Briceida Cuevas Cob: Mayan poems
Posted: August 17, 2011 Filed under: Briceida Cuevas Cob, English, Maya, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best Comments Off on Briceida Cuevas Cob: Mayan poems
“In K’aba’”
In k’abae,
tikín ot’el,
chi’il chi’ u chi’chi’al,
u chá’acha’al tumén u dzay máako’ob.
Dzok in pitik u nóok’il in k’aba’
je bix u podzikúbal kan tu xla sóol.
ƑBaanten ma’ tan u yala xkakbach ti’ uj?
Leti’e suk u xínbal bul ák’ab,
suk u bulik u uínklil,
suk u balik u su’tal,
suk u t’ubkubaj ich ek’jochénil tumén dzok u p’ektik u sáasil.
Tumén leti’e sak kichpán xba’ba’al.
In k’abae
cha takan ti’ páalal.
In k’abae
tatak’cha’tan tumén p’ek.
Bejlae mina’an in k’aaba.
Tené aluxén tan in sosok’ik u tzotzel u pool yáamaj.
_____
“Mi Nombre”
Mi nombre
pellejo disecado
de boca en boca es mordido,
es masticado por los colmillos de la gente.
Me he despojado del ropaje de mi nombre
así como la serpiente de su piel.
Por qué no llaman prostituta a la luna?
Ella acostumbra caminar por las noches,
acostumbra apostar su cuerpo,
acostumbra ocultar su vergüenza,
acostumbra sumergirse en la oscuridad porque ya detesta su claridad.
Porque ella es una hermosa alimaña blanca.
Mi nombre
es chicle prohibido para los niños.
Mi nombre
ha sido pisoteado por el desprecio.
Ahora ya no tengo nombre.
Soy un duende que le revuelve la cabellera al amor.
_____
“My Name”
My name
a scraped animal hide,
from mouth to mouth
bitten and chewed by people’s fangs.
I’ve stripped myself of the garb of my name
like a snake sheds its skin.
Why don’t they call the moon prostitute ?
She’s used to walking through the night,
accustomed to betting on her body,
to hiding her shame,
immersing herself in darkness
(because she loathes her own brightness).
Because she’s a pretty white pest
my name is chewing gum the kids aren’t allowed to have.
My name
has been trampled upon by contempt.
And now I have no name.
I am a spirit that turns its tail on love.
_____
“A Yáamaj”
Mix máak ku yuk’ul tin luuch,
mix máak ku jupik u k’ab ichil in leek,
mix máak ku janal tin laak.
A yámae júntuul tzayam kóil peek’ ch’apachtán tumen máako’ob.
Nájil naj ku páatal yéetel u xtakche’il jool naj
Tu láakal máak yójel dzok u chíiken a yáamaj.
_____
“Tu Amor”
Nadie bebe en mi jícara,
nadie introduce la mano en mi guardatortillas,
nadie come en mi cajete.
Tu amor es un perro rabioso perseguido por la gente.
De casa en casa es esperado con la tranca en la puerta.
Toda la gente sabe que me ha mordido tu amor.
_____
“Your Love”
Nobody drinks from my gourd,
Nobody slips their hand into my breadbox,
Nobody eats from my bowl.
Your love is a rabid dog chased away by everyone.
From house to house a barred door awaits it.
And people know your love has bitten me.
_____
“Como el carbón”
Y entonces naciste,
niña de ojos muy negros.
Tan negros como el carbón que hace tu padre,
como la olla de tu madre,
como el reverso de su comal.
Como el ojo del pozo cuando lo asaetea la oscuridad.
_____
“Like charcoal”
And so you were born,
little girl with eyes so black.
Black like the charcoal your father makes,
like your mother’s cooking pot,
or the underside of the “comal”*.
Like the eye of the waterwell when it pierces the darkness.
* comal: earthenware disc or metal pan placed over the fire,
especially used for cooking corn tortillas
_____
Briceida Cuevas Cob nació en 1969. Su pueblo natal es Tepakán,
Estado de Campeche, en la península de Yucatán, México.
Es una poetisa vívida en la lengua maya y hace también sus propias traducciones al español.
(Traducciones al inglés por Alexander Best)
*
Briceida Cuevas Cob (born 1969) is a Mayan poet born in the town of Tepakán,
Campeche State, in the Yucatán Peninsula of México.
She also translates her own vivid Mayan-language poems into Spanish.
