ROBERTO BOLANO & DAMBUDZO MARECHERA 
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a poem each from bolano and dambudzo, on war or something about a fly.

DAMBUDZO MARECHERA 

Did You Ask What’s Wrong with War?

There are no wrong words, right?
There are no wrong trees, right?
There is no wrong sand, right?
I’ve slept the world in freely
underwear
Dreamed I buggered all the little boys
who are future leaders
Fucked all the funny little girls made of
thatch and ghandy
My anarchist arse has shat on society
And LOOK millions of open flies
are homing in on your wide-open lips.

__________

TPB's notes: Dambudzo Marechera, Cemetery of Mind, There is a Dissident in the Election Soup.

ROBERTO BOLANO
A fly inside a fly, a thought inside a thought, and Mario Santiago inside Mario Santiago

What do you feel, tell me what do you feel
when the birds get lost in red
and you're steadied against the wall, your pants
split and hair disheveled as if you'd just
killed a president.
What do you feel in the reddening hour,
in the agitprop hour, boots sinking
into the snow of an avenue
where no one knows you.
Forked tongue of knowing how to be alone and images
that destiny (so pleasant) drags
beyond the hills.
tell me, what do you feel. What color
do your remarkable eyes turn then. 

___________ 

TPB's notes: from the chunk of a book we got this afternoon, translated by laura healy, THE UNKNOWN UNIVERSITY. see below.

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POEMS OF DEFEAT: JULIAN BECK, QASSIM HADDAD, & EFE PAUL AZINO

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EFE PAUL AZINO
Hope is a Nigerian

Hope is a Nigerian
I know because I’ve met her
Last week she looked at me through the eyes of a widow
Whose husband died on a pension line
Her only son a stow-away in a North African cell, Europe on his mind
Yet she forges on
It ain’t just a rhyme
I tell you,
Hope is a Nigerian
They say federal lawmakers take home over N20m a quarter
Still the minimum wage of million other Nigerians can’t feed, clothe and educate their sons and daughters
But why isn’t there blood on the streets!
I don’t get it
Ha
Hope is a Nigerian
So she endures the consequences of the greed of her politicians
She inures her pain in the, often, banal creativity of her musicians
About 40% of her children are trained in public institutions
Where the students have no desks to sit on
1/3 of her university graduates
Are hardly literate
Yet she argues her future is bright
Hope is a Nigerian
At night she powers her homes with generators and leaves before the morning light
To beat the traffic
Her roads a sorry sight
It’s pathetic
What she has to put up with yet she suffers and smiles, I tell you
Hope is a Nigerian
She hardly flinches when she announces she’s the giant of the continent
Its largest producer of oil
But 90 percent of the proceeds are controlled by one-tenth
of the population while the others drink off the sweat that flows from their tireless toils
Everything in the natural seems to have failed her, so she seeks the divine for help
She prays for security and she prays for health
She prays for wealth and she prays for bread
She prays for peace, begging God to keep her disparate tribes together
even if by the string of a thread
Hope is a Nigerian
So she prays
Hope is a Nigerian
So she stays
The bloody revolt that beckons
Hope is a Nigerian therefore I reckon
in the not too far distance awaits her change
Because hope makes not ashamed
So let Nigerian hope and let Nigeria pray
Let Nigeria fight and let Nigeria say
The substance of our hope someday
shall be
Hope is a Nigerian
I know, because hope lives in me

___________
TPB's notes: published in Ofipress an online mag. More: badilishapoetry.com/efe-paul-azino-2/ -  October 1st 1960 is Nigerian's independence from Britain.

QASSIM HADDAD
Poem #107

Book of the defeated man:
In you let me write
one red letter that plants
green sadness leading to crystal joy
so that a song comes dancing forth
dressed in elf's clothing

Book of the fallen man:
You know what it means to a man
to live without song
live his wedding without feeling joy
live without a sky that knows him
his life ignored, address unknown?

