Five Poets from Trinidad and Tobago – with an introduction by Andre Bagoo
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Colin Robinson, Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, English, Mervyn Taylor, Nicholas Laughlin, Vahni Capildeo | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Five Poets from Trinidad and Tobago – with an introduction by Andre Bagoo
Five poets from Trinidad and Tobago
THE WORLD meets in Trinidad and Tobago. Here is a Caribbean country open to the possibilities of permeable boundaries, enriched by cultural diversity and charged with the energy needed to drive a special art.
Today, as the former British colony marks its 50th anniversary as an independent nation, we take a look at the work of five contemporary Trinidad-born poets in a series of posts which you will see below.
Most of these poets live in Trinidad, others divide their time between Trinidad and homes in the United Kingdom or the United States. All share a remarkable vantage point; all have been influenced by a rich Caribbean literary tradition which predates independence. Here are travellers: between time, space, dimensions, selves, journeying to and from Shakespeare’s undiscovered country. They create richly-coloured gems, sparkling like the light bouncing off the floor of a cold, golden sea, and sharp as a diamond blade.
The first post features Mervyn Taylor, the Trinidad-born poet who also lives in New York. His poem ‘The Mentor’ – which features the persona of a poet “dancing his / mischievous meaning, / tieless, sparkling with / metaphor” – seeks reason but finds the crackling of bones. The poem is an audacious distillation of the challenges facing Trinidad, which may also reflect the challenges of the poet and the individual seeking freedom.
Then, as Queen Elizabeth celebrates her Jubilee year, the Oxford-based poet Vahni Capildeo takes us to London’s Hyde Park only to make us discover that we have never left the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, “Opalescent, Crystalline, Amethyst. And Dark”. By the time she is done with us we are unsure what ground we walk on and feel walking on water to be a natural state.
In another post we feature the quietly disquieting work of Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, a poet and artist who lives in Sangre Grande, a town in the north-east of Trinidad.
There are also posts by Colin Robinson, whose poetry shows us the sublime in unexpected places, and Nicholas Laughlin, the editor behind the Caribbean Review of Books, whose own work is a tour de force of mood, sound and language – dissecting ideas of alienation like an anthropologist might but with unexpected lyricism. Both are poets living in Diego Martin, the suburb nestled in the cool mountains of northwest Trinidad which was only this month ravaged by flood.
These poems are not intended as any sort of programmatic depiction of anything. They are grouped here to speak, whether in harmony or dissonance, of feelings, ideas and impressions. They are an unauthorised biography which the subject might secretly relish.
Each post is accompanied by an image from the Trinidadian graphic artist Rodell Warner (rodellwarner.com) who manages to capture a mood and tone that say things about the work, but also about Trinidad and Tobago and its vitality.
—Andre Bagoo
.
ABOUT TODAY’S GUEST EDITOR
Andre Bagoo is a poet and journalist from Trinidad. His first book of poems, Trick Vessels, was published by Shearsman Books (UK) in March 2012. His poetry has appeared in Boston Review, Caribbean Review of Books, The Caribbean Writer, tongues of the ocean and elsewhere. One of his poems, ‘Carnival Monday in Trinidad’, was featured at Zócalo Poets earlier this year. He is Zócalo Poets’ guest editor today, the 50th anniversary of Trinidad and Tobago Independence.
Mervyn Taylor: The Mentor
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, English, Mervyn Taylor | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Mervyn Taylor: The Mentor
Mervyn Taylor
The Mentor
I.
In this dream there were
cows in every field,
breaths rising to create
clouds floating above
an island so green,
it seemed made of gases.
And out of this arose the
poet, in a grey suit,
as spry as I’ve ever
seen him, dancing his
mischievous meaning,
tieless, sparkling with
metaphor, asking his trick
question- are you going
with me, are we going
to look for reasons?
In this place I answered,
no one should ever starve,
or complain about things
other than an open gate
through which a stray might
wander lost and unmarked,
ending in dispute settled now
in such devious ways.
II.
You might remember Lena.
In the dream she too
was present, wearing
a hat like a teakettle cover,
remarking those boys who
now live where she grew up,
tattoos marking their bodies,
and a young girl hosting
a perfume sale every Friday,
advertised under
a Digicel sign and one
for computer repairs.
It is rumored this is the
house a mental outpatient
was looking for, when he
smashed the gate
at a wrong address,
took a wheelbarrow handle
and beat a bedridden
90 yr. old to death, those
who harbored the fugitive
he was seeking crouching
next door, saying
not a word, their weapons
like marshmallows in their
pockets, hands over their
ears, blocking the sound of
breaking bones, and screams.
III.
Cows crop the grass,
brown and white backs
seen from above, the land
in undulating waves below.
Out of the few houses,
people in black follow
funerals, fathers refusing
to accept each other’s
apologies, watching their sons
lowered, earth tamped,
they remain, conversing
with the dead. Ah, the poet
smiles his ineffable smile,
those adverbs he warned
against, they shuffle up.
