“Nature Photography” by Laboni Islam

"Songbird”: a photograph by Laboni Islam

“Songbird”: a photograph by Laboni Islam

Zocalo Poets - NATURE PHOTOGRAPHY - Laboni Islam

 

 

 

.     .     .

 

 

 


Alexander Best: La Cara del Girasol

Girasol con abeja_Toronto Canadá_15.07.2014

Girasol – en el alba, mediodía, anochecer –
¿por qué – para mí – tienes tan poder?
Tú: mi cara alegre cuando me abro al gozo
(y no soy el juguete de la ira);
cuando estoy franco con sentimiento,
(no tambaleándome por dentro).
Sólo ve y hazlo, asientes; haz lo posible, asientes,
y tus compañeros me dicen: si puedes soñarlo, puedes hacerlo.
Eres ávido, sincero, directo, auténtico
– ¿y puedes advinar por qué te amo tanto?
Es que: crece mi ánimo
cuando nos paramos cara a cara
– pues puedo reunirme con la raza humana.


Dylan Thomas: Poema del Ocaso del Día por El Reverendo Eli Jenkins / The Sunset Poem of The Reverend Eli Jenkins

At the end of the day...Al ocaso del día...

At the end of the day…Al ocaso del día…

Bajo el bosque de leche es una pieza de radioteatro del escritor galés, Dylan Thomas, posteriormente adaptada para su representación en el teatro. También existe una adaptación cinematográfica de 1972, con Richard Burton y Elizabeth Taylor.
En Bajo el bosque de leche, un narrador omnisciente invita a los oyentes a escuchar los sueños y pensamientos íntimos de los habitantes de una imaginaria localidad galesa, “Llareggub” (inversión de bugger all, traducible aproximadamente como “iros todos al carajo”). Entre los personajes principales, cuyos nombres son casi siempre simbólicos, se encuentran el Capitán Cat, que revive su época de marino; las dos señoras Dai Breads; Organ Morgan, obsesionado con su música; y Polly Garter, que suspira por su amante muerto. Tras este inicio onírico, el pueblo despierta y cada personaje se sumerge en sus quehaceres cotidianos. (Wikipedia)

. . .

Dylan Thomas first wrote Under Milk Wood as a radio drama in 1954. It was later adapted as a stage play. In the story a narrator invites the listener to hear about the dreams and hidden thoughts of the inhabitants of a Welsh fishing village called Llareggub (“bugger all” spelt backwards). The characters include: Mrs. Ogmore-Pritchard, who nags her two deceased husbands; Captain Cat, who relives his seafaring years; the Mrs. Dai Breads; “Organ Morgan”, obsessed by music; and Polly Garter, who pines for her dead lover. Toward the end, the town “awakens”, and is aware now just how their feelings affect all that they do. And so, they go about their daily business…
The following poem by Thomas is taken from the radio play:

The Sunset Poem of The Reverend Eli Jenkins
.
Every morning when I wake,
Dear Lord, a little prayer I make;
O please to keep Thy loving eye
On all poor creatures born to die.

And every evening at sun-down
I ask a blessing on the town;
For whether we last the night or no
I’m sure is always touch-and-go.

We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives Under Milk Wood;
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side – not our worst.

O let us see another day…
Bless us all this night, I pray;
And to the sun we all will bow,
And say good-bye – but just for now.

. . .

Dylan Thomas
Poema del Ocaso del Día (por El Reverendo Eli Jenkins)
.
Cada alba cuando me levanto,
Querido Dios, una pequeña oración hago.
Por favor, que apuntes el ojo de tierno cuidado
Sobre todos nosotros – las pobres criaturas destinado a morir.
.
Y en la tarde, a la puesta del sol,
Te pido una bendición por el bien del pueblo,
Porque – en esta noche – y si duramos o no –
Yo sé que la Vida siempre es precario.
.
Buenos, malos – no somos ni el uno ni el otro
(nosotros viviendo en en el pueblo de Bajo-Leche-Madera);
Y – lo sé – que Tú serás el primero que ve en nosotros lo mejor – no lo peor.
.
¡Ah, miremos un otro día!
Bendícenos en esta noche – rezamos;
Y haremos una reverencia al sol,
Y digamos Adiós – a menos por ahora…

. . .

The Sunset Poem was also set to the music of A. H. D. Troyte (Troyte’s Chant No. 1), in four-part harmony for two tenors and two bass singers.

. . . . .


Dylan Thomas: Amor en El Manicomio / Love in The Asylum

Dylan y Caitlin Thomas

Dylan y Caitlin Thomas

Dylan Thomas (Poeta galés, 1914-1953)
Amor en El Manicomio
.
Una extraña ha venido
a compartir mi cuarto en esta casa que anda mal de la cabeza,
una muchacha loca como los pájaros

traba la puerta de la noche con sus brazos, sus plumas.
Ceñida en la revuelta cama
alucina con nubes penetrantes esta casa a prueba de cielos

hasta alucina con sus pasos este cuarto de pesadilla.
libre como los muertos
o cabalga los océanos imaginarios del pabellón de hombres.

