This sidewalk in my apartment complex shows how the shrubs limit the usable walking space.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Fun game!
Over on the Modern Poetry in Translation website, they have a neat feature called Translate! where they provide an original poem along with a "literal" translation of it into English. They invite readers to work up and submit their own versions and state: "One poem can be translated in many different ways—close translations, 'freer' versions, after-images and metamorphoses of all kinds."
The original poem, with my version below:
XLIV
Acordo de noite subitamente,
E o meu relógio ocupa a noite toda.
Não sinto a Natureza lá fora.
O meu quarto é uma coisa escura com paredes vagamente brancas.
Lá fora há um sossego como se nada existisse.
Só o relógio prossegue o seu ruído.
E esta pequena coisa de engrenagens que está em cima da minha mesa
Abafa toda a existência da terra e do céu…
Quase que me perco a pensar o que isto significa,
Mas estaco, e sinto-me sorrir na noite com os cantos da boca,
Porque a única coisa que o meu relógio simboliza ou significa
Enchendo com a sua pequenez a noite enorme
É a curiosa sensação de encher a noite enorme
Com a sua pequenez…
E o meu relógio ocupa a noite toda.
Não sinto a Natureza lá fora.
O meu quarto é uma coisa escura com paredes vagamente brancas.
Lá fora há um sossego como se nada existisse.
Só o relógio prossegue o seu ruído.
E esta pequena coisa de engrenagens que está em cima da minha mesa
Abafa toda a existência da terra e do céu…
Quase que me perco a pensar o que isto significa,
Mas estaco, e sinto-me sorrir na noite com os cantos da boca,
Porque a única coisa que o meu relógio simboliza ou significa
Enchendo com a sua pequenez a noite enorme
É a curiosa sensação de encher a noite enorme
Com a sua pequenez…
NOCTURN
I start. Bolt
awake.
My clock
looms in the night.
I have no sense of Nature
beyond.
My room is darkness
bound by a rumour
of walls.
Beyond
a muzzling calm
belies
the world of things.
Yet the clock tics,
insists on
existing.
This little box of
gears
on my nightstand
subsumes
the earth and sky.
I slip into thinking
about what this
means.
But then
I stop.
A smile
finds my face.
Because in filling
the vast night
with its smallness,
my clock
only
speaks
to the curious notion
of a vast night
dwarfed by smallness.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
a bionic text by Estíbaliz Espinosa
LIST OF MATHEMATICAL FORMULAS THAT CYBORGS, HYBRIDS, AND
MERMAIDS THINK ABOUT WHEN THEY FALL IN LOVE WITH A MORTAL
by Estíbaliz Espinosa (my translation)
The behavior of
migratory birds
there are some that do not return
The growth of a dune on
a beach
growth and its impertinent challenge to the law of gravity
The expansion of a virus
may we be protected from purity!
The time it takes wounds
to heal
once their succulence is revealed
Our bodily movements
during a night that lasts several hours.
The obscenity that
allows us to think about the cosmos and not about hunger
The coordinate relationship
between one’s self and a copy of one’s self.
Who’s to say: which is genuine and which is the fake?
The golden ratio that
governs your body, thus preventing us from being in charge
The exact dose of a
given drug necessary to provoke certain failures of memory
The thickness of the
sword edge hanging over our delicate little heads
The diameter of our pupils as you enter them
The time it will take
until someone’s eyes once again fall on this line
The velocity and hunger
of your eyes as you read this line
The tilt of our spinal column during a kiss
Our position with
respect to our twin galaxy, Andromeda
The curvature of an egg
The curvature of an egg
when crushed in our android hands
The magnitude and composition
of the epic throughout our history
The curvature of the egg
that cracks in our android hands when your name is coming up on a list, when
your name arrives scrambled, mutated by the formulas we repeat as we scratch
out this text, because it is epic to make our way towards that which has
already conquered us, against that which kills and burns and drags and
illuminates
the formula for the time
it takes to heal the wounds on each of the fingers that will never touch you
again.
never
ever
[from zoommm textos biónicos]
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Afternoon chicken bone
Long shadows, chicken bones, jalapeño stem. That's a backbone in the foreground.
automatic poetry
On the right of the double pipes <||> is the poem "Hands" by Micheal Chitwood. First I translated the poem into Galician [read it here]. Then I passed it through google translate about a dozen times, crossing Spanish, French, Romanian, Catalan, and English. I like the way this process introduces mutations in the poem:
HANDS || HANDS
wine || have worked
embrace || into the gloves'
glove. || snug fit.
Nice touch, || Good grip,
dark. || it's dark.
is difficult || It's hard
breathe. || to breathe.