What will we do with them,
now that he is going, trailing
long verses, joining the islands
like cans behind a wedding,
bells pealing in chapels
whose stone walls he worked
hard to capture, inside the
host on Sunday morning,
blood in silver chalices,
the priest’s voice intoning
from memory- sunlight,
stained glass, sin, all in
four-by-four refrain.
IV.
This is where they’ve
chosen to reenact the story
of sacrifice, with animals,
gold and greed,
where the washing of hands
goes on every day, governors
and guards swearing
each other away, poets
in corners swearing out
long poems like warrants,
lists of charges read aloud
in a difficult language,
the one in grey asking,
are you going with me, are
we going to understand
what it is we do, and why?
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Mervyn Taylor is a Trinidad-born poet who divides his time between Brooklyn and his native island. He has taught in the New York City public school system, at Bronx Community College and The New School, and is the author of four books of poetry, namely, An Island of His Own (1992), The Goat (1999), Gone Away (2006), and No Back Door (2010, Shearsman Books). He can be heard on an audio collection, Road Clear, accompanied by bassist David Williams.
Vahni Capildeo: Water / Ice Cream in Hyde Park with Nikki
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, English, Vahni Capildeo | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Vahni Capildeo: Water / Ice Cream in Hyde Park with Nikki
Vahni Capildeo
Water
.
I. Cold Hands
There is a moment when
the water seems as if it might be warm.
Quick
wash your face
in the illusion
.
II. The Atlantic. Like
Putting a handspan square of glass
flat on the sea, thinking I see
something. That’s the sky.
Calling the colour roaring grey
heard in December, when the tide
discourages. That’s a lie
.
III. Opalescent, Crystalline, Amethyst. And Dark
The sea is.
In my mind I never left you.
The sea
is.
Place-holder, holder of a place:
The sea
Who can hold to this? A causeway.
is.
Essential ground for memory.
Twig-runes dust the shore with bird-tracks.
And the wind
.
IV. Changes
Swans and rain and swans in rain
Swans and rain
Swans again
. . .
Ice Cream In Hyde Park With Nikki
Time flies / she’s a dancer / seagulls & eagles
we’re watching walkers’ & cyclists’ ankles
straight up & down as posts! / larks & starlings
they ain’t / that’s Time / stopping & starting
singlescoop chocolatemint slipup
delicious / xylophonic strip / perfume-smelling forearms
vintage gardenia topnote soprano orangeblossom
she swoops / she sings / Time high-steppng
to her Lambretta scooter!
New York, hold your sidewalk breath
.
[From Utter (completed 2011; revised 2012. Forthcoming.
‘Water’ is taken from ‘December’, in the 14-month ‘Winter to Winter’ calendar,
Undraining Sea (Norwich: Egg Box, 2009)]
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Vahni Capildeo (b. Trinidad, 1973) went to the UK as a student in 1991, completing her BA (Hons) (First Class) in English Language and Literature in 1995 at Christ Church, University of Oxford. A Rhodes Scholarship (1996-99) enabled her to pursue a doctorate in Old Norse at the same institution. After a Research Fellowship at Girton College, Cambridge, Capildeo worked for the Oxford English Dictionary on Etymology and quotational research.
Capildeo’s three poetry collections are: Dark & Unaccustomed Words (2012); Undraining Sea(Egg Box, 2009); and No Traveller Returns (Salt, 2003). Her poetry and prose have been widely anthologized, most recently in The Best British Poetry 2012 (Salt, forthcoming). She has been Highly Commended for the Forward Prize (individual poem category, 2009); shortlisted for the Guyana International Prize for Literature (2011).
Colin Robinson: Indivisible
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Colin Robinson, English | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Colin Robinson: Indivisible
Colin Robinson
Indivisible*
.
He’s very well rounded
Like his lover like(s) me
An engineer, I have to pry it out
He jokes, I’m 569 years old
Dog years, I ask, what to divide by
Google it’s a prime number
We are linked online
By another man
He too does not remember
We chat routinely about random things
BRB
I cam a quickie with a mewling chubby boy
Fantasy is cute in ways reality doesn’t match up to LOL
I type, I never had a good imagination, he IMs back
How Mills & Boons are a good lesson in writing
To make a kiss last four pages
I ask what tongue you grew up speaking
I had to allow my language to fall on all ears
Today we move to a higher order
Talk fetishes, we like the same things
But my numeracy gets the better of me once again
As I calculate the probability
That in any triangulation
Two times out of three
There will be a remainder
Either two or one.
.
*for Shadath
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Colin Robinson is executive director of CAISO, the Coalition Advocating for the Inclusion of Sexual Orientation. His poetry has appeared in many places, including Caribbean Erotic, an anthology published by Peepal Tree Press in 2010. He moves between the West Indies and the USA. He was NY field producer for Tongues Untied, led Studio Museum in Harlem’s first three creative responses to World AIDS Day and co-edited Other Countries: Black Gay Voices and Think Again.