Ha llegado posesa
la que admite la alucinante luz a través del muro saltarín,
posesa por los cielos

ella duerme en el canal estrecho, hasta camina el polvo
hasta desvaría a gusto
sobre las mesas del manicomio adelgazadas por mis lágrimas.

Y tomado por la luz de sus brazos, al fin, mi Dios, al fin
puedo yo de verdad
soportar la primera visión que incendia las estrellas.

.
Versión de Elizabeth Azcona Cranwell

. . .

Dylan Thomas (Welsh poet, 1914-1953)
Love in The Asylum
.
A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

. . . . .


Jorge Luis Borges: “Tejas” / “Texas”

Foto romántica de un gaucho argentino estereotípico_Casi es una versión sudamericana del vaquero tejano. A romantic, stereotypical photograph of an Argentinian "gaucho", the South-American counterpart to the Texas Cowboy.

Foto romántica de un gaucho argentino estereotípico_Casi es una versión sudamericana del vaquero tejano. A romantic, stereotypical photograph of an Argentinian “gaucho”, the South-American counterpart to the Texas Cowboy.

Jorge Luis Borges
“Tejas”
.
Aquí también. Aquí, como en el otro
confín del continente, el infinito
campo en que muere solitario el grito;
aquí también el indio, el lazo, el potro.

Aquí también el pájaro secreto
que sobre los fragores de la historia
canta para una tarde y su memoria;
aquí también el místico alfabeto

de los astros, que hoy dictan a mi cálamo
nombres que el incesante laberinto
de los días no arrastra: San Jacinto

y esas otras Termópilas, el Álamo.
Aquí también esa desconocida
y ansiosa y breve cosa que es la vida.

Dos gauchos de La Triple Frontera entre Argentina, Paraguay y Brasil_Bebiendo yerba mate_Vintage photograph of two "gauchos" drinking "yerba mate"

Dos gauchos de La Triple Frontera entre Argentina, Paraguay y Brasil_Bebiendo yerba mate_Vintage photograph of two “gauchos” drinking “yerba mate”

Jorge Luis Borges
(1899-1986, born Buenos Aires, Argentina)
“Texas”
.
And so it is here too. Here too, as at
the Americas’ other edge: the measureless
plain where a cry dies unattended. Yes,
here too, the Indian, mustang, lariat.

Here too the secret bird that ever yet
over the clamourings of history
sings for an evening and its memory;
here too the stars with mystic alphabet

that dictate to my writing hand below
such names, today, as the unceasing maze
of days and turning days does not displace,

as San Jacinto and the Alamo,
and such Thermopylaes. Here, too, is rife
with that brief unknown anxious thing called life.

. . .
Translation from the Spanish: A.Z. Foreman
Visit his site: http://poemsintranslation.blogspot.ca/
. . . . .

 


Alicia Claudia González Maveroff: Time / Tiempo

At Toronto Island_June 2014

Alicia Claudia González Maveroff
Time
.
And Time passes by,
and that which one didn’t make happen
or say in the moment
can no longer be expressed,
for already its time has come and gone – and is lost.
.
And so, in this way you come to understand
that it’s not enough to just let Time slip by:
to lose opportunities;
to live without saying what it is one feels,
to live without allowing oneself happiness in its time.
.
You take the chance then to speak so as to
not lose any more Time.
And you know what? It’s not difficult to do this
– looking yourself in the eyes –
because it isn’t human frailty to describe your feelings.
.
There will be many more times when one says nothing,
as if it – what one longed to say – were not certain…
And Life passes by,
the same as I told you
Time passes by.
.
And one day, without your realizing it,
you will come and you won’t find me,
and that which you
couldn’t find the words for / didn’t know how to say,
well – you’ll’ve run out of Time…

Buenos Aires, 22/06/14

. . .
Alicia Claudia González Maveroff
Tiempo
.
Y el tiempo pasa
y lo que no se hizo
o  dijo en su momento,
no puede ya expresarse,
pues  ya perdió
su tiempo.

Y así comprendes
que no es adecuado
dejar pasar
el tiempo,
perder las oportunidades,
vivir sin permitirse decir
lo que se siente y ser feliz
a tiempo.

Y te arriesgas entonces
a hablar, a no perder
más tiempo.
Sabes, no es difícil hacerlo,
mirándose a los ojos.
Que no es fragilidad
describir sentimientos.

