Friday, November 27, 2015

 Mother as a case of lost and found: Blake, Angelou and Diop
************************************************************************* 


DAVID DIOP
Africa

Africa, my Africa
Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this you, this back that is bent
This back that breaks
Under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous child that tree, young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers
That is your Africa springing up anew
Springing up patiently, obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter taste of liberty.

Original language version:

Afrique mon Afrique
Afrique des fiers guerriers dans les savanes ancestrales
Afrique que me chantait ma grand-mère
Au bord de son fleuve lointain
Je ne t’ai jamais connue
Mais mon regard est plein de ton sang
Ton beau sang noir à travers les champs répandu
Le sang de ta sueur
La sueur de ton travail
Le travail de l’esclavage
L’esclavage de tes enfants
Afrique dis-moi Afrique
Est-ce donc toi ce dos qui se courbe
Et se couche sous le poids de l’humilité
Ce dos tremblant à zébrures rouges
Qui dit oui au fouet sur les routes de midi
Alors gravement une voix me répondit
Fils impétueux cet arbre robuste et jeune
Cet arbre là -bas
Splendidement seul au milieu de fleurs blanches et fanées
C’est l’Afrique ton Afrique qui repousse
Qui repousse patiemment obstinément
Et dont les fruits ont peu à peu
L’amère saveur de la liberté.
____________
TPB's note: David Diop (July 9, 1927 – August 29, 1960) was one of the French West African poets known for the Négritude movement.



MAYA ANGELOU
The Mothering Blackness

She came home running
back to the mothering blackness
deep in the smothering blackness
white tears icicle gold plains of her face
She came home running

She came down creeping
here to the black arms waiting
now to the warm heart waiting
rime of alien dreams befrosts her rich brown face
She came down creeping

She came home blameless
black yet as Hagar’s daughter
tall as was Sheba’s daughter
threats of northern winds die on the desert’s face
She came home blameless
____________
TPB's note: “The Mothering Blackness” from Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water Fore I Die. Copyright © 1971 by Maya Angelou. This poems seems to have borrowed from another (famous) poet's style. True or False?


WILLIAM BLAKE
The Little Boy Found

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry, but God ever nigh,
Appeared like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale
Her little boy weeping sought.
____________
TPB's note: William Blake (1757–1827).  The Poetical Works.  1908. from THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE

Friday, November 20, 2015

POETRY OF RESISTANCE IN OCCUPIED PALESTINE
***********************************************
translated by Sulafa Hijjawi

Tawfiq Zayyad
The Olive Tree

Because I do not knit wool*
Because I am always hunted
And my house is always raided.
Because I cannot own a piece of paper,
I shall carve my memoirs
On the home yard olive tree.
I shall carve bitter reflections,
Scenes of love and yearnings,
For my stolen orange grove
And the lost tombs of my dead.
I shall carve all my strivings
For the sake of remembrance
For the time when I’ll drown them
In the avalanche of triumph
I shall carve the serial number
Of every stolen piece of land
The place of my village on the map
And the blown up houses,
And the uprooted trees
And every bloom that was crushed
And all the names of the experts in torture
The names of the prisons.....
I shall carve dedications
To memories threading down to eternity
To the blooded soil of Deir Yasin
And Kufur Qassem.
I shall carve the sun’s beckoning
And the moon’s whisperings
And what a skylark recalls
At a love deserted well.
For the sake of remembrance,
I shall continue to carve
All the chapters of my tragedy
And all the stages of Al- Nakbah
On the home yard olive tree!
_________
TPB's note: from translator: * Reference to Madame Lafarge, who used to knit the names of the traitors and send them to the French revolutionaries during the French Revolution. Source: http://www.sulafahijjawi.ps/PoetryOfResistance_Sulafa_Hijjawi.pdf


Mahmoud Darwish
Identity Card

Write down
I am an Arab
My card number is 50,000
I have eight children
The ninth will come next summer
Are you angry?
Write down
I am an Arab
I cut stone with comrade laborers
My children are eight
I squeeze the rock
To get a loaf,
A dress and a book
For them.
But I do not plead for charity at your door
And do not feel small
In front of your mansion
Are you angry?
Write down
I am an Arab
I am a name without a title
Patient, in a country
Where every body else is very angry
My roots sink deep before the birth of time
And before the beginning of the ages,
Before the time of Cypress and olives
Before the beginnings of grass,
My father belonged to the family of the plough
Was not of grand stock
My grand father was a farmer, without a pedigree
He taught me the grandeur of the sun
Before reading books
My house is a hut
Made of reed and stalk
Are you satisfied with my rank?
I am a name without a title!
Write down
I have been robbed of my ancestral vines
And the piece of land I used to farm with all my children
Nothing remained for us and for my grand children
Except these rocks
Will your government take them?
So it is
Write down
At the top of the first page
I hate nobody
I do not steel any thing
But when I become hungry
I eat the flesh of my marauders
So beware....beware
My hunger and fury!
Write down
At the top of the first page
I hate nobody
I do not steel any thing
But when I become hungry
I eat the flesh of my marauders
So beware....beware
My hunger and fury!
_________
TPB's note: Source: http://www.sulafahijjawi.ps/PoetryOfResistance_Sulafa_Hijjawi.pdf


