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Monday, February third, 2014
 Very exciting: a school of Spanish-language writing and literature is being launched in Brooklyn under the compelling name of Bolaño's book of poetry. Go to their launch party on Saturday! (I can't make it because I'm going to a poetry workshop at Medicine Show Theater, about which more anon.) I am planning to enroll in the poetry workshop led by Isabel Cadenas Cañon, and maybe also the writing workshop led by Lina Meruane. Can't wait!
posted evening of February third, 2014: Respond
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Here is a new practice of revision I have been using. I have a couple of notebooks full of rough drafts at this point in a mix of English and Spanish, only a small minority of which I have even read, let alone revised into actual written work. What I've been doing is to scan quickly until I find a passage I like, and then develop it by means of translation: among other things, translating a text forces you to figure out what the core meaning of it is. So in particular, when I'm translating my own rough work with an eye toward revising it, I'm free to modify expression, tone and meaning in the interests of conveying more accurately the underlying sense of the text -- which I may or may not have been well aware of while I was composing the thing. I've had some good luck with this, including the last couple of poems I've posted. Here is a question: Can I (at least for as long as I have untouched raw material) make a daily practice of this? I would like to -- that would not necessarily mean a poem a day posted here, but hopefully a couple of poems a week anyways. Here is today's effort (no translation with this one, just revision in English):
Approaching
by J Osner
It's just dusk now
and the headlights gleam at you
as his front wheels hit that bump
in the road
Purse your lips now,
furrow your brow
as you watch him pulling up
to the curb
the wheels rolling noiselessly
to a stop
posted evening of February third, 2014: Respond
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Saturday, February first, 2014
por J Osner
Inmóvil en el sótano escucho
Los pisos chirriantes
Mientras los pisa ella
Y la casa hecha carne gruñe
Pesada
Del fardo acumulado
De todos los años
Y miles de años
De todos los pies
Que sus tablas han pisoteado
De todos los vientos
Que sus maderas han azotado
Que las tejas han desalojado
De sus techos
Hace años
Y caÃda la noche
Suspira
La casa y se
Asienta. En su tanque
Callan
Los peces. Afuera
Escucho
El ruido suave
De hojas.
posted morning of February first, 2014: 2 responses
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Sunday, January 26th, 2014
Sullen entropy
by J Osner
It's sullen entropy holds sway
decay is part of every system
sands of time just slip away
now vanished, now too late to listen
wax cylinder records the ticking
clock that measures out our days
you listen now, can't find the second
when your life began to play
so play it backwards, scratch the groove
so lose the time that you've been tracking
irreversible flow now cracking
stationary mass begins to move
now creaking, warming as it slides across
this muddy, fecund, fetid marsh
with nothing left to prove:
now found, now lost
posted morning of January 26th, 2014: Respond
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Saturday, November 16th, 2013
The other day upon the stair
I met a boy who didn't care.
Again today he didn't care.
And by the way, his name's Pierre.
posted evening of November 16th, 2013: Respond
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Friday, November 15th, 2013
Jeremy Osner
Los sueños más extraños, los
que uno no recuerda
(ni ha nunca podido recordar
ni pide que los recuerde), de esos mismos
indescriptibles
se componen los arquetipos
que en la imaginación
se van siempre confluyendo
hasta formar la imagen del mundo
que uno la concibe y percibe
que uno en sus pasos la lleva
dÃa por dÃa:
mientras se mueve
se está en viva.
No se pueden realmente
describir, no en terminos
humanos.
posted evening of November 15th, 2013: Respond
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Thursday, November 14th, 2013
unresponsive like this inky page before you
like your heavy-lidded gaze
framing the text.
unresponsive
like the blankness of the page that I approach,
like ash to the flame.
insensate reality.
luxurious islands
of syntax and semantics
floating on the page beneath you
gaze out
upon this scintillating jungle
of sensibility
posted evening of November 14th, 2013: 2 responses
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Monday, November 11th, 2013
Jeremy Osner
No tengo ni Dulcinea
ni Beatrice
lloró
el poeta solitario
y no pudo recordar
cual cosa sea
musa.
No Dulcinea have I
nor Beatrice
wept
the lonesome poet
and he could not recall
what thing is
"muse."
posted evening of November 11th, 2013: Respond
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Thursday, October 31st, 2013
by Jeremy Osner
This gap between myself and me
What is it then?
This existential synapse of identity-
What can I do
To bridge it or to broaden it, uncaring?
To deepen my sense of dissociation from self
Estrangement, alienation, dislocation, discomfort, disquiet-
Like a varicolored skein i unravel.
posted evening of October 31st, 2013: 1 response
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El camino abajo
por Jeremy Osner
Seguà el camino a través del campo.
No más
estaba adentro-
tócame melodia mientras camino la senda abajo:
tócame melodÃa
mientras detrás de mà dejo rastro.
Se hace camino al andar-
pero se necesita también
persón silencioso,
alguien al lado del camino
que mira mientras uno se aleja.
posted evening of October 31st, 2013: Respond
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