Archive for the ‘poets from other parts of the world’ Category

Yang Lian – A Sunflower Seed’s Lines of Negation   Leave a comment

Yang Lian reads his poem A Sunflower Seed’s Lines of Negation.

一粒葵花籽的否定句—

—致艾未未

不能想象这瓷制的江水中

曾泊着杜甫的扁舟

我不认识月光 只看见诗句的皎洁

在一行行衰减 至无人

至象征 谈论一切又回避一切

我不是象征 死在一粒葵花籽硬壳下的太阳

也不是 孩子们雪白坍塌的肉

并没有消失 一条破晓的地平线不可能

忘了那阵疼 骨头被玻璃切开时像玻璃

来不及叫喊才不得不在每天的曙光中叫喊

一场地震不会停止

一种窒息不在死后 种植到天边的栅栏

铐着更难堪的沉默 因此 我不怕

年轻女警察审视我的裸体

它被烧制成形 和你的并无区别

不知道别的碎除了亿万次加深自己的碎

不落进泥土 只落进流不动的江水中

不在乎石头含着的金黄 得继续

含着 像滴杜甫的老泪

不让这首诗沉沦为冷漠死寂的美

*

A Sunflower Seed’s Lines of Negation
for Ai Wei Wei

unimaginable that Du Fu’s little boat was once
moored on this ceramic river
I don’t know the moonlight
see only the poem’s clarity
attenuated line by line
to a non-person
to the symbols
discussing and avoiding everything

I’m no symbol
a sun dying under the sunflower seed’s hard shell
nor is the sun
snow-white collapsed meat of children
nor have I disappeared
daybreak’s horizon impossibly
forgot that pain
bones like glass sliced by glass

I didn’t scream, so must scream at each first light
an earthquake never stands still
no need to suffocate the dead
planting rows of fences to the ends of the earth
handcuffing ever more shameful silence
so

I don’t fear
the young policewoman interrogating my naked body
it was formed by fire
no different to yours
knowing no other way to shatter but a hundred millions shatterings within myself
falling into no soil
only into the river that can’t flow
that cares nothing for the yellow flower within the stone
having to go on
to hold back
like a drop of Du Fu’s old tears
refusing to let the poem sink into dead indifferent beauty

translated to English by Brian Holton & WN Herbert

José Régio – Cântico negro   Leave a comment


José Régio 
reads his poem Cântico negro.

Cântico negro
”Vem por aqui” — dizem-me alguns com os olhos doces
Estendendo-me os braços, e seguros
De que seria bom que eu os ouvisse
Quando me dizem: ”vem por aqui!”
Eu olho-os com olhos lassos,
(Há, nos olhos meus, ironias e cansaços)
E cruzo os braços,
E nunca vou por ali…
A minha glória é esta:
Criar desumanidades!
Não acompanhar ninguém.
— Que eu vivo com o mesmo sem-vontade
Com que rasguei o ventre à minha mãe
Não, não vou por aí! Só vou por onde
Me levam meus próprios passos…
Se ao que busco saber nenhum de vós responde
Por que me repetis: ”vem por aqui!”?

Prefiro escorregar nos becos lamacentos,
Redemoinhar aos ventos,
Como farrapos, arrastar os pés sangrentos,
A ir por aí…
Se vim ao mundo, foi
Só para desflorar florestas virgens,
E desenhar meus próprios pés na areia inexplorada!
O mais que faço não vale nada.

Como, pois, sereis vós
Que me dareis impulsos, ferramentas e coragem
Para eu derrubar os meus obstáculos?…
Corre, nas vossas veias, sangue velho dos avós,
E vós amais o que é fácil!
Eu amo o Longe e a Miragem,
Amo os abismos, as torrentes, os desertos…

Ide! Tendes estradas,
Tendes jardins, tendes canteiros,
Tendes pátria, tendes tetos,
E tendes regras, e tratados, e filósofos, e sábios…
Eu tenho a minha Loucura !
Levanto-a, como um facho, a arder na noite escura,
E sinto espuma, e sangue, e cânticos nos lábios…
Deus e o Diabo é que guiam, mais ninguém!
Todos tiveram pai, todos tiveram mãe;
Mas eu, que nunca principio nem acabo,
Nasci do amor que há entre Deus e o Diabo.

Ah, que ninguém me dê piedosas intenções,
Ninguém me peça definições!
Ninguém me diga: ”vem por aqui”!
A minha vida é um vendaval que se soltou,
É uma onda que se alevantou,
É um átomo a mais que se animou…
Não sei por onde vou,
Não sei para onde vou
Sei que não vou por aí!

          *

Black Chant

Come this way” — some tell me with sweet eyes,

streching their arms to me, and sure

it would be good for me to hear them

when they tell me ”Come this way”!

I look to them, with loose eyes,

(there are, in my eyes, ironies and weariness)

And I cross my arms,

And never go through there…

This is my glory:

To create inhumanity!

Go along with no one.

— For I live with the same lack of will

with wich I tore my mother’s womb!

No, I won’t go through there! I’ll only go through where

my own footsteps lead me!

If for what I seek to know none of you can answer

why do you repeat at me ”Come this way”?

I prefer to slip on muddy alleys

Swirl in the winds,

Like rags, dragging their bleeding feet,

Than go through there.

If I came into the world, was

Only to deflower virgin forests,

And draw my own feet in the sand unexplored!

The most I do is worth nothing.

How, then, will you be,

Who give me axes, tools and courage,

For me to overcome my obstacles??…

Flows, through your veins, old grandparent’s blood

And you love what is easy!