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune: Morning Song for a Second Son
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, English | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Danielle Boodoo-Fortune: Morning Song for a Second Son
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune
Morning Song for a Second Son
.
Second son, how I fear my own singing.
Each word sounds like regret,
like the rasp of torn laughter
sputtering from the kettle
of your prodigal’s tongue.
Lord knows, I cannot bear the sound.
The house sits deep in darkness,
tarsals click against tile as
you measure the breadth
of another’s shadow.
Son, of all the things I’ve made,
you are the truest, and the one
most unknown to me.
Each tic in your jaw is an ocean
of hurt I cannot cross
How I wish I could sing for you.
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune is a Trinidadian poet and artist. Her work has been featured in The Caribbean Writer, Bim: Arts for the 21st Century, Tongues of the Ocean, Anthurium: A Caribbean Studies Journal, Small Axe Literary Salon, and Poui: Cave Hill Journal of Creative Writing. Her art has been featured at Trinidad’s Erotic Art Week 2011, and the WoMA (Women Make Art) exhibition, in Grenada, 2012. Her art has also been featured in St. Somewhere Journal, Firestorm Literary Journal, Splash of Red Literary Arts Magazine, and on the cover of Blackberry: A Magazine. She was awarded the Charlotte and Isidor Paiewonsky Prize for first time publication in 2009, nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2010, and shortlisted for the Small Axe Poetry Prize in 2009 and 2011.
Nicholas Laughlin: Self-Portrait in the Neotropics
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, English, Nicholas Laughlin | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Nicholas Laughlin: Self-Portrait in the Neotropics
Nicholas Laughlin
Self-Portrait in the Neotropics
.
Eleven of the strange years of my life.
Months on end I lived on tapioca,
I lived on mud and permanganate broth,
and river water red as rum,
bivouacked with rainflies
and fire ants and sundry native guides.
The parrots already knew some French.
Nous sommes les seuls français ici.
Call it sunstroke, le coup de bambou.
I came all this way with half a plan,
an extra handkerchief, and Humboldt (abridged).
Here I lack only the things I do not have.
*
Eleven years of untimely weather,
earthquakes and fireflies and mud.
The colonel writes his complaints to the general.
The general writes his complaints to the emperor.
The emperor writes to Jesus Christ,
who damns us all.
Nous sommes les seuls français left in the world.
I came all this bloody way
to sit in a cheap café with bandaged hands.
I translate detective novels, Dr. Janvier.
It keeps me in dinero, out of trouble.
I miss only the friends I do not have.
.
[From The Strange Years of My Life,
a sequence first published at Almost Island,
which you can read at: almostisland.com (see winter 2011/poetry)]
. . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nicholas Laughlin is the editor of The Caribbean Review of Books and the arts and travel magazine Caribbean Beat; programme director of the NGC Bocas Lit Fest, an annual literary festival based in Trinidad and Tobago; and co-director of the contemporary art centre Alice Yard.
Macuilxochitzin / Macuilxóchitl: poetisa mexica del siglo XV
Posted: August 29, 2012 Filed under: Macuilxochitzin, Náhuatl, Spanish | Tags: Canto de Macuilxochitzin Comments Off on Macuilxochitzin / Macuilxóchitl: poetisa mexica del siglo XV
Canto de Macuilxochitzin
.
Elevo mis cantos,
Yo, Macuilxóchitl,
con ellos alegro al “Dador de la Vida”,
¡comience la danza!
.
¿Adonde de algún modo se existe,
a la casa de Él
se llevan los cantos?
¿O sólo aquí
están vuestras flores?,
¡comience la danza!
.
El matlatzinca
es tu merecimiento de gentes, señor Itzcóatl:
¡Axayacatzin, tú conquistaste
la ciudad de Tlacotépec!
Allá fueron a hacer giros tus flores,
tus mariposas.
Con ésto has causado alegría.
El matlatzinca
está en Toluca, en Tlacotépec.
.
Lentamente hace ofrenda
de flores y plumas
al “Dador de la Vida”.
Pone los escudos de las águilas
en los brazos de los hombres,
allá donde arde la guerra,
en el interior de la llanura.
Como nuestros cantos,
como nuestras flores,
así, tú, el guerrero de cabeza rapada,
das alegría al “Dador de la Vida”.
Las flores del águila
quedan en tus manos,
señor Axayácatl.
Con flores divinas,
con flores de guerra
queda cubierto,
con ellas se embriaga
el que está a nuestro lado.
.
Sobre nosotros se abren
las flores de guerra,
en Ehcatépec, en México,
con ellas se embriaga el que está a nuestro lado.
Se han mostrado atrevidos
los príncipes,
los de Acolhuacan,
vosotros los tecpanecas.
Por todas partes Axayácatl
hizo conquistas,
en Matlatzinco, en Malinalco,
en Ocuillan, en Tequaloya, en Xocotitlan.
Por aquí vino a salir.
Allá en Xiquipilco a Axayácatl
lo hirió en la pierna un otomí,
su nombre era Tlílatl.