Más muchas veces,
no se dice nada, como si esto
no fuera cierto…
Y entonces la vida pasa,
como te cuento pasa
el tiempo.

Y un día sin saberlo,
vienes y no me encuentras,
y aquello que no se pudo
o no se supo decir,
ya no tiene
más tiempo…

Buenos Aires, 22/06/14

. . .

English interpretation from the original Spanish: Alexander Best
. . . . .


Vinícius de Moraes: Fidelidade, Separação, Intimidade: Three Sonnets

Ipanema Beach in Rio, at sunset_vintage colour photograph from the 1960s

Ipanema Beach in Rio, at sunset_vintage colour photograph from the 1960s

Vinícius de Moraes
(lyricist and poet, Rio de Janeiro, 1913-1980)
.
Sonnet on Fidelity
.
Above all, to my love I’ll be attentive
First, and always with such ardour, so much
That even when confronted by this great
Enchantment my thoughts ascend to more delight.
.
I want to live it through in each vain moment
And in its honour I must spread my song
And laugh with my delight and shed my tears
When she is sad or when she is contented.
.
And thus, when afterward comes looking for me
Who knows what death, anxiety of the living,
Who knows what loneliness, end of the loving,
.
I could say to myself of the love I had:
Let it not be immortal, since it is a flame
But let it be infinite – while it lasts.
. . .
Sonnet on Separation
.
Suddenly, laughter became sobbing
Silent and white like the mist
And united mouths became foam
And upturned hands became astonished.
.
Suddenly, the calm became the wind
That extinguished the last flame in the eyes
And passion became foreboding
And the still moment became drama.
.
Suddenly, no more than suddenly,
He who’d become a lover became sad
And he who’d become content became lonely.
.
The near became the distant friend
Life became a vagrant venture
– suddenly, no more than suddenly.
. . .
Sonnet on Intimacy
.
Farm afternoons, there’s much too much blue air.
I go out sometimes, follow the pasture track,
Chewing a blade of sticky grass, chest bare,
In threadbare pyjamas of three summers back,
.
To the little rivulets in the river-bed
For a drink of water, cold and musical,
And if I spot in the brush a glow of red,
A raspberry, spit its blood at the corral.
.
The smell of cow manure is delicious.
The cattle look at me unenviously
And when there comes a sudden stream and hiss
.
Accompanied by a look not unmalicious,
All of us, animals, unemotionally
Partake together of a pleasant piss.
. . .
Translations from Portuguese into English:
Ashley Brown (Fidelity, Separation) and Elizabeth Bishop (Intimacy)

. . .

Soneto de Fidelidade
.
De tudo, ao meu amor serei atento
Antes, e com tal zêlo, e sempre, e tanto
Que mesmo em face do maior encanto
Dêle se encante mais meu pensamento.
.
Quero vivê-lo em cada vão momento
E em seu louvor hei de espalhar meu canto
E rir meu riso e derramar meu pranto
Ao seu pesar ou seu contentamento.
.
E assim, quando mais tarde me procure
Quem sabe a morte, angústia de quem vive,
Quem sabe a solidão, fim de quem ama
.
Eu possa me dizer do amor (que tive):
Que não seja imortal, pôsto que é chama
Mas que seja infinito enquanto dure.
. . .

Soneto de Separação
.
De repente do riso fez-se o pranto
Silencioso e branco como a bruma
E das bocas unidas fez-se a espuma
E das mãos espalmadas fez-se o espanto.
.
De repente da calma fez-se o vento
Que dos olhos desfez a última chama
E da paixão fez-se o pressentimento
E do momento imóvel fez-se o drama.
.
De repente, não mais que de repente,
Fez-se de triste o que se fez amante
E de sozinho o que se fez contente.
.
Fez-se do amigo próximo o distante
Fez-se da vida uma aventura errante
De repente, não mais que de repente.

. . .

Soneto de Intimidade
.
Nas tardes da fazenda ha muito azul demais.
Eu saio as vezes, sigo pelo pasto, agora
Mastigando um capim, o peito nu de fora
No pijama irreal de ha três anos atrás.
.
Desço o rio no vau dos pequenos canais
Para ir beber na fonte a agua fria e sonora
E se encontro no mato o rubro de uma aurora
Vou cuspindo-lhe o sangue em torno dos currais.
.
Fico ali respirando o cheiro bom do estrume
Entre as vacas e os bois que me olham sem ciume
E quando por acaso uma mijada ferve
.
Seguida de um olhar não sem malícia e verve
Nos todos, animais, sem comoção nenhuma
Mijamos em comum numa festa de espuma.
. . .

These three sonnets were written in the late 1930s, when de Moraes was in his mid twenties. The poet would later become famous as the lyricist for the 1962 international bossa-nova hit song, A Garota de Ipanema (The Girl from Ipanema).
. . . . .


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