Take the initiative. || Let go.
Feel the walls || Feel the walls
blindness || for blindness
is another way of seeing || is a form of sight.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
New poetry by Begoña Díez Sanz
INORGÁNICO (Begoña Díez Sanz)
Choreite e choreite
mais dende as bágoas
doutros rostros.
O meu corpo:
sicario da túa ausencia.
Choreite e choreite
mais dende as bágoas
doutros rostros.
O meu corpo:
sicario da túa ausencia.
[outra artista da fame]
INORGANIC (my translation)
I cried and cried over you
but with tears
from other faces.
My body:
stalks your absence like a dagger-man.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Olfactory Map of Chapel Hill/ Carrboro
One of the beauties of walking and biking is having more direct sensory contact with the world than one does riding in a car.
I have set up this google map to record smells I experience as I move around Chapel Hill/ Carrboro, North Carolina:
Map of the Smells of Chapel Hill/ Carrboro
The map can be edited by anyone, so if you have anything to add, please do. Or start your own olfactory maps for the places you live.
I have set up this google map to record smells I experience as I move around Chapel Hill/ Carrboro, North Carolina:
Map of the Smells of Chapel Hill/ Carrboro
The map can be edited by anyone, so if you have anything to add, please do. Or start your own olfactory maps for the places you live.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
"Me gustas cuando callas" by Pablo Neruda
I couldn't find a rhyming translation of Pablo Neruda's "Me gustas cuando callas," so I wrote one two. If anyone knows of others, let me know.
Below I've posted the original poem, along with some other English translations I found around the internets and my versions as well.
Me gustas cuando callas (Pablo Neruda)
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieren volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.
Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena de alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.
Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.
Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre de que no sea cierto.
---
I Like for You to be Still (translation W.S. Merwin)
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent,
and you hear me from far away, and my voice does not touch you.
It looks as though your eyes had flown away
and it looks as if a kiss had sealed your mouth.
Like all things are full of my soul
You emerge from the things, full of my soul.
Dream butterfly, you look like my soul,
and you look like a melancoly word.
I like you when you are quiet and it is as though you are distant.
It is as though you are complaining, butterfly in lullaby.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
let me fall quiet with your own silence.
Let me also speak to you with your silence
Clear like a lamp, simple like a ring.
You are like the night, quiet and constellated.
Your silence is of a star, so far away and solitary.
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent.
Distant and painful as if you had died.
A word then, a smile is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it is not true.
[http://thue.stanford.edu/jacquie/callas.html]
---
I like you calm, as if you were absent (translation by A.S. Kline)
I like you calm, as if you were absent,
and you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you.
It seems that your eyelids have taken to flying:
it seems that a kiss has sealed up your mouth.
Since all these things are filled with my spirit,
you come from things, filled with my spirit.
You appear as my soul, as the butterfly’s dreaming,
and you appear as Sadness’s word.
I like you calm, as if you were distant,
you are a moaning, a butterfly’s cooing.
You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you.
Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.
Let me commune, then, commune with your silence,
clear as a light, and pure as a ring.
You are like night, calmed, constellated.
Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.
I like you calm, as if you were absent:
distant and saddened, as if you were dead.
One word at that moment, a smile, is sufficient.
And I thrill, then, I thrill: that it cannot be so.
[http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/Neruda.htm#_Toc12957960]
---
I like you when you're still (my translation #1)
I like you when you’re still, when you seem far away,
when you hear my voice as a distant call.
It seems then that your eyes have taken flight,
and a kiss holds your lips in thrall.
My soul fills everything and from everything
you come brimming with my soul
You mirror my soul, dream butterfly
melancholia, the word made whole.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re not here.
You’re a plaintive murmur, a flutter, butterfly;
from far off you hear my voice:
Let me be quiet too, off where your silence lies.
When I speak, let me use your silence
Clear as lamplight and simple as a ring.
You’re like the night, still and full of stars
Your silence a constellation, a distant constant thing.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re far away.
Distant and pained, as if death held you near.
Then a word, a smile is enough.
I’m happy that no, love, you are here.
I like it when you're still (my translation #2)
I like you when you’re still,
when you seem far away,
when you hear my voice as a distant call.
It seems then that your eyes have taken flight,
and a kiss holds your lips in thrall.
My soul fills everything and from everything
you come brimming with my soul
You mirror my soul,
dream butterfly;
melancholia, the word made whole.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re not here.
You’re a plaintive murmur,
a flutter, butterfly.
From far off you hear my voice:
Shall I be quiet too, off where your silence lies.
Let my speech be eloquent as your silence:
clear as lamplight,
simple as a ring.
You’re like the night, still and full of stars.