(English translations from the Spanish by Alexander Best)
2 “Blues” by Alexander Best
Posted: August 9, 2011 Filed under: Alexander Best, English Comments Off on 2 “Blues” by Alexander Best
Alexander Best
SENTIMENTAL BLUES
.
A friend of mine was funny,
wild like a rubber band.
That friend of mine was funny,
just like a girly-man.
And when he dwindled to a skel’ton,
I sat and held his hand.
.
I had a cat for comp’ny,
forward she made me go;
a wise she-cat to scratch me;
she’s buried in the yard.
And when I need her good advice now,
that’s the lonesome part.
.
I never had a dream life
Until I let you go.
I dream about the old strife
– ain’t these some foolish words !
But when I wake up from this rev’ry
I’m gonna wake up! hard.
.
A friend of mine:
That “friend” was the first childhood friend I made when we moved to Toronto in the late 1960s. Archie was 9 when I first met him in 1969. He died of AIDS – a big man who’d withered away to a mere 100 lbs.– in February of 1993, just after his 33rd birthday.
Archie MacDonald, 1960-1993, pictured here on Baldwin Street in Toronto_early 1980
BEST LITTLE BLUES
.
Took all this time, took all my –
Wasted all this time.
– What I know wouldn’t cover a dime.
My dumb voice kept at me: shush! shush!
Two worlds did brake me: the dead and the rush.
.
…All this time – just to be myself;
the noise and the buzz, and I already was.
Years have flown, and my soul on a shelf.
All this time – only been myself.
Has my heart grown ? Is my head my own ?
Oh — ooo — oh — ooo — ohh — ooooo.
.
(2004)
“De mis manos te doy a Ti”: una canción evangélica de Trinidad y Tobago
Posted: July 30, 2011 Filed under: English, Spanish, Translator's Whimsy: Song Lyrics / Extravagancia del traductor: Letras de canciones traducidas por Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Lidia García Garay Comments Off on “De mis manos te doy a Ti”: una canción evangélica de Trinidad y Tobago
De mis manos te doy a Ti, ah Señor,
De mis manos te doy a Ti.
Te doy a Ti como tú me diste a mí,
De mis manos te doy a Ti.
Nos guiaste fuera de la oscuridad
Cuando no sabíamos donde ir.
Entonces nos pediste que te siguiéramos
Y dijimos: NO.
De mis manos te doy a Ti, ah Señor,
De mis manos te doy a Ti.
Te doy a Ti como tú me diste a mí,
De mis manos te doy a Ti.
Sufriste por la Humanidad
Para que pudiéramos estar contigo,
Ah, ¡ que podamos mostrarte un poco de
Agradecimiento
En lo que decimos y hacemos !
De nuestras manos te damos a Ti, ah Señor,
De nuestras manos te damos a Ti.
Te damos a Ti como tú nos diste a nosotros,
De nuestras manos te damos a Ti…
*
” Of my hands I give to You ”
Of my hands I give to You, Oh Lord,
Of my hands I give to You.
I give to You as You gave to me,
Of my hands I give to You.
You led us out of darkness
When we knew not where to go,
You asked us then to follow You,
And we said: NO.
Of my hands I give to You, Oh Lord,
Of my hands I give to You.
I give to You as You gave to me,
Of my hands I give to You.
You suffered for the sake of Man
That we might be with You,
Oh, may we show some gratefulness
In what we say and do !
Of our hands we give to You, Oh Lord,
Of our hands we give to You.
We give to You as You gave to us,
Of our hands we give to You…
_____
“Of my hands I give to You” is a gospel song written by R. Repp,
recorded in the 1970s in Port of Spain, Trinidad,
by The Goretti Group Singers with The Dennis De Souza Trio.
Emily Dickinson: Two poems
Posted: July 26, 2011 Filed under: Emily Dickinson, English, Italian, Spanish, ZP Translator: Lidia García Garay Comments Off on Emily Dickinson: Two poems
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions “was it He, that bore,”
And “Yesterday, or Centuries before”?
The Feet, mechanical, go round
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
*
Italiano:
Dopo una grande pena, un sentimento formale subentra –
I Nervi siedono cerimoniosi, come Tombe –
Il Cuore irrigidito si chiede “fu proprio Lui, che soffrì,”
E “Ieri, o Secoli fa?”