.
Se fue éste a buscar a sus mujeres,
Les dijo:
“Preparadle un braguero, una capa,
se los daréis, vosotras que sois valientes.”
Axayácatl exclamó:
“¡Que venga el otomí
que me ha herido en la pierna!”
El otomí tuvo miedo,
dijo:
“¡En verdad me matarán!”
Trajo entonces un grueso madero
y la piel de un venado,
con ésto hizo reverencia a Axayácatl.
Estaba lleno de miedo el otomí.
Pero entonces sus mujeres
por él hicieron súplica a Axayácatl.
. . .
Traducción del náhuatl al español:
Miguel León-Portilla, 2003
. . .
En náhuatl:
Macuilxochitzin Icuic
.
A nonpehua noncuica,
ni Macuilxochitl,
zan noconahuiltia o a in ipalnemoa,
yn maconnetotilo – ohuaya, ohuaya!
.
Quenonamican,
can o ye ichan
im a itquihua in cuicatl?
Ic zanio nican
y izca anmoxochiuh?
In ma onnetotilo – ohuaya, ohuaya!
.
Temomacehual matlatzincatl,
Itzcohuatzin:
In Axayacatzin ticmomoyahuaco
in altepetl in Tlacotepec – a ohuaya!
O ylacatziuh ya ommoxochiuyh,
mopapaloouh.
Ic toconahuiltia.
In matlatzincatl, in Toloca, in Tlacotepec – a ohuaya.
.
Ayaxca ocontemaca
in xochitlaihuitla
ypalnemoa – ohuaya.
In quauhichimalli in temac,
ye quimana – ohuican ouihua,
yan tlachinolli itic,
yxtlahuatl itic – ohuaya, ohuaya.
In neneuhqui in tocuic,
neneuhqui in toxochiuh,
can tiquaochpan,
in toconahuiltia ypalnemoa – ohuaya, ohuaya.
In quauhxochitl
in momac ommani,
Axayacatzin.
In teoaxochitl,
in tlachinolxochitl ic,
yzhuayotimani,
yca yhuintihua
in tonahuac onoca – ohuaya, ohuaya.
.
Topan cueponi – a
yaoxochitl – a,
in Ehecatepec, in Mexico – ye ohoye
ye huiloya yca yhuintihua
in tonahuac onoc.
.
Za ye netlapalolo
in tepilhuan,
in acolihuaque,
an antepaneca – ohuaya, ohuaya.
.
In otepeuh Axayaca
nohuian,
Matlatzinco, Malinalco,
Ocuillan, Tequaloya, Xohcotitlan.
Nican ohualquizaco.
Xiquipilco oncan
oquimetzhuitec ce otomitl,
ytoca Tlilatl.
.
Auh yn oahcico,
quimilhui ycihuahuan:
– Xitlacencahuacan in maxtlatl, in tilmatli,
anquimacazque amoquichui.
Oquinenotzallan:
– Ma huallauh yn otomitl,
yn onechmetzhuitec!
Momauhtihtica yn otomitl,
quittoa:
– Anca ye nechmictizque!
Quihualhuica in huepantli,
in tlaxipehualli in mazatl,
ic quitlapaloco in Axaya.
Momauhtitihuitz.
Auh zan oquitlauhtique yn icihuahuan Axayaca.
_____
La princesa Macuilxochitzin/Macuilxóchitl nació en México-Tenochtitlan hacia 1435 y vivió la buena parte del siglo XV. Fue hija de Tlacaélel, un consejero de los reyes aztecas. Desde pequeña recibió la mejor educación; también escuchó de la boca de su madre los antiguos consejos de los mexicas. Y, por supuesto, ella conocía los artes del bordado y del telar.
Este poema – El Canto de Macuilxochitzin – trata de una conquista mexica del año 1476. Era la intención de la poetisa dar gracias al “Dador de la Vida” y preservar el cuento de la victoria de su pueblo.
El original se incluye en la colección de la BNM (Biblioteca Nacional de México).
Nurun Nahar’s “Mankind who – You, for such” – an inspirational Bengali poem for Eid-ul-Fitr 2012
Posted: August 19, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Bengali (Bangla), English, Laboni Islam, Nurun Nahar | Tags: Poems for Eid-ul-Fitr Comments Off on Nurun Nahar’s “Mankind who – You, for such” – an inspirational Bengali poem for Eid-ul-Fitr 2012
Nurun Nahar (1924-1992) was born in Tangail, Bangladesh. She wrote this poem in her youth. Artist, writer, and mother of five, she could crochet blankets in her sleep. Translation by Syeda Parvin Shirin, her only daughter. Photo by Laboni Islam, one of Nurun’s many grand-daughters.