Your silence a distant constant thing.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re far away.
Distant and pained,
as if death held you near.
Then a word, a smile is enough.
I’m happy that no, love, you are here.
Below I've posted the original poem, along with some other English translations I found around the internets and my versions as well.
Me gustas cuando callas (Pablo Neruda)
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieren volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.
Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena de alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.
Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.
Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre de que no sea cierto.
---
I Like for You to be Still (translation W.S. Merwin)
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.
---
I Like You When You Are Quiet (translation by ?)
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent,
and you hear me from far away, and my voice does not touch you.
It looks as though your eyes had flown away
and it looks as if a kiss had sealed your mouth.
Like all things are full of my soul
You emerge from the things, full of my soul.
Dream butterfly, you look like my soul,
and you look like a melancoly word.
I like you when you are quiet and it is as though you are distant.
It is as though you are complaining, butterfly in lullaby.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
let me fall quiet with your own silence.
Let me also speak to you with your silence
Clear like a lamp, simple like a ring.
You are like the night, quiet and constellated.
Your silence is of a star, so far away and solitary.
I like you when you are quiet because it is as though you are absent.
Distant and painful as if you had died.
A word then, a smile is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it is not true.
[http://thue.stanford.edu/jacquie/callas.html]
---
I like you calm, as if you were absent (translation by A.S. Kline)
I like you calm, as if you were absent,
and you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you.
It seems that your eyelids have taken to flying:
it seems that a kiss has sealed up your mouth.
Since all these things are filled with my spirit,
you come from things, filled with my spirit.
You appear as my soul, as the butterfly’s dreaming,
and you appear as Sadness’s word.
I like you calm, as if you were distant,
you are a moaning, a butterfly’s cooing.
You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you.
Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.
Let me commune, then, commune with your silence,
clear as a light, and pure as a ring.
You are like night, calmed, constellated.
Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.
I like you calm, as if you were absent:
distant and saddened, as if you were dead.
One word at that moment, a smile, is sufficient.
And I thrill, then, I thrill: that it cannot be so.
[http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/Neruda.htm#_Toc12957960]
---
I like you when you're still (my translation #1)
I like you when you’re still, when you seem far away,
when you hear my voice as a distant call.
It seems then that your eyes have taken flight,
and a kiss holds your lips in thrall.
My soul fills everything and from everything
you come brimming with my soul
You mirror my soul, dream butterfly
melancholia, the word made whole.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re not here.
You’re a plaintive murmur, a flutter, butterfly;
from far off you hear my voice:
Let me be quiet too, off where your silence lies.
When I speak, let me use your silence
Clear as lamplight and simple as a ring.
You’re like the night, still and full of stars
Your silence a constellation, a distant constant thing.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re far away.
Distant and pained, as if death held you near.
Then a word, a smile is enough.
I’m happy that no, love, you are here.
I like it when you're still (my translation #2)
I like you when you’re still,
when you seem far away,
when you hear my voice as a distant call.
It seems then that your eyes have taken flight,
and a kiss holds your lips in thrall.
My soul fills everything and from everything
you come brimming with my soul
You mirror my soul,
dream butterfly;
melancholia, the word made whole.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re not here.
You’re a plaintive murmur,
a flutter, butterfly.
From far off you hear my voice:
Shall I be quiet too, off where your silence lies.
Let my speech be eloquent as your silence:
clear as lamplight,
simple as a ring.
You’re like the night, still and full of stars.
Your silence a distant constant thing.
I like it when you’re still, when you’re far away.
Distant and pained,
as if death held you near.
Then a word, a smile is enough.
I’m happy that no, love, you are here.
Squirrel Park
A few months ago, my son and I spent part of a Saturday morning playing in a small park located at the intersection of Weaver St. and N. Greensboro St. in Carrboro, NC.
This park has two old oak trees and a sculpture, but it's wedged between a major road and a parking lot, and I have rarely seen anyone use the space.
When we visited last fall, we found that it is a good place to watch the world go by, and to watch squirrels gathering acorns.
We returned a few weeks ago to see if we could get some squirrel watching in, but the squirrels were not in evidence. We did, however, discover that one of the oak trees has a hollow at the bottom. We decided to use my phone to take photographs of what it looks like inside:
This park has two old oak trees and a sculpture, but it's wedged between a major road and a parking lot, and I have rarely seen anyone use the space.
When we visited last fall, we found that it is a good place to watch the world go by, and to watch squirrels gathering acorns.
We returned a few weeks ago to see if we could get some squirrel watching in, but the squirrels were not in evidence. We did, however, discover that one of the oak trees has a hollow at the bottom. We decided to use my phone to take photographs of what it looks like inside:
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