Posts Tagged ‘ translation ’

A Longhouse Birdhouse – Black Mountain Poets: Tom Meyer reads from Daode Jing – YouTube 

Source: A Longhouse Birdhouse: THOMAS MEYER ~


The Anne Carson Interview | Quarterly Conversation


As I was interviewing the classicist, poet, and author Anne Carson in June, 2017 via e-mail about her new translation of The Bakkhai, the question-and-answer process felt like a consultation with the ancient Pythia. Much like an ancient Greek attempting to get an answer from the priestess of Apollo, I had to go through a few layers — book publicist and agent—and the answers I received back can best be described as intriguing and esoteric; they varied in length from a few words to a paragraph to no response at all. Every reply was also written in all lower case, including the first-person singular “i,” an idiosyncrasy that seemed almost playful, and is something I usually see in the prose or text messages of a student or a younger person. Like a Greek hearing those ambiguous missives given by the Pythia, I was repeatedly surprised by the puzzling, thought-provoking answers I received.

Source: The Anne Carson Interview | Quarterly Conversation

Western society promotes the development of narcissism, by Daniel Corbo – Orme Svelate 

Researchers at Charité-Universitätsmedizin Berlin have demonstrated that people who grew up in the former western states of Germany have higher levels of narcissism compared to those whose socialization took place in the former eastern states. (cont’d)

Source: Western society promotes the development of narcissism – FOOTSTEPS revealed

Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi) | Haiku

冬薔薇我が身の主は我ならず  江渡華子

fuyusôbi wagami no nushi wa ware narazu

winter rose

I am not the owner

of myself

Hanako Eto

from ‘Haidan,’ (‘Haiku Stage’) a monthly haiku magazine, June 2017 Issue, Honami Shoten, Tokyo

translation by Fay Aoyagi

Source: Blue Willow Haiku World (by Fay Aoyagi) | Haiku

Snichimal Vayuchil: Writing Poetry in an Endangered Maya Language | Asymptote

Red Rose

Your scent seduces
You are so tender
You are perfect
Little red rose.

Your scent opens
The scent of your being Red rose,
You are beauty itself.

You are amazing
You are exceptional
For being born
Little red rose.

Your leaves open
Red rose
Your essence diffuse
Your flower flowers

They observe your being
You are immanent
You are infinite
They love you for your being.

Artemio Hernández
Paul M. Worley, translator from
bats’i k’op, or Tsotsil Maya

Snichimal Vayuchil 
North Dakota Quarterly 2017


Tsajal Nichim

Amuil toj lek
Ja’ jech toj t’ujomot K’upil atalel
Unin tsajal nichim.

Xmuet amuil Smuil atakupal
Tsajal nichim
Toj lek alekil

Ti atalele lek
Stalelal abektal
Stalelal achiel
Unin tsajal nichim

Xyometxa avanal
Tsajal nichim
Xmuet xa amuil
Umet xa jnichimal

Slamet xa ak’elel
Ja’ ti lek ak’upijel
Lek avutsil
Ta atalel skupinoxuk.

Artemio Hernández

Snichimal Vayuchil |Asymptote

CHANDRA LIVIA CANDIANI – Apprentices of the moon in the meditation room

Meditation and poetry are “nocturnal ways” – clear-cut and essential although not easily deciphered by reason. They are like moonlight that shines in the dark, that illumines and veils. In the East, the moon represents the mind that reflects, is compassionate, does not separate. The moon teaches the flow and holds the secret of appearances and disappearances. Poetry, too, is reflected light, mysterious gift that disappears in the new paragraph and reappears in the next verse. Meditation is the art of dwelling in everything – even in disappearance, even in nothingness; dwelling in nothingness like the new moon. Chandra Livia Candiani proposes a connection between poetry and meditation, a shared time to experiment together, to conquer the fear of the void and recognize the space in it. We are all apprentices, and being apprentices of the moon means not to fear darkness, to learn the art of wandering and of silent traces. The meditation room is portable, it is our body.  – source

Nell’orto c’è paura c’è
mezzogiorno di fuoco,
tu Bea porta con te
la tana tenera
dell’amicizia, dicono
che ho troppi doni nelle mani
e tu che nel troppo
avevi dimora, distribuiscili
tra i passeri, i lombrichi,
le chiocciole, dalli in pasto
ai trifogli e alla salvia,
non far crescere fiori
che mi rapinano lo sguardo.
Dicono che io sono sempre
in allarme, all’erta
e tu profuga smarrita
in ogni agio
spiegaglielo che sono in veglia
in canto insonne di uccelli
per ubriacatura di primavera.
Se ti portassi qui
saresti in breve la monaca folle
sposata con le piante
e gli animali e tutto il resto
che fa capolino
dal mistero.
Ci sei e non ci sei,
sei il luogo,
troppo vasta
per vederti.
Sfiorami dunque
col pensiero
come fanno le mosche
quando rincorrendosi
formano geometrie


Chandra Livia Candiani

Da: La Bambina Pugile, Einaudi, 2014.