Nezahualcoyotzin: in xochitl in cuicatl / Nezahualcóyotl: su “flor y canto”(poesía náhuatl)…y poemas del siglo xxi, inspirados en él
Posted: August 19, 2012 Filed under: Náhuatl, Nezahualcóyotl, Nezahualcoyotzin: in xochitl in cuicatl / Nezahualcóyotl: su "flor y canto"(poesía náhuatl) y poemas del siglo xxi - inspirados en él, Spanish | Tags: Poemas a Nezahualcóyotl, Poemas de Nezahualcoyotzin Comments Off on Nezahualcoyotzin: in xochitl in cuicatl / Nezahualcóyotl: su “flor y canto”(poesía náhuatl)…y poemas del siglo xxi, inspirados en él
Nezahualcoyotzin (1402-1472)
Amoxcalco pehua cuica
.
Amoxcalco pehua cuica
yeyecohua Yehuaya
quimoyahua xochitl
on ahuia cuicatl.
Oha mayya hue hahuayya … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Icahuaca cuicatl
oyohualli ehua-tihuitz
zan quinanquiliya
toxochayacach
quimoyahua xochitl
on ahuia cuicatl.
*
Xochiticpac cuica
in yectli cocoxqui
ye con ya totama
a-itec.
Ho ilili yaha ilili yio
hui ohui ohui … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Zan ye con nanquilia
in nepepan quechol
in yectli quechol
in huel ya cuica
ha ilili yaha ililili
ohui ohui ohui … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Amoxtlacuilol in moyollo
tocuicaticaco in tictzotzona in mohuehueuh
in ticuicanitl
xopan cala itec,
in tonteyahuiltiya.
Yao yli yaha ilili lili iliya ohama hayya … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Zan tic moyahua
in puyuma xochitli
in cacahua xochitli
in ticuicanitl
xopan cala itec
in tonteyahuiltiya
Yao ya oli yaha ilili lili iliya ohama … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Xochitli tic ya mana
in nepapan xochitli
ic zan tonteyahuiltiya
ti tepiltzan o ti Nezahualcoyotzin
ah noyol quimati
momaco on maniya
timocozcatiya
xopan in xochitli.
No ama ha om hama hay yaha … Ohuaya Ohuaya.
*
Zan moch ompa ye huitze
onmeyocan ilhuicatli itec
o ica tonteyahuiltiya
ti tepiltzin o ti Nezahualcoyotzin
ah noyol quimati
momaco on maniya
timocozcatiya
xopan in xochitli.
_____
Nezahualcóyotl
(El rey-poeta de Texcoco, 1402-1472)
Un Libro de Canto es tu Corazón
.
En casa de musgo acuático
comienza a cantar,
ensaya su canto.
Derrama flores:
deleita el canto.
*
Repercute el canto,
suenan ligeros los cascabeles:
les responden nuestras sonajas floridas.
Derrama flores:
deleita el canto.
*
Canta sobre las flores
el hermosos faisán:
ya despliega su canto
dentro del agua.
*
Le responden los variados pájaros rojos,
los hermosos pájaros rojos:
bellamente cantan.
*
Un libro de cantos es tu corazón:
has venido a hacer oír tu canto,
tañendo estás tu atabal.
Eres cantor:
entre flores de primavera
deleitas a las personas.
*
Ya estás repartiendo
flores de fragrancia embriagadora,
flores preciosas:
eres cantor:
entre flores de primavera
deleitas a las personas.
*
Flores ofreces,
variadas flores:
con ellas deleitas a los hombres,
oh príncipe Nezahualcóyotl:
ah, mi corazón lo saborea:
se dan y perduran:
con ellas te haces un collar,
con flores primaverales.
*
De allá sólo vienen todas
del sitio de la Dualidad,
de dentro del cielo:
con ellas deleitas a los hombres,
oh príncipe Nezahualcóyotl:
ah, mi corazón lo saborea:
se dan y perduran:
con ellas te haces un collar,
con flores primaverales.
.
Traducción del náhuatl al español: Ángel M. Garibay (1972)
_____
Nezahualcoyotzin
Nitlayocoya, Nicnotlamatiya
.
Nitlayocoya, nicnotlamatiya,
zan nitepiltzin Nezahualcoyotl.
Xochitica ye ihuan cuicatica
niquimilnamiqui tepilhuan,
ayn oyaque,
yehua Tezozomoctzin, o yehuan Cuacuauhtzin
*
Oc nellin nemoan,
quenonamican.
¡Maya niquintoca in intepilhuan,
maya niquimonitquili toxochiuh!
ma ic ytech nonaci,
yectli yan cuicatl in Tezozomoctzin.
O ayc ompolihuiz in moteyo,
¡nopiltzin, Tezozomoctzin!,
anca za ye in mocuic a yca
Nihualchoca,
yn zan hihualicnotlamatico,
nontiya.
*
Zan nihualayocoya, nicnotlamati.
Ayoquic, ayoc,
quenmanian,
titechyaitaquiuh in tlalticpac,
yca, nontiya.
*
Nezahualcóyotl
Recuerdo de Tezozomoctzin y Cuacuauhtzin
.
Estoy triste, me aflijo,
yo, el señor Nezahualcoyotl.