I Piedi, meccanicamente, vanno tutt’intorno –
Un Legnoso percorso
Di Terra, o Aria, o Altro –
Incuranti del divenire,
Un appagamento di Quarzo, come una pietra –
Questa è l’Ora Plumbea –
Ricordata, se si sopravvive,
Come un Assiderato, rammenta la Neve –
Prima – il Freddo – poi lo Stupore – poi il lasciarsi andare –
*
Español: Después de un gran dolor un sentimiento solemne llega – Los Nervios descansan ceremoniosos, como Tumbas – El Corazón endurecido se pregunta ¿si fue Él, quien aguantó, Y Ayer, o hace Siglos? Los Pies dan vuelta mecánicamente – Una senda Rígida De Suelo, de Aire, de Obligación – Crecido sin cuidado alguno, Una conformidad de Quarzo, como una piedra – Esta es la Hora de Plomo – Recordados, si hay sobrevivientes, Como las personas Helandas recolectan la Nieve – Primero – Frío – después Asombro – después rendirse –
_____
To make Routine a Stimulus
Remember it can cease –
Capacity to terminate
Is a specific Grace –
Of Retrospect the Arrow
That power to repair
Departed with the torment
Become, alas, more fair –
*
Italiano:
Per fare della Routine uno Stimolo
Ricorda che può cessare –
La capacità di concludere
È una specifica Grazia –
Della Memoria la Freccia
Quel potere di riparare
Spartito con il tormento
Diventa, ahimè, più caro –
Traduzione Italiana de Giuseppe Ierolli
Giuseppe Ierolli has translated the complete works of Emily Dickinson – sì,
tutte le opere ! He is an acknowledged expert on the poet’s life and oeuvre;
his passion makes for a true labour of love.
*
Español:
Para hacer la Rutina un Estímulo
Recuerda que puede cesar –
La abilidad de terminar
Es una Gracia específica –
De Retrospección la Flecha
Ese poder de reparar
Partió con el tormento
¡ay de tí!, sé mas justo –
Traducciones al español por Lidia García Garay
_____
Emily Dickinson, (1830 – 1886), was
born and raised in Amherst, Massachusetts, U.S.A.
She was eccentric, reclusive, and a prolific poet –
though only a handful of her thousand-plus poems
were published in her lifetime.
Unusual for 19th-century poems, Dickinson’s
often had short line lengths, made frequent
use of the dash, and no titles. Early posthumous editions of
her poetry were edited so as to force her verse into
the poetical conventions of the period. These two poems,
written in 1862 and 1871 respectively, are
modernizers of English well before the advent of
20th century experimentation.
Δυνάμωσις + Κρυμμένα
Posted: July 16, 2011 Filed under: English, Greek, Konstantin Kavafis, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best Comments Off on Δυνάμωσις + Κρυμμένα
“Growing in Spirit”
He who hopes to grow in spirit
will have to transcend obedience and respect.
He will hold to some laws
but he will mostly violate
both law and custom, and go beyond
the established, inadequate norm.
Sensual pleasures will have much to teach him.
He will not be afraid of the destructive act:
half the house will have to come down.
This way he will grow virtuously into wisdom.
*
Greek:
Δυνάμωσις
Όποιος το πνεύμα του ποθεί να δυναμώσει
να βγει απ’ το σέβας κι από την υποταγή.
Aπό τους νόμους μερικούς θα τους φυλάξει,
αλλά το περισσότερο θα παραβαίνει
και νόμους κ’ έθιμα κι απ’ την παραδεγμένη
και την ανεπαρκούσα ευθύτητα θα βγει.
Aπό τες ηδονές πολλά θα διδαχθεί.
Την καταστρεπτική δεν θα φοβάται πράξι·
το σπίτι το μισό πρέπει να γκρεμισθεί.
Έτσι θ’ αναπτυχθεί ενάρετα στην γνώσι.
*
Español:
“Creciendo en Espíritu”
El que espera crecer en espíritu
tendrá que transcender la obediencia y el respeto.
Cumplirá ciertas leyes
pero más que todo violará
la ley y la costumbre ambas, e irá más allá
de la norma establecida insuficiente.
Los placeres sensuales tendrán mucho que enseñarle.
No tendrá miedo del acto destructor:
tendrá que echar abajo la mitad de la casa.
De esta manera madurará virtuosamente en sabiduría.
*
“Hidden Things”
From all I did and all I said
let no one try to find out who I was.
An obstacle was there that changed the pattern
of my actions and the manner of my life.
An obstacle was often there
to stop me when I’d begin to speak.
From my most unnoticed actions,
my most veiled writing—
from these alone will I be understood.
