Posts Tagged ‘ translation ’

Zeitgeist Spam: Miyo Vestrini, “THE WALLS OF DEATH IN SPRING” (tr. Rowena Hill) (I think I’m going to need to read Grenade in Mouth: Some Poems of Miyo Vestrini. trs. Anne Boyer & Cassandra Gillig, ed. Faride Mereb

The Walls of Death in Spring

I will not teach my son to till the earth
nor to smell ears of wheat
nor to sing hymns.
He will know there are no crystalline streams
nor clear water to drink.
His world will be a world of hellish downpours
and dark plains.

Of screams and groans.
Of dryness in the eyes and throat.
Of tortured bodies that can no longer see or hear him.
He will know it’s not good to listen to the voices of people
that praise the color of the sky.

I will take him to Hiroshima.  To Seveso.  To Dachau.
His skin will flake off bit by bit at the horror
and it will hurt him to hear a bird singing

the soldiers’ laughter
the firing squads
the walls of death in spring.

He will have the memory we did not have
and he will believe in the violence
of those who believe in nothing.

– Miyo Vestrini

Rowena Hill, translation

Source: Zeitgeist Spam: Miyo Vestrini, “THE WALLS OF DEATH IN SPRING” (tr. Rowena Hill) (I think I’m going to need to read Grenade in Mouth: Some Poems of Miyo Vestrini. trs. Anne Boyer & Cassandra Gillig, ed. Faride Mereb

Things I Didn’t Know I Loved by Nazim Hikmet | 3 Quarks Daily

Sunday Poem

Things I Didn’t Know I Loved

it’s 1962 March 28th
I’m sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never knew I liked
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I don’t like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird

I didn’t know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn’t worked the earth love it
I’ve never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love

and here I’ve loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you can’t wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights you’ll never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
……………………………….and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
………………………………and will be said after me

I didn’t know I loved the sky
cloudy or clear
the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into Turkish
I hear voices
not from the blue vault but from the yard
the guards are beating someone again

I didn’t know I loved trees
bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
they come upon me in winter noble and modest
beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
“the poplars of Izmir
losing their leaves. . .
they call me The Knife. . .
…………………………………….lover like a young tree. . .
I blow stately mansions sky-high”
in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen handkerchief
……………………………………………………………to a pine bough for luck

I never knew I loved roads
even the asphalt kind
Vera’s behind the wheel we’re driving from Moscow to the Crimea
……………………………………………………………………………..Koktebele
………………………………………………formerly “Goktepé ili” in Turkish
the two of us inside a closed box
the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
I was never so close to anyone in my life
bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and Geredé
…………………………………………………………… when I was eighteen
apart from my life I didn’t have anything in the wagon they could take
and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
I’ve written this somewhere before
wading through a dark muddy street I’m going to the shadow play
Ramazan night
a paper lantern leading the way
maybe nothing like this ever happened
maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy
………………………………………………. going to the shadow play
Ramazan night in Istanbul holding his grandfather’s hand
…..  his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
.   with a sable collar over his robe
… and there’s a lantern in the servant’s hand
… and I can’t contain myself for joy

flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies cactuses jonquils
in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
fresh almonds on her breath
I was seventeen
my heart on a swing touched the sky
I didn’t know I loved flowers
friends sent me three red carnations in prison

I just remembered the stars
I love them too
whether I’m floored watching them from below
or whether I’m flying at their side

I have some questions for the cosmonauts
were the stars much bigger
did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
………………………………………… or apricots on orange
did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine now don’t
…… be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we say or abstract

…… well some of them looked just like such paintings which is to
…… say they were terribly figurative and concrete
my heart was in my mouth looking at them
they are our endless desire to grasp things
seeing them I could even think of death and not feel at all sad
I never knew I loved the cosmos

snow flashes in front of my eyes
both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
I didn’t know I liked snow

I never knew I loved the sun
even when setting cherry-red as now
in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
but you aren’t about to paint it that way

I didn’t know I loved the sea
…………..    except the Sea of Azov
or how much

I didn’t know I loved clouds
whether I’m under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
strikes me
I like it

I didn’t know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
…… heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop
…… and takes off for uncharted countries I didn’t know I loved
…… rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
…… by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because I’m half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didn’t know I loved sparks
I didn’t know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
…… to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
…… watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return

by Nazim Hikmet
from Selected Poetry
Persea Books, Inc.

translation by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

Source: Sunday Poem | 3 Quarks Daily

Today’s Haiku (January 9, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

外套の襟立てて世に容れられず   加藤楸邨

gaitô no eri tatete yo ni irerarezu

I turn up my coat’s collar

not being accepted

in the world

Shuson Kato

translation by Fay Aoyagi

from “Haiku-kai” (“Haiku World,” a monthly haiku magazine),  July 2017 Issue,  Bungaku No Mori, Tokyo

Fay’s Note:  Shuson Kato (1905-1993)

Source: Today’s Haiku (January 9, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

Today’s Haiku (January 10, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

生きてゐる冬の泉を聴くために    杉山久子

ikiteiru fuyu no izumi o kiku tame ni

I live

to listen

the winter spring

Hisako Sugiyama

translation by Fay Aoyagi

from ‘Izumi’ (‘Spring’) haiku collection by Hisako Sugiyama, Furansu-do, Tokyo 2015

Fay’s Note:   Last line may not work well in English.   ‘sprng’ here is not the season between winter and summer, but a place where water comes to the surface from underground.

Source: Today’s Haiku (January 10, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

Today’s Haiku (January 8, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

降る雪や地上のすべてゆるされたり  野見山朱鳥

furu yuki ya chijyô no subete yurusaretari

falling snow—

everything on the earth

granted

Asuka Nomiyama

from “Haiku-kai” (“Haiku World,” a monthly haiku magazine), July 2017 Issue,  Bungaku No Mori, Tokyo

translated by Fay Aoyagi

Fay’s Note:   Asuka Nomiyama (1917-1970)

Source: Today’s Haiku (January 8, 2019) | Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi)

from Collected Poems – Asymptote

Contact

The smell of clove
The smell of gunpowder
The smell of Eau de Cologne
Of skin
The smell of a small animal
333333333
159603
23256====00003
V r r r r r r r ++××=×= 0
+++-+∀rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr+××
+×××+Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr+××
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Tokio, Le 11 fevrier 1922
                                                       ma bien-aimée
O—n—y—o—u—r—m—i—r—r—o—r—a—d—e—e—r—f—l—y—
R—e—s—t—s—
The flower of a tulip is anxious in the greenhouse
The December sky is fast
The January sky is cold
The February sky is fruitless
The March sky is
Waiting still—
So far away

– Hirato Renkichi
translated from the Japanese by Sho Sugita

 

Source: from Collected Poems – Asymptote

First Known When Lost: What The Leaves Say

Imitation

Far from your own little bough,
Poor little frail little leaf,
Where are you going? — The wind
Has plucked me from the beech where I was born.
It rises once more, and bears me
In the air from the wood to the fields,
And from the valley up into the hills.
I am a wanderer
For ever: that is all that I can say.
I go where everything goes,
I go where by nature’s law
Wanders the leaf of the rose,
Wanders the leaf of the bay.

Giacomo Leopardi (translated by J. G. Nichols), in Giacomo Leopardi, The Canti (Carcanet Press 1994).

The poem is a translation of “La Feuille” (“The Leaf”) by the French poet Antoine-Vincent Arnault (1766-1834).  Hence the title “Imitation.”

Source: First Known When Lost: What The Leaves Say