Book of the future:
Set down the history
of our love of our land
for the effective word
record a moon, record a child
record a branch that grows
out of a fighter's sacrifice

Book of the resistance fighter:
Flame comes from the beating pulse
rebellion from the vanquished heart
revival from the bleeding wound
and our message is still a river of moons

"Translated by Sbarif Elmusa and Cbarles Doria"
(from: standing while we die)

___________
TPB's notes: more on the poet: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qassim_Haddad

JULIAN BECK
the state will be served even by poets

the breasts of all the women crumpled like gas bags when
neruda wrote his hymn celebrating the explosion of a hydrogen bomb by soviet authorities

children died of the blisters of ignorance for a century more when
siqueiros tried to assassinate trotsky himself a killer with gun and ice

pound shimmering his incantations to adams benito and kung prolonging the state with great translation cut in crystal

claudel slaying tupí guaraní as he flourished cultured documents and pearls in rio de janeiro when he served france as ambassador to brazil

melville served by looking for contraband as he worked in the customs house how many taxes did he requite how many pillars of the state did he cement in place tell me tell me tell me stone

spenser serving the faerie queene as a colonial secretary in ireland sinking the irish back for ten times forty years no less under the beau monde’s brack

seneca served by advising nero on how to strengthen the state with philosophy’s accomplishments
aeschylus served slaying persians at marathon and salamis

aristotle served as tutor putting visions of trigonometrics in alexander’s head
dali and eliot served crowning monarchs with their gold

wallace stevens served as insurance company executive making poems out of profits
euclides da cunha served as army captain baritoning troops

and even d h lawrence served praising the unique potential of a king
these are the epics of western culture
these are the flutes of china and the east

everything must be rewritten then
goethe served as a member of the weimar council of state and condemned even to death even to death

this is the saga of the state which is served
even to death

__________
TPB's note: a poem that deserves to be read; an original 'political' piece in a world where known poets are cesspool plagiarists Robert Bolano called 'national poets' (apses on the face of power). Is this Julian Beck's only poem, or this there a collection out there?

FYODOR TYUTCHEV & MIGUEL DE CERVANTES
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FYODOR TYUTCHEV

After the Feast 

After the feast and the singing,

Carafes of wine drained dry,

Baskets of fruit tipped over,

Wine glasses half empty,

Party crowns all crumpled,

Only the incense burning

In the bright, now bare hall.

The feasting over, the stars

Rise to glow in the sky;

It's deep midnight.

Over the restless city,

The courtyards and houses,

The noisy streets

And dull red lights,

Over sleepless masses,

Over earth-bound chaos,

In the high, far off sky

Pure stars burn down

Into our mortal eyes

Their untarnished glow. 

 __________

TPB'S NOTE: Fyodor Tyutchev, December 5, 1803 - July 27, 1873 Russian poet. Although his poems were scarcely published in his lifetime, he is now one of the most memorised and quoted of writers from the Romantic period of Russian literature.

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES

I Seek Life in Death

I seek life in death,


health in sickness,


freedom in prison,


escape from entrapment 
and loyalty from the traitor.

But my fate - from which


I've never expected any good to come-


has joined forces with the heavens above to decree


that since I'm asking for the impossible


it won't even give me the possible.

IN THE SPANISH:

Busco en la muerte la vida

Busco en la muerte la vida,


salud en la enfermedad,


en la prisión libertad,


en lo cerrado salida
y en el traidor lealtad.


Pero mi suerte, de quien


jamás espero algún bien,


con el cielo ha estatuido,


que, pues lo imposible pido,


lo posible aún no me den.

English translation by Paul Archer. 

____________

TPB's notes: Miguel de Cervantes is widely regarded as the greatest writer in the Spanish language.

TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY CHINESE VERSE
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“The Journal of 21st Century Chinese Poetry 《廿一世纪中国诗歌》was founded with the intention of introducing modern Chinese poetry to readers worldwide. Modern Chinese poetry was born from the broader intellectual movement that took place in China around 1917-1921, known as the May-Fourth Movement; for the first time in history, vernacular Chinese was accepted as a legitimate poetic voice. This poetic movement hasn't stopped evolving since then but only accelerated recently because of the easy exchange of styles and ideas over cyberspace. This is an eye-opening, exciting and even confounding experience for both the poets and the readers. The editor-and-translator team of 21st Century Chinese Poetry selects some of the best poems written in Chinese by today's poets from all geographic areas.” - The Journal of 21st Century Chinese Poetry

LI LI

Essential Matters

Let me count a few things that I can’t do without.

In the past there were letters, so envelopes and post offices were essential.

Then, there must be doves, a cool breeze, reveries,

and a backdrop of dusk on my way to the post office.

A place to say farewell was essential when it's time to leave home;

there was a ticket in my hand, him at the windy train station,

tears in our eyes, and the satisfaction

running down my body as I turned around.

Reaching middle-age, children nearby and healthy parents are essential,

so are the lovely words on the pages I turn,

and the scents of the fruits that he brought to the room.

Finally, the peach flowers that bloom overnight,

and the lovely apparitions under the trees--

they are my folks who departed the world too early.

IN THE CHINESE:

文 /离 离
重要的事情

一直以为，我这一生都是不可缺少的

以前习惯写信，信封和邮局是必不可少的

寄信的途中，鸽子带来清凉和梦想

被它们惊动的黄昏是不可少的

离家时远方的存在是必然的

车票，站台和他在风里

眼角一定是湿润的，我微微转过的

身子是幸福的一种

人到中年，儿女绕膝，父母健在是让人羡慕的

我在灯下翻书，爱迷人的文字也爱

他递来的果子的清香

爱村里一夜间全开的桃花和

花下的鬼，如果他们身怀香气

就是我短命的亲人

_________

TPB’s notes: from the journal: 21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 7 : “Ms. Li Li was born in Gansu Province, gateway to the Silk Road. Her poems and essays have appeared in various literary journals in China. She has won national and regional literary awards: The 7th Annual Dunhuang Literary Award and The 3rd Yellow River Literary Award. She has published two books of poems: The Olden Sky and Blue. Li Li's poems are included in Issue No. 7.” Translations provided by the journal.

CHILECHUAN

A Carved Wooden Chair

Not a trace of sky, earth, or ax.....

they have no effect on it anymore.

All the faults were smoothed out and polished,

now it looks like a timeless flower.

Someone separated it

from many other wooden chairs.

It sits alone, like the quietest heart

that yields to fate too often: lonely, powerless,

being sanded down again and again.

An antique, with countless old cuts,

it's no longer a chair.

Only time comes to rest on it,

and no one else

dares do the same.

IN THE CHINESE:

文 /敕勒川
雕花的木椅

似乎天空、大地和斧头……已与它

无关，所有的伤口

都被抹平，抛光，幻化成了

永恒的花朵——

一把雕花的木椅，被人

从众多的木椅中分离出来，安静得

不能再安静，像一颗

过分安于命运的心：孤独，无奈……被一粒尘埃

反复敲打——

太古老了，那些疼痛……一把雕花的木椅

已不再是一把木椅，除了时光

已没有人敢

轻易

落座……

__________

TPB’s notes: from the journal: 21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 7: “Chilechuan (pen name of Wang Jianjun) was born in 1967 in Inner Mongolia. An editor for Our Generation, a popular magazine for the youth of Inner Mongolia. He once said: a poet is a fire bird that flaps his wings to light a fire on everything it touches, even snow and ice. His poems have appeared in various literary journals in China. He has published a book of poetry: A Carved Wooden Chair". Translations provided by the journal.

REN XIANQING

Waiting for a train in the land of poetry

I'm waiting for a train in the land of poetry,

waiting in hope for its clanging sounds and forceful roaring past!

Let its display of great momentum shock me and traverse me.

As if eager for a grand celebration to approach, I'm the very first

to hear my own thumping heart.

With the classics open, thoughts of love growing, and my bones elongating,

the train speeds up, laden with flowers—-fresh, vivid, and profuse.