But maybe it isn’t worth so much concern,
so much effort to discover who I really am.
Later, in a more perfect society,
someone else made just like me
is certain to appear and act freely.
*
Greek:
Κρυμμένα
Aπ’ όσα έκαμα κι απ’ όσα είπα
να μη ζητήσουνε να βρουν ποιος ήμουν.
Εμπόδιο στέκονταν και μεταμόρφωνε
τες πράξεις και τον τρόπο της ζωής μου.
Εμπόδιο στέκονταν και σταματούσε με
πολλές φορές που πήγαινα να πω.
Οι πιο απαρατήρητές μου πράξεις
και τα γραψίματά μου τα πιο σκεπασμένα —
από εκεί μονάχα θα με νιώσουν.
Aλλά ίσως δεν αξίζει να καταβληθεί
τόση φροντίς και τόσος κόπος να με μάθουν.
Κατόπι — στην τελειοτέρα κοινωνία —
κανένας άλλος καμωμένος σαν εμένα
βέβαια θα φανεί κ’ ελεύθερα θα κάμει.
Translated from Greek into English by Edmund Keeley / Philip Sherrard
*
Español:
“Cosas Ocultas”
De todo lo que hice y dije,
que nadie intente descubrir quien yo era.
Había un obstáculo allá que cambió el diseño
de mis actos y la manera de mi vida.
Allá había un obstáculo, a menudo,
para pararme cuando yo comenzaba a hablar.
De los actos más desapercibidos,
de la obra escrita más velada –
de aquellos solamente yo seré comprendido.
Pero quizás no vale la pena tanta inquietud,
tanto esfuerzo para descubrir quien soy yo en verdad.
Después, en una sociedad más perfecta,
algún otro – hecho justamente como yo –
con seguridad aparecerá y se comportará con libertad.
Traducciones al español por Alexander Best
_____
Constantine Cavafy (Konstantin Kavafis), 1863-1933,
was born and died in Alexandria, Egypt,
though his parents were from Greece. He
wrote most of his poems after the age of 40,
all the while holding a dull job as a civil servant.
He is one of the great poets in modern Greek, and
though the Greek originals are in rhyme, still
Keeley and Sherrard (the standard setters for 20th-century
Greek poetry translation, along with George Savidis), in their free-verse
English renderings remain true to Kavafis’ signature “pondering-aloud” style
as well as preserving the poet’s subtlety of feeling and tone.
Carlos Drummond de Andrade: Um boi vê os homens + No meio do caminho
Posted: July 16, 2011 Filed under: Carlos Drummond de Andrade, English, Portuguese, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best Comments Off on Carlos Drummond de Andrade: Um boi vê os homens + No meio do caminho
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
“Um boi vê os homens”
.
Tão delicados (mais que um arbusto) e correm e correm de um para o outro lado, sempre esquecidos de alguma coisa. Certamente falta-lhes não sei que atributo essencial, posto se apresentem nobres e graves, por vezes.
Ah, espantosamente graves, até sinistros.
Coitados, dir-se-ia que não escutam nem o canto do ar nem os segredos do feno,
como também parecem não enxergar o que é visível
e comum a cada um de nós, no espaço.
E ficam tristes e no rasto da tristeza chegam à crueldade.
Toda a expressão deles mora nos olhos –
e perde-se a um simples baixar de cílios, a uma sombra.
Nada nos pêlos, nos extremos de inconcebível fragilidade, e como neles há pouca montanha, e que secura e que reentrâncias e que impossibilidade de se organizarem em formas calmas, permanentes e necessárias.
Têm, talvez, certa graça melancólica (um minuto) e com isto se fazem
perdoar a agitação incômoda e o translúcido vazio interior que os torna tão pobres e carecidos de emitir sons absurdos e agônicos: desejo, amor, ciúme
(que sabemos nós), sons que se despedaçam e tombam no campo
como pedras aflitas e queimam a erva e a água,
e difícil, depois disto, é ruminarmos nossa verdade.
*
In English:
“An Ox Looks At Man”
.
They are more delicate even than shrubs and they run
and run from one side to the other, always forgetting
something.
Surely they lack I don’t know what
basic ingredient, though they present themselves
as noble or serious, at times.
Oh, terribly serious,
even tragic.
Poor things, one would say that they hear
neither the song of the air nor the secrets of hay;
likewise they seem not to see what is visible
and common to each of us, in space.
And they are sad,
and in the wake of sadness they come to cruelty.
