faith is not required
June 5, 2010 at 7:54 am | Posted in poetry, writing | 18 CommentsTags: poetry, writing
between the it is (always) dark(est just
before the (dawn) of her
blink andthe
busyness bustle of
mind the day
there’s an infinitesimal
time the sky
,exact
blue
shade of smiling
eyes
Translation into Romanian
June 3, 2010 at 6:53 am | Posted in blogging, writing | 10 CommentsTags: poetry, translation
Translation of poetry always raises difficult questions. Because the sound and movement in the language is an integral part of poetry, I believe that the translation is always a new poem, a variation on the original not a replication.
There is a sense in which all communication is a form of translation, of course, a process of encoding thought events into signs and signifiers which are translated or disencoded by the listener. And in a broader arc, there is a way of seeing the world in which it is a subtle and mysterious process of translation. Consciousness translates experience through the mediating filters of the mind which constructs waterfalls and sunsets in a delicate spiraling interplay between perception and conception…
When Ana asked if she could translate one of my poems into Romanian I was thrilled. This is the poem she chose…
different senses, different shoes
unless you are a practioner of the dark arts emerging
schmooze leadened sense
from Bowen Hills
highhat bass and most important
esoteric referensh
perhaps in sullen sluggish chains led
regretful wriggling uncomfortable on its claws
look for two most
unexpected arrivals
rival twice
then be gone
and here is the translation…
alte simţuri, alţi papuci
De nu eşti un practicant al actelor oculte originar
zvonite plumburiu (re)simţite
din Bowen Hills
chimval în timbru grav şi foarte important
o referinţǎ ejotericǎ
probabil cǎ îţi târşâi mohorât înlǎnţuitele
regrete furişate incomod pe gheare
te uitǎ dupǎ douǎ
ajunse pe neaşteptate
îndoitǎ rivalitate
şi te du.
(Thank you, Ana. You can hear Ana reading the poem in Romanian here.)
The Moondog Poem Saga
June 1, 2010 at 9:41 pm | Posted in blogging, writing | 11 CommentsTags: extempore, poetry, writing. Moondog
“The only one who knows this ounce of words is just a token,
is he who has a tongue to tell that must remain unspoken.”
Moondog. (from Bird’s Lament)
Moondog was a jazz composure who lived homeless on the streets of New York for twenty years. He dressed as a Viking and invented his own instruments which is very cool. I am trying to write a poem about or based on him for the Extempore Jazz Writing competition. But it is proving difficult. My brain is geometric and I seemed to have lost that instinctive feeling for the architecture of water which is so much a part of jazz. Still, I have one verse, so we’ll see.
life is desire
May 27, 2010 at 6:30 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 15 CommentsTags: poetry, writing
I don’t think
there are particular
unusual unique monsters
just that the depths of my mind
are closer to the surface
underocean rivers of contrasting warmths
mutually curled in constant motion
carrying sunken pirate craft
rising to the dawn
I don’t think
just name traces of
curlsound occasions
tiny snippets which fit
the thought stream
very lovely lunch sitting
in the sun where the
babble bubble breaks
on the shore of a quiet mind
Summer Assortment in Wicker Hamper
May 24, 2010 at 3:58 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 9 CommentsTags: influence, integrity, poetry, writing
With a volley of other eye words like aye aye capitan
we shall plot the demise of all rhyming silliness
and make a point west, or east, or at least
apply the principle of parsimony.
After all, one without the other? Absurd like a star
without a toe turned pebbleward and if I was less
than imitable I would not deserve your attentions
my darling, I shall spend my days concocting
drunken cartographers from whom we can expect
an endless source of unique ridiculousnesses
carefully arranged in wicker hampers
specifically designed to conflate integrity, pastry and influence.
And whilst I rue the lack of subtlety, tis true,
a perfect tune, these babble of voices, instigation,
echo, interpolation, lull, anticipation and reflection
cannot help but sing your praise and praise your song
and leave us unconditional.
Friday Night Karaoke with F.
May 21, 2010 at 7:00 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, ekphrasia, genre isn't dead yet but it should be, performance, writing | 7 CommentsTags: Albrecht Durer, Henri Rousseau, Leo Sayer
Happy Birthday Albrecht Durer. They tell me you were also prone to crankiness inherent in the precision obsession being such a perceptive mathematician of perspective. We are still enjoying your mass reproduction revolution collapsing the distinction between the low art and the high culture. I would clasp my hands and pray if I still felt that was an appropriate response to soldiers advancing through the mists of time and various other ridiculous apparitions. These days, I measure lines of sight only in decibels. Approximate the distance between the letters involved in, “It’s only typing,
Sillyness, willinilliness, numbers have meaning only in context, “why is it pouring rain”, slamming his glass down on the piano, get some perspective, son, Rousseau had tiggers too and the softness in their eyes as they watch us watch her rise. I’m only typing “the 736 bus will be 14 minutes late again” and I do, remember those blue berets must be on the manifest, oh hey presto, I remember Durer he said, fancy hatted fellow, now count me in,
I looked down at the keyboard and thought one two three four, you make me feel like
(Albrecht Durer (1471), Henri Rousseau (1844) and Leo Sayer (1948) share todays birthday May 21st)
Napoleon Hat, Long Johns and a Box of Chocolates
May 19, 2010 at 1:01 pm | Posted in ekphrasia, writing | 9 CommentsTags: Picasso, writing
It would be a relief to resort to jaunty nonsense and lurid wooden horses turning circles on an infinity merry go round or perfectly encoded details of a mundane life, ashtrays and nature poems described by one sleepy reviewer as ‘somewhat transportational’ but alas the responsibilities of leadership leave us oblivious he said disentangling himself from the inextricable, emergent. What wild rapids, grinning.
Perhaps we can reconstruct an empty architecture of nouns without verbs, less destabilising of the Takeshi Kitano Nexus, Sir? fers to the sound of ripples revolving round pebbles, sshhh, My life is very smooth these days, my job is easy and well-paying. I have a passport and two bank accounts. I am no longer concerned with the voluptuousness of time (which after all looks after itself as it follows its own tale) nor with vansquishing the inexplicable. Curvature, magnificence and innumerable immaculate details around the hallowed abundant atop however,
Pop. Not so much getting older as homeward bound, oh those tiptoe sounds how they remind of a maypole gyspy wedding dance… still enjoying the gigglest apology, my dear, buttoning his lips and reaching for his hat. Now what’s all this tit tatt, The Who Nexus? The What?
(Dance Of The Veils, Pablo Picasso, at The Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg)
The Puzzle Box
gingatao, the podcast- Soraya December 6, 2011
- Teethmarks November 25, 2011
- the gentle art of soft landings June 29, 2010
- The Australian Poet Laureate
- another quote from Robert Adamson January 31, 2010
- Three Quotes from Robert Adamson October 22, 2009
- The copyright question (2) October 7, 2009
legal formalities
© P Squires, gingatao, 2007-2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Paul Squires and gingatao, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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