Con flores y con cantos
recuerdo a los príncipes,
a los que se fueron,
a Tezozomoctzin, a Cuacuauhtzin.
*
En verdad viven,
allá en donde de algún modo se existe.
¡Ojalá pudiera yo seguir a los príncipes,
llevarles nuestras flores!
¡Si pudiera yo hacer míos
los hermosos cantos de Tezozomoctzin!
Jamás perecerá tu renombre,
¡oh, mi señor, tú, Tezozomoctzin!
Así, echando de menos tus cantos,
me he venido a afligir,
sólo he venido a quedar triste,
yo a mí mismo me desgarro.
*
He venido a estar triste, me aflijo.
Ya no estás aquí, ya no,
en la región donde de algún modo se existe,
nos dejaste sin provisión en la Tierra,
por esto, a mí mismo me desgarro.
Traducción del náhuatl al español:
.
Miguel León-Portilla (1972)
_____
Yoyontzin (Nezahualcoyotzin)
Yeccan tinemico xochipan…
.
Yeccan tinemico xochipan tinemico,
ah in tocnihuan.
¡Ma yuhcan quentetl,
ma on nemohua!
*
In zan in ni Yoyon*
ye nican paqui
toyollo tixco timatico
yectli totlatol
ah in tochihuan.
In zan achico.
¡Ma yuhcan quentetl,
ma on nemohua!
.
*Yoyon = Yoyontzin = Nezahualcoyotzin
_____
Vivimos en buen tiempo
por Yoyotzin (nombre honorífico de Nezahualcóyotl)
.
¡Vivimos en buen tiempo, vivimos sobre flores,
oh amigos!
¡Aunque así es un momento,
que así se viva!
*
Yo soy Yoyon*:
aquí me alegro.
Nuestra cara, nuestro corazón vinimos a conocer:
bellas son nuestras palabras,
oh amigos.
¡Sólo por breve tiempo!
¡Aunque así es un momento,
que así se viva!
.
*Yoyon=Yoyotzin=Nezahualcóyotl
Traductor: Ángel M. Garibay
_____
Nezahualcoyotzin
In zan o ihui tinemi
.
In zan o ihui tinemi
zan cuel achic in motloc
monahuac in ipalnemohuani.
Ni hual neiximacho
tlalticpac ye nican.
Ayac mocahuaz:
Quetzalli ya pupuztequi
in tlacuilolli zan no pupulihui
xochitl a cuitlahui:
ixquich ompa ya huicalo
ye ichan.
*
Nezahualcóyotl
Vida fugaz
.
¡Así es como vivimos!:
breve instante a tu lado,
junto a ti, Autor de la Vida:
vine a que me conozcan
aquí, sobre la Tierra.
¡Nadie habrá de quedarse!:
Plumas de quetzal se hacen trizas,
pinturas se van destruyendo,
las flores, se marchitan.
¡Todo es llevado allá
a la casa del Sol!
.
Traductor: Ángel M. Garibay
_____
Nezahualcoyotzin
Ah tlamiz noxochiuh
.
Ah tlamiz noxochiuh
Ah tlamiz nocuic
In nocon ya ehua
Zan nicuicanitl.
*
Xexelihui moyahua
Cozahuia xochitl:
Ye on calaquilo
Zacuan calitic.
*
Nezahualcóyotl
No acabarán mis flores
.
No acabarán mis flores,
no acabarán mis cantos:
yo los elevo:
no más soy un cantor.
*
¡Se reparten, se difunden,
amarillecen las flores:
ya son llevadas
dentro de una mansión de doradas plumas!
.
Traductor: Ángel M. Garibay
*_____*_____*_____*_____*
Cuatro poetas contemporáneos
inspirados en la poesía “flor y canto” del rey-poeta azteca, Nezahualcóyotl
*
Raúl Cáceres Carenzo
Canto al rey poeta
.
Príncipe Nezahualcóyotl,
con tus versos escribo
este poema:
Nuestro corazón esparce cantos,
irradia flores
en la mitad de la noche.
*
En la casa de las pinturas
nos encontramos nuevamente:
la hermandad de los amigos,
la comunidad,
la nobleza.
*
Tu canto resuena de nuevo.
Nuestras cascabelas se hacen oír.
Nuestras sonajas floridas,
nuestros atabales
responden a tu canto
Alegra nuestros corazones.
Derrama flores.
Esparce el canto.
*
Libro de pinturas es tu corazón.
En la casa de la primavera resuenan tus cantos.
*
Aquí lo entiende entonces mi corazón:
Oigo una flor/Veo el canto
*
En el libro de pinturas del poeta hallamos
al Dador de la vida.
Con flores escribes, Príncipe Nezahualcóyotl:
con cantos das color,
con cantos sombreas
A los que han de vivir en la tierra.
*
Sólo en tu libro de pinturas vivimos.
Así lo comprende hoy mi corazón.
_____
Uriel Valencia
La canción de Dirse
.