I love the Far, and the Mirage,

I love the abyss, the torrents, the deserts…

Go! You have roads,

You have gardens, you have flower beds,

you have nations, you have cielings,

And you have rules, and treaties, and philosophers, and sages.

I got my madness!

I rise it, like a torch, burning in the dark night,

And feel foam and blood, and songs on the lips…

God and the Devil are the ones guiding me, no one else.

All had father, all had mother,

But I, who never begin or end,

Was born out of the love that is between God and the Devil.

Ah, no one give me pious intentions!

Nobody ask me definitions!

Nobody tells me: ”Come this way”!

My life is a storm broken loose.

It is a wave welling up.

It’s a extra atom that was excited…

I don’t know through where I’ll go,

I don’t know where I’ll go,

— I know I won’t go through there

Translation to English:
poetasandpoets.blogspot.se

Postat juni 26, 2012 av estraden i poets from other parts of the world

Salvatore Quasimodo – Alle fronde dei salici   Leave a comment

 

Salvatore Quasimodo reads his poem Alle fronde dei salici.

Alle fronde dei salici
E come potevano noi cantare
con il piede straniero sopra il cuore,
fra i morti abbandonati nelle piazze
sull’erba dura di ghiaccio, al lamento
d’agnello dei fanciulli, all’urlo nero
della madre che andava incontro al figlio
crocifisso sul palo del telegrafo?
Alle fronde dei salici, per voto,
anche le nostre cetre erano appese,
oscillavano lievi al triste vento.

                           *

On the Willow Branches
And how could we sing
with the foreign foot upon our heart,
among the dead abandoned in the squares
on the grass hard with ice, to the children’s
lamb lament, to the black howl
of the mother gone to meet her son
crucified on the telegraph pole?
On the the willow branches, by our vow,
our lyres, too, were hung,
lightly they swayed in the sad wind.

English translation by Allen Mandlebaum

Postat juni 19, 2012 av estraden i poets from other parts of the world

Wisława Szymborska – Urodziny   Leave a comment

Wisława Szymborska reads her poem Urodziny.

Urodziny
Tyle naraz świata ze wszystkich stron swiata:
moreny, mureny i morza, i zorze,
i ogień, i ogon, i orzeł, i orzech –
jak ja to ustawię, gdzie ja to położę?
Te chaszcze i paszcze, i leszcze, i deszcze,
bodziszki, modliszki – gdzie ja to pomieszczę?
Motyle, goryle, beryle i trele –
dziękuję, to chyba o wiele za wiele,
Do dzbanka jakiego tam łopian i łopot,
i łubin, i popłoch, i przepych, i kłopot?
Gdzie zabrać kolibra, gdzie ukryć to srebro,
co zrobić na serio z tym żubrem i zebrą?
Już taki dwutlenek rzecz ważna i droga,
a tu ośmiornica i jeszcze stonoga!
Domyślam się ceny, choć cena z gwiazd zdarta –
dziekuję, doprawdy nie czuję się warta.
Nie szkoda to dla mnie zachodu i słońca?
Jak ma się w to bawić osoba żyjąca?
Na chwilę tu jestem i tylko na chwilę:
co dalsze, przeoczę, a resztę pomylę.
Nie zdążę wszystkiego odróżnić od próżni.
Pogubię te bratki w pośpiechu podróżnym.
Jużc hoćby najmniejszy – szalony wydatek:
fatyga łodygi i listek, i płatek
raz jeden w przestrzeni, od nigdy, na oślep,
wzgardliwie dokładny i kruchy wyniośle.

                                        *

Birthday
So much world all at once – how it rustles and bustles!
Moraines and morays and morasses and mussels,
The flame, the flamingo, the flounder, the feather –
How to line them all up, how to put them together?
All the tickets and crickets and creepers and creeks!
The beeches and leeches alone could take weeks.
Chinchillas, gorillas, and sarsaparillas –
Thanks do much, but all this excess of kindness could kill us.
Where’s the jar for this burgeoning burdock, brooks’ babble,
Rooks’ squabble, snakes’ quiggle, abundance, and trouble?
How to plug up the gold mines and pin down the fox,
How to cope with the linx, bobolinks, strptococs!
Tale dioxide: a lightweight, but mighty in deeds:
What about octopodes, what about centipedes?
I could look into prices, but don’t have the nerve:
These are products I just can’t afford, don’t deserve.
Isn’t sunset a little too much for two eyes
That, who knows, may not open to see the sun rise?
I am just passing through, it’s a five-minute stop.
I won’t catch what is distant: what’s too close, I’ll mix up.
While trying to plumb what the void’s inner sense is,
I’m bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies.
What a loss when you think how much effort was spent
perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent
for the one-time appearance, which is all they’re allowed,
so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak
and Clare Cavanagh

Nelly Sachs – Geschirmt sind die Liebenden   Leave a comment

 

Nelly Sachs reads her poem Geschirmt sind die Liebenden.

Geschirmt sind die Liebenden
Geschirmt sind die Liebenden
unter dem zugemauerten Himmel.
Ein geheimes Element schafft ihnen Atem
und sie tragen die Steine in die Segnung
und alles was wächst
hat nur noch eine Heimat bei ihnen.

Geschirmt sind die Liebenden
und nur für sie schlagen noch die Nachtigallen
und sind nicht ausgestorben in der Taubheit
und des Waldes leise Legenden, die Rehe,
leiden in Sanftmut für sie.

Geschirmt sind die Liebenden
sie finden den versteckten Schmerz der Abendsonne
auf einem Weidenzweig blutend –
und üben in den Nächten lächelnd das Sterben,
den leisen Tod
mit allen Quellen, die in Sehnsucht rinnen