Thereupon, who cares if I'm driven to join the Liangshan rebels by a pile of words?

I don’t mind that I grow melons in empty spaces but reap beans;

I don’t mind being misread by you or these preposterous times.

IN THE CHINESE:

文 / 任先青

等待诗里的火车

我在等待诗里的一列火车

等待它 铿锵的足音 凌厉的啸呼

大气磅礴 震撼我 穿越我

仿佛等待一次盛大庆典 我率先

听到自己嘭嘭的心跳

经典打开 情思渐盛 骨骼拔节

鲜活 饱和 火车满载花朵疾驶而来……

于斯 我已不在乎被一摞词语逼上梁山

不在乎 空格地里种瓜得豆

不在乎 被你和尖刻的生活 误读

_________

TPB’s notes: from the journal: 21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 1: “Mr. Ren was born in Shandong Province in 1943. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Qufu Normal University. He is a member of the Writers’ Union of China. He has published two collections of poems: The Heart With No Boundaries, The Heart-Shape Leaves, and Selected Poems by Ren Xianqing(Bilingual). Ren Xianqing's poems are included in Issues Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 13..” Translations provided by the journal.

THREE CLASSIC AFRICAN POEMS
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J P CLARK
Night Rain

What time of night it is
I do not know
Except that like some fish
Doped out of the deep
I have bobbed up bellywise
From stream of sleep
And no cocks crow.
It is drumming hard here
And I suppose everywhere
Droning with insistent ardour upon
Our roof thatch and shed
And thro' sheaves slit open
To lightning and rafters
I cannot quite make out overhead
Great water drops are dribbling
Falling like orange or mango
Fruits showered forth in the wind
Or perhaps I should say so
Much like beads I could in prayer tell
Them on string as they break
In wooden bowls and earthenware
Mother is busy now deploying
About our roomlet and floor.
Although it is so dark
I know her practiced step as
She moves her bins, bags and vats
Out of the run of water
That like ants gain possession
Of the floor. Do not tremble then
But turns, brothers, turn upon your side
Of the loosening mats
To where the others lie.
We have drunk tonight of a spell
Deeper than the owl's or hat's
That wet of wings may not fly
Bedraggled up on the iroko, they stand
Emptied of hearts, and
Therefore will not stir, no, not
Even at dawn for then
They must scurry in to hide.
So let us roll over on our back
And again roll to the beat
Of drumming all over the land
And under its ample soothing hand
Joined to that of the sea
We will settle to sleep of the innocent and free.

____________ 

TPB's notes: John Pepper Clark-Bekederemo was born at Kiagbodo, Nigeria in 1935. we don't quite see clark's use of language as african, certainly not in tone. but the imagery consist of objects, like the iroko and the drum, that one could identify as uniquely african. perhaps scholars of these poems have studied what makes or does not make. 

___________________

KWESI BREW
The Mesh

We have come to the cross-roads
And I must either leave or come with you
I lingered over the choice
But in the darkness of my doubt
You lifted the lamp of love
And I saw in your face
The road that I should take

______ 

TPB's notes: found note: "He was born in 1928 at Cape Coast, Ghana, was orphaned at an early age. He had his studies in Ghana. THE MESH is a love poem."

___________________

DENNIS OSADEBAY

Who buys my thoughts

Who buys my thoughts
Buys not a cup of honey
That sweetens every taste;
He buys the throb,
Of Young Africa's soul,
The soul of teeming millions,
Hungry, naked, sick,
Yearning, pleading, waiting.
Who buys my thoughts
Buys not some false pretence
Of oracles and tin gods;
He buys the thoughts
Projected by the mass
Of restless youths who are born
Into deep and clashing cultures,
Sorting, questioning, watching.
Who buys my thoughts
Buys the spirit of the age,
The unquenching fire that smoulders
And smoulders in every living heart
That's true and noble or suffering;
It burns all o'er the earth,
Destroying, chastening, cleansing.

_________ 

TPB's notes:  ps: no closure in this poem. poetic device as a function of its subject or failure of form? discuss.