1. Junto a los pájaros la lluvia del tiempo/
a la hora en que el viento guarda lo que la vida trae
alguien esconde el polen herido de la tarde/
a la hora en que la soledad reposa
su despiadada ofrenda/
a la hora en que tú creces
llena de esta ternura de azogue/
en algún sitio
mi locura
el jazz intermitente que submerge en alcohol
la tristeza/
entonces habla de Dirse/
del origen que transita tu nombre/
del galope azul el llanto/
a la hora en que la noche abre el frío de la espera
la lluvia agonizante las veredas secretas
del miedo descubre/
entonces/y sólo entonces/cuando la poesía escribe/
emerges/
transitas la sangre/
descifras
las espuelas sublimes del deseo.
.
2. aquí encendimos por ti los caminos de la brisa/
aquí del amor sus barcos/
de la palabra su leve aventura/
aquí los pasadizos
y túneles báquicos del íntimo orgasmo/
sus himnos de guerra/
.
3. tengo junto la vida que es todo lo que tengo/
todo lo que acecha ceniza ungida de milagros/
de barro este puñal de asombro/
en el viento la palabra que es todo lo que tengo/
la piel y el vino aterido de sombras/
pero en ti todo lo que es mío y te habla
*
aquí los días del asedio que en esta noche enumeras/
rastreándome hierve descalzo el silencio
en el llano/
en los dinteles de la historia/
*
aquí todas las inscripciones y telúricos dardos
y junto a ti/
¡Oh Dirse!/
la poesía que es todo lo que tengo…
_____
Yamilé Paz Paredes
Pintar tu canto
(A Nezahualcóyotl)
.
Ponme como la flor de leche
sobre tu frente
Ponme como la flor rosada del cacao
sobre tu pecho
Ponme como la flor de maíz amarillo
alrededor de tu cintura
*
Sólo en las flores hay encuentro
Sólo en las flores hay abrazo
Sólo en las flores hay reunión
*
El canto de los poetas es un inmenso
ramo de flores
Y el poema es una flor
*
Ponme como la flor del amanecer
sobre tu boca
No te sacies de flores
que no se sacie nunca de flores y de canto
tu corazón
Píntame en el interior de una piel de venado
con tinta negra y roja
Con esa doble tinta con la cual los poetas
hacen cantar los códices
Ponme como la flor de girasol
sobre tu voz
Que no se desgrane
Que no se marchite
Que no se quiebre esa flor
*
Derrámame en la tierra
como un canto florido
Fecúndame en la noche
como el viento de estío
Ponme como una flor de luna
sobre tu corazón.
_____
Sergio García Díaz
Este Coyote
.
Este Coyote humedece sus belfos.
Lame palabras caramelo.
Persigue zorritas confundido.
Tiene hambre, pero dice que está en ayuno.
*
Es un estratega, tiene sueños.
Separa las aguas saladas de las dulces.
Riega jardines y se baña tres veces al día.
Toma pulque, duerme y las estrellas lo arrullan.
Cien mujeres esperando están.
*
Es guerrero, tiene lanza, rodela y mira desde lejos
al que viene y al que va.
Sube al monte y en una piedra construye anáforas.
Se comunica con la humanidad.
*
Sus lágrimas llenan cuencas que se desbordan;
secas, son salitre y, en marzo, remolinos
que se van.
El caos es su fuerza
y la metáfora su forma de comunicar.
*
Le dicen Coyote
porque platica con la luna
y en ayunas
construye una ciudad.
*
Territorio simbólico,
espacio abierto, tiempo inmóvil,
vasta geografía,
mítica, sagrada.
*
Coatlicue:
zurce los amplios pliegues del tejido social,
muere por nosotros, aquí, en la hora,
de nuestra vida, amén.
*
Coyote,
símbolo de lujuria
cobijo de los desvalidos,
soledad acompañada de monólogos internos.
*
Lluvia de colores,
mural de perros:
axolotl, escuincles,
coyote en ayuno.
*
Coyote,
aúlla por nosotros,
hermanito,
camarada.
La selección de poemas contemporáneos está del libro conmemorativo – “Tú vivirás para siempre: poemas a Nezahualcóyotl” © 2002, Francisco Javier Estrada, editor
“The Shyp of Folys of the Worlde” (1509), translated by Alexander Barclay from Sebastian Brant’s “Das Narrenschiff” (1494)
Posted: August 16, 2012 Filed under: Alexander Barclay, English: Late Mediaeval - Early Renaissance, Sebastian Brant Comments Off on “The Shyp of Folys of the Worlde” (1509), translated by Alexander Barclay from Sebastian Brant’s “Das Narrenschiff” (1494)The Ship of Fools was as popular in its English dress as it had been in its original German garb. Here was a new satirical literature, itself a product of the mediaeval conception of The Fool. But now the figures are no longer abstractions; they are concrete examples of Folly: of the bibliophile who collects books but learns nothing from them, of the evil judge who takes bribes, of the procrastinator, of those who eagerly follow fashion, etc…
Das Narrenschiff (The Ship of Fools) by German humanist and satirist Sebastian Brant (1457-1521) was first printed in 1494, with woodblock prints illustrating each of his 113 varieties of Fool. In the next decade and a half the book was translated into several European languages – a “popular” book in its day, when the technology of the printing press was in its infancy.