In the garden there is fear, there is
high noon on fire,
you, Bea, take with you
the gentle cave
of friendship, they say
I have too many gifts on my hands,
and you who were at home
in the too many, share them out
between the sparrows, the worms,
the snails, give them
to the trefoil and the sage,
don’t grow flowers
that will steal my sight.
They say I am always
alarmed, on alert,
and you, refugee lost
in any comfort,
explain to them that I keep vigil
with the sleepless song of birds,
drunk on spring.
If I brought you here
you would soon be the mad nun
married to the plants
and the animals and everything else
that peeps in
on the mystery.
You are here, and you are not,
you are the place,
too vast
to be seen.
Touch me then
with a thought
like the flies do
when, chasing each other,
they form geometries
in love.

Chandra Livia Candiani

From: La Bambina Pugile, Einaudi, 2014. Translation by Bhikkhu Abhinando

Chandra Livia Candiani Poems

Chandra Livia Candiani – Vengodalmare  is where I learned of Chandra Livia Candiani, the contemporary Italian poet. – df


ŽEMĖS UŽŽAVĖJIMAI. PER JAUNATĮ – the enchantments of earth. new moon by Jurgita Jasponytė




As if one is invited,

one is called

as if the vectors of windows

point north

and the thoughts of the earth awaken

so that you know

what actions to take.


A thread freezes and breaks in the cold –

The stalk of a nascent moon.




I am tired

of holding my tongue,

everything must be said,


while the seed is sown –


magic words

enchant the earth

and you can’t

prevent life

as your palms enclose roots

lifting everything



until I am cleansed by my own abnegation

until fear-filled eyes put me to the test.




Protect us from the rain

that promises more

than we need,

give us enough mouths

if you set the harvest upon us

through the fields


I know you are my mother,

that my legs are stuck in you

for ages,

and to break away

promises only

another turning towards you


I know that we love you

not just for

your ear for our prayers,

your gift of the harvest,

but how you don’t hesitate to feed

the mouth that disrespects you,

that fails to understand

the what and from where

of life –


your unconditionality

is the most perfect form of truth.


Let there be heaven for us

through rain.




In the cold, thread freezes and breaks –

the cord connecting the earth

with the pink moon of morning –

a shield

protecting us –


born naked

every evening.


Translated by Rimas Užgiris





Kaip kas kviestų

kas šauktų

kaip šiaurėn

būtų nutiestos pradalgių kryptys

būtų žemės mintis pažadinta ir žinotum

kokius veiksmus



Šalty stingsta ir lūžta siūlas –

virkščia įgemančio mėnesio.





Pavargau ištylėt


reikia greitai

kol beriama sėkla



žemė tampa tada užžavėta

ir neleist gyvasties


ir apglėbia delnais šaknis

ima viską paviršiun kelti


kol mane valo savęs atsisakymas

kol baimės akys mane išbando.







Ir apsaugoki mus nuo liūties

daugiau žadančios

negu mums reikia

duok pakankamai burnų

jeigu derlių per lauką

ant mūsų paleidai


žinau, kad esi man motina

kad mano kojos tavin įsmigusios

per amžius

ir atotrūkį

tik vėl virtimas tavimi

neišvengiamai žada


žinau, kad mylim tave

net ne už tai

kad maldas išklausai

ir derlium mus dovanoji

bet kad nesiliauji maitint

ir negarbinančią tavęs burną

nesuprantančią net

kas ir iš kur ta gyvybė –


tavo besąlygiškumas

yra tobuliausia teisybės forma.


Tebūnie dangus

mums per lietų.




Šalty stingsta ir lūžta siūlas –

Virkštelė, jungianti žemę

su rausvu ryto mėnesiu –


saugančiu mus


kurs iš vakaro įgema