All their expression lives in their eyes – and loses itself
to a simple lowering of lids, to a shadow.
And since there is little of the mountain about them –
nothing in the hair or in the terribly fragile limbs
but coldness and secrecy – it is impossible for them
to settle themselves into forms that are calm, lasting
and necessary.
They have, perhaps, a kind
of melancholy grace (one minute) and with this they allow
themselves to forget the problems
and translucent inner emptiness
that make them so poor and so lacking
when it comes to uttering silly and painful sounds:
desire, love, jealousy – (what do we know ?)
– sounds that scatter and fall in the field
like troubled stones and burn the herbs and the water,
and after this it is hard to keep chewing away at our truth.
*
En Español:
“Mira al Hombre el Buey”
.
Son tan delicados (más que los arbustos) y corren
y corren de un lado a otro, siempre olvidando algo.
Seguramente, les falta no sé
cual atributo esencial , aunque presentan a si mismos
como nobles or serios – a veces.
Ah, profundamente serios,
aun trágicos.
Pobrecitos, alguien podría decir que no escuchan
ni la canción del aire ni los secretos del heno,
como también parecen que no observan lo que es visible
y común a cada uno de nosotros, en el espacio.
Y están tristes,
y a su paso de la tristeza llegan a la crueldad.
Toda su expresión vive en los ojos – y se pierde
en un simple bajar de los párpados, a una sombra.
Y ya que hay poco de la montaña en ellos –
nada en su cabello o dentro los miembros de una inconcebible fragilidad
solo el friolento y el secreto – para ellos, es imposible
acostumbrarles a las formas tranquilas, duraderas
Y necesárias.
Tienen, quizás, una cierta gracia melancólica (un minuto) y con ésta les permiten
olvidar la agitación incómoda
y el vacío interior transparente
que les ponen tan pobres y tan careciendo
cuando dan los sonidos absurdos y agónicos:
el deseo, el amor, los celos – ¡ No sabemos nada ! –
los sonidos que esparcen y caen en el campo
como las piedras preocupadas y queman la hierba y el agua,
y después de ésto es difícil a seguir rumiando el asunto de nuestra verdad.
.
Traducción al español por Alexander Best
*
“No meio do caminho”
.
No meio do caminho tinha uma pedra
tinha uma pedra no meio do caminho
tinha uma pedra
no meio do caminho tinha uma pedra
Nunca me esquecerei desse acontecimento
na vida de minhas retinas tão fatigadas.
Nunca me esquecerei que no meio do caminho
tinha uma pedra
tinha uma pedra no meio do caminho
no meio do caminho tinha uma pedra.
*
In English:
“In the middle of the road”
.
In the middle of the road there was a stone
there was a stone in the middle of the road
there was a stone
in the middle of the road there was a stone.
Never should I forget this event
in the life of my fatigued retinas.
Never should I forget that in the middle of the road
there was a stone
there was a stone in the middle of the road
in the middle of the road there was a stone.
*
En Español:
“En el medio de la carretera”
.
En el medio de la carretera había una piedra
había una piedra en el medio de la carretera
había una roca
en el centro del camino había una roca.
Que nunca yo debería escaecer este acontecimiento
en la vida de mis retinas fatigadas.
Que nunca yo debería escaecer que en el medio de la carretera
había una piedra
había una piedra en el medio de la carretera
en el centro del camino había una roca.
.
Traducción (y interpretación) al español por Alexander Best
* * *
Carlos Drummond de Andrade, 1902 – 1987, was a Brazilian poet,
born in Minas Gerais. His Portuguese poems often have a free-verse style,
and are full of every-day observations seen through a socialist eye.
Translations into English from the original Portuguese by Mark Strand
Mark Strand is a Pulitzer-Prize-winning poet and translator. His thoughtful
translations of de Andrade’s poems recreate the beautiful plain-ness of the originals.
“En Mi Vida” por John Lennon
Posted: July 16, 2011 Filed under: English, John Lennon, Spanish, Translator's Whimsy: Song Lyrics / Extravagancia del traductor: Letras de canciones traducidas por Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Alexander Best Comments Off on “En Mi Vida” por John Lennon
_____
“En mi Vida ”
Hay lugares que recuerdo
Durante toda mi vida
Aunque algunos han cambiado,
Unos para siempre y no para mejor
Algunos han desaparecido
Y otros quedan todavía,
Todos éstos lugares tienen sus momentos
Con amantes y amigos que aún puedo recordar,
Hay muertos y otros que viven,
En mi vida… les he amado a todos.