The Ship of Fools’ verses describe sins and vices, really, rather than follies, and Brant’s didactic tone is reflected in Alexander Barclay’s translation. The Scottish Barclay (1476-1552) took the liberties that only a poet – and a translator – can, in the fact that Barclay translated “oute of Laten, Frenche, and Doche…sometyme addynge, sometyme detractinge and takinge away suche thinges as semeth me necessary and superflue.”
Barclay’s poem/translation is written in the ordinary Chaucerian stanza, using language which was in fact more modern than the common literary English of his day (1509).
Excerpt from Alexander Barclay’s
“The Shyp of Folys of the Worlde”(1509)
“Of tale berers, fals reporters, and prometers of stryfes”
Some ar that thynke the pleasoure and ioy of theyr lyfe
To brynge men in brawlynge to discorde and debate
Enioynge to moue them to chydynge and to stryfe
And where loue before was to cause mortall hate
With the comonty, and many great estate
Suche is moche wors than outher murderer or thefe
For ofte of his talys procedeth grete myschefe
Within his mouth is venym Jeperdous and vyle
His tonge styll laboryth lesynges to contryue
His mynde styll museth of falshode and on gyle
Therwith to trobyll suche as gladly wolde nat stryue
Somtyme his wordes as dartis he doth dryue
Agaynst good men: for onely his delyte.
Is set to sclaunder to diffame and bacbyte.
And namely them that fautles ar and innocent.
Of conscience clene, and maners commendable
These dryuyls sclaunder, beynge full dilygent.
To deuyde, louers that ar moste agreable
His tonge Infect his mynde abhomynable
Infectyth loue and ouertourneth charyte
Of them that longe tyme haue lyuyd in amyte
But he that accused is thus without all faute
And so sclaundred of this caytyf vnthryfty
Knowyth nought of this ieoperdous assaute
For he nought dowteth that is no thynge fauty
Thus whyle he nought feryth comyth sodaynly
This venemous doloure distaynynge his gode name
And so gyltles put to rebuke, and to shame.
Thus if one serche and seke the worlde ouerall
Than a backbyter nought is more peryllous
His mynde myscheuous, his wordys ar mortall
His damnable byt is foule and venemous
A thousande lyes of gyles odyous
He castyth out where he wolde haue debate
Engendrynge murder whan he his tyme can wayt
Where as any frendes lyueth in accorde
Faythfull and true: this cowarde and caytyf
With his fals talys them bryngeth to dyscorde
And with his venym kepeth them in stryfe
But howe beit that he thus pas forth his lyfe
Sawynge his sede of debate and myschefe
His darte oft retourneth to his own reprefe
But nat withstandynge, suche boldely wyl excuse
His fals dyffamynge: as fautles and innocent.
If any hym for his dedes worthely accuse
He couereth his venym: as symple of intent.
Other ar whiche flater: and to euery thynge assent.
Before face folowynge the way of adulacion,
Whiche afterwarde sore hurteth by detraccion.
The worlde is nowe alle set on dyffamacion.
Suche ar moste cherisshed that best can forge a tale.
Whych shulde be moste had in abhomynacion.
And so they ar of wyse men without fayle.
But suche as ar voyde of wysdom and counsayle
Inclyneth theyr erys to sclander and detraccion,
Moche rather than they wolde to a noble sermon.
But euery Sclanderer, and begynner of stryfe.
Lousers of loue, and infecters of Charite.
Unworthy ar to lyue here at large in this lyfe.
But in derke Dongeon they worthy ar to be.
And there to remayne in pryson tyl they dye.
For with there yl tunges they labour to destroy
Concorde: whiche cause is of loue and of ioy.
An olde quean that hath ben nought al hyr dayes.
Whiche oft hath for money hyr body let to hyre
Thynketh that al other doth folowe hyr olde wayes.
So she and hyr boul felawes syttinge by the fyre.
The Boule about walkynge with theyr tunges they conspyre
Agaynst goode peple, to sclander them wyth shame.
Than shal the noughty doughter lerne of the bawdy dame.
By his warkes knowen is euery creature
For if one good, louynge, meke and charitable be.
He labours no debates amonge men to procure.
But coueyteth to norysshe true loue and charite.
Where as the other ful of falshode and iniquyte
Theyr synguler plesour put to ingender variaunce.
But oft theyr folysshe stody retournes to theyr myschaunce
Therfore ye bacbyters that folke thus dyffame
Leue of your lewdnes and note wel this sentence.
Which Cryist hymself sayd: to great rebuke and shame
Unto them that sclandreth a man of Innocence.
Wo be to them whych by malyuolence
Slandreth or dyffameth any creature.
But wel is hym that wyth pacience can indure.
Zócalo Poets 