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Sunday, February 25th, 2018
Hey look at that! I translated a rhyming, metered poem, and preserved the rhyme and meter! Not sure that has ever happened before. Goethe inscribed this poem in a book given to his daughter (according to Blumenberg, the book was Johnson's Dictionary) --
My translation--
The books are thick! and full of stuff!
I'm never going to learn enough!
If it won't come in my head,
I'll leave it in the book instead.
 (Note -- found this poem while reading Blumenberg's Care Crossing the River.)
posted evening of February 25th, 2018: 1 response
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Tuesday, January 16th, 2018
Cuentista, son tus palabras
El idioma y nada más.
Cuentista, no hay idioma,
Se hace idioma al contar.
Al contar se hace el idioma,
Y al recordar las pasajes contadas
Se oye el relato que nunca
Se ha de volver a narrar.
Cuentista no hay idioma
Sino espuma sobre las aguas.
posted evening of January 16th, 2018: 1 response
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Sunday, January 14th, 2018
In the dream it was a sunny morning after a night of heavy rain. Everyone was nervy because of an ancient prophesy: The morning sun sparkling on the waters of River X (which had been dry for all of recorded time -- the river had a name but I've forgotten it) would portend the end of days. So we walked down to and along the bed of the river, at every waystation I was pointing out to my friends how it was dry, nothing to worry about. We passed a concrete embankment with a light rill of water running down it, the sunlight sparkling. Beyond that was an ocean, where none had been before; its vastness was dumbfounding. Thousands were gathered there, standing on the shore, gawking.
posted morning of January 14th, 2018: Respond
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Monday, January first, 2018
¡Felicidades al año nuevo, herman@s poetas!
posted evening of January first, 2018: Respond
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Sunday, December 31st, 2017
Deviant Madonna of the ants,
she listens to their chants,
she catches every glance,
she wants to but she can't...
Is this love? Is this love?
posted afternoon of December 31st, 2017: 1 response
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Sunday, December third, 2017
READIN syndication is once again live (after an interval of some years) at http://readin.com/blog/bfeed.xml. In case you're using Google Reader to manage your blog subscriptions... or you know, Feedly or something.
posted evening of December third, 2017: Respond
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Friday, October 27th, 2017
No debe ser marinero
quien quiere dejar rastro.
La estela de la barca
se ensancha y despacio
desaparece. Sin hacer ruido
golpea el remo
otra vez contra el agua.
posted evening of October 27th, 2017: 8 responses
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Pine branches like spokes
on a rimless wheel
posted afternoon of October 27th, 2017: Respond
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Tuesday, October 10th, 2017
Deep blues, and reds,
And pastel shades of gray and tan
Are the colours that line Meeker Street
posted afternoon of October 10th, 2017: Respond
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Monday, September 25th, 2017
Flesh and bones, I wear you like an overcoat.
Flesh and bones, you carry me around
like a favorite toy.
posted morning of September 25th, 2017: Respond
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