Pero, entre todos estos amigos y amantes
No hay nadie como tu,
Y pierden estas memorias su sentido
Cuando pienso en el amor como algo nuevo,
Aunque sé que no perderé el cariño
Por la gente y las cosas que ántes fueron,
Sé que pararé a menudo
a pensar en ellos,
En mi vida…a tí te amo más.
Aunque sé que no perderé el cariño
Por la gente y las cosas que ántes fueron,
Sé que pararé a menudo
a pensar en ellos,
En mi vida…a tí te amo más.
En mi vida…a tí te amo más.
_____
Traducción al español por Alexander Best
Translation into Spanish by Alexander Best
_____
*
“In My Life”
(poem by John Lennon, set to music by Paul McCartney, 1965)
There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed,
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain,
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall,
Some are dead and some are living,
In my life I’ve loved them all.
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you ,
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new,
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll often stop and think about them,
In my life I love you more.
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll often stop and think about them,
In my life I love you more.
In my life I love you more.
Kanneerin Chamuththiram / Ocean of Tears
Posted: June 30, 2011 Filed under: Bavan Sribalan, English, Tamil Comments Off on Kanneerin Chamuththiram / Ocean of Tears_____
ENGAL THAAI NAADDIL IRUNTHU VALLIKIRATHU
ORU KANNEERCH CHAMUTHTHIRAM
UDAINTHU POHNA ULLANKALLAI SUGAP PADUTHTHA
KANAVUKAL ETHUVUM UTHAVAP POHVATHILLAI
ORU THESAM PILLAVUNDATHU, OHR IRAVIL
NAANGAL ELLORUM ANAHTHAIGALAHNOHM
NAANGAL MARAKKAPPADDA ORU ULAGAM
OHRAM KADDAP PADDU THANITHTHU ULDAPPADDAVARKAL
KOODDILLULLA VILANGU KAADCHI VILANGUGALPOHL
NAANGAL ALAVUKKU ATHIGAMAAGAVE ILANTHUVIDDOHM
NAANGAL EPPOTHUM SUTHANTHIRAMAHGA IRUNTHATHILLAI
ENGAL NEENDA NINAIVUGALIL
ANGAE SILA VETRU KUDISAIKAL
PULLUTHIYIL ENJI YULLANA
ORU NAAL VARUM
NAANGAL MEENDUM ELLUVOEM
ATHUVARAI
NAANGAL NAADKALAI KADATHTHI CHELUOEM.
*
OCEAN OF TEARS
THERE IS AN OCEAN OF TEARS
FLOWING FROM OUR HOMELAND.
THERE ARE BROKEN HEARTS,
NO DREAMS CAN HEAL THEM.
A NATION TORN APART
( WE WERE ORPHANED THAT NIGHT… )
WE ARE A WORLD FORGOTTEN,
PUSHED ASIDE – ALONE.
LIKE ZOO ANIMALS IN CAGES,
WE HAVE LOST MUCH
– NEVER BEEN FREE –
IN OUR MEMORY.
EMPTY HUTS STAND IN THE DUST.
THERE WILL COME A TIME
– WE WILL RISE AGAIN.
UNTIL THEN,
WE’LL CARRY ON !
_____
Translation from Tamil into English by the author:
Bavan Sribalan
*
Editor’s note:
Bavan Sribalan’s poem is a reflection upon the civil war in Sri Lanka.
Forward Berth
Posted: June 29, 2011 Filed under: Adam Zemans, English Comments Off on Forward Berth_____
Where I lay last innocent
In utero on a 36-foot wooden sailboat, Bicentenial 1976
Teak bobbing on water
Asleep in the forward berth
Sails furled
Rocking
Sun filtering, flickering
Below deck
In utero
Last protected
Unburdened by human tragedy
Rocking
Asleep in the forward berth
Sun filtering, flickering
Teak bobbing on water
Where I lay last innocent
_____
Adam Zemans (Vancouver, June 2011)
To the Proofreader by James Morris
Posted: June 27, 2011 Filed under: English, James Morris Comments Off on To the Proofreader by James Morris_____
To the Proofreader
Speak not about my syntax,
you black-hearted linguistic dominatrix.
Silence your high, hoarse voice of critical derision.
You can’t understand my style and vision.
Parenthesize your objections and your punctuated conniptions.
I have knowledge of language beyond your avoidance of contrivance.
And by the way,
My Grammar was a lovely woman.
Zócalo Poets 