a psychogeographical/poetic opportunity to let slip.

'Alarum' is a Shakespearean stage direction. He lived and worked a 10-minute walk away from Aldgate, in Shoreditch.

...I'm really looking forward to the book.

alarum:
1. archaic an alarm, esp a call to arms
2. (used as a stage direction, esp in Elizabethan drama) a loud disturbance or conflict (esp in the phrase alarums and excursions )
[C15: variant of alarm ]

...what a fabulous cluster of associations...like some ritual rising of the dead (or a stage-directed one).

I remember your posts about the plague and Bedlam's cemetary.
...just had to get a pirate in there eh!

edit: alarum - I hear trumpets

[eddie]

The Great Pit of Aldgate, as described by Daniel Defoe in "Journal of the Plague Year".

[Guest]

...that was on our reading list at uni

[eddie]

The Great Pit of Aldgate Tube station.

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