Sameeh Al Qassem
A Letter From Prison

It pains me, Mother
That you burst in tears
When my friends come
Asking about me
But I believe, mother
That the splendor of life
Is born in my prison
And I believe that my last visitor
Will not be an eyeless bat
Coming at midnight.
My last visitor must be daylight.
_________
TPB's note: Source: http://www.sulafahijjawi.ps/PoetryOfResistance_Sulafa_Hijjawi.pdf

Friday, November 13, 2015

VIETNAMESE FOLK POEMS written from a feminine perspective
******************************************************
(translated by Linh Dinh)

Wobbly, like a hat without a strap,
Like a boat without a rudder,
Like a woman without a husband.
A married woman, like a shackle around the neck.
An unmarried woman, like a board with a loose nail.
A board with a loose nail a man can fix.
The unmarried woman runs this way, runs that way.
It is miserable to be without a husband, Sisters!

Tròng trành như nón không quai,
Như thuyền không lái, như ai không chồng.
Gái có chồng như gông đeo cổ,
Gái không chồng như phản gỗ long đanh.
Phản long đanh anh còn chữa được,
Gái không chồng chạy ngược chạy xuôi.
Không chồng khốn lắm chị em ơi!

*

I come from a rich family.
To marry me, my parents will demand
That you bring a hundred bolts of embroidered silk,
One hundred rubies, twenty eight stars,
Two hundred bamboo trunks,
A gold pillbox, a silver pipe,
A carriage with four horses
For the bride’s magistrate to ride in,
Three hundred Nghe hats,
A pair of fine Chinese fans for the two of us,
Crepe from Nghi Dinh,
A wide blanket to cover our bodies,
Nine vats of honey,
Ten baskets of rolled rice, ten hampers of sticky rice,
Water buffaloes and cows, eighty thousand of them,
Seventy thousand goats, nine jugs of bubbly wine,
Banyan leaves plucked under a full-moon,
Cuoi’s canine tooth, Thien Loi’s whiskers,*
Fresh fly livers, mosquito fat and ninety widowed bats.
These are the conditions that will satisfy my heart,
And you must meet them before I can follow you home.

Em là con gái nhà giàu,
Mẹ cha thách cưới ra mầu xinh sao.
Cưới em trăm tấm gấm đào,
Một trăm hòn ngọc, hai mươi tám ông sao trên trời,
Tráp tròn dẫn đủ trăm đôi,
Ống thuốc bằng bạc, ống vôi bằng vàng,
Sắm xe tứ mã đem sang,
Để quan viên họ nhà nàng đưa dâu.
Ba trăm nón Nghệ đội đầu,
Mỗi người một cái quạt Tàu thật xinh.
Anh về xắm nhiễu Nghi Đình,
May chăn cho rộng ta mình đắp chung.
Cưới em chín chĩnh mật ong,
Mười cót xôi trắng, mười nong xôi vò.
Cưới em tám vạn trâu bò,
Bảy vạn dê lợn, chín vò rượu tăm,
Lá đa mặt nguyệt hôm rằm,
Răng nanh thằng Cuội, râu cằm Thiên Lôi,
Gan ruồi mỡ muỗi cho tươi,
Xin chàng chín chục con dơi góa chồng.
Thách thế mới thỏa trong lòng,
Chàng mà theo được, thiếp cùng theo chân.

*Cuội: a mythical figure who lives on the moon.
Thiên Lôi: the God of thunder.

*

I married at fifteen. My husband complained
That I was too small, and wouldn’t lie with me.
Then I was eighteen, then I was twenty.
I was lying on the floor, he yanked me onto bed.
Love me once, then love me twice,
There’s only three legs left to the bed.
Whoever is going to my parents’ village,
Let them know that he and I are reconciled.

Lấy chồng từ thuở mười lăm,
Chồng chê tôi bé chẳng nằm với tôi.
Đến năm mười tám, đôi mươi,
Tôi nằm dưới đất, chông lôi lên giường.
Một rằng thương, hai rằng thương,
Có bốn chân giường gẫy một còn ba.
Ai về nhắn nhủ mẹ cha,
Chồng tôi nay đã giao hòa với tôi.


*
The little palm nuts are streaked by veins.
You are studying close to home now, but soon,
You’ll be studying far away.
I married you when I was thirteen.
By eighteen, I already had five children.
On the street, people think I’m a single woman,
But at home, I already have five children with you.

Quả cau nho nhỏ?,
Cái vỏ vân vân,
Nay anh học gần,
Mai anh học xa.
Anh lấy em từ thuở mười ba,
Đến năm mười tám thiếp đã năm con.
Ra đường người tưởng còn son,
Về nhà thiếp đã năm con cùng chàng.

*

Young hen stir-fried with old loofah.
Wife twenty one, husband sixty.
On the streets, women joke, girls giggle.
Granddad, granddaughter a married pair.
At night, a cotton-stuffed pillow I’m hugging
Turns out to be my bearded husband.
Sniffling, I feel sorry for myself, curse my fate,
Curse my greedy parents who sold their daughter.

Gà tơ xào với mướp già.
Vợ hai mươi mốt, chồng đã sáu mươi.
Ra đường, chị giễu em cười.
Rằng hai ông cháu kết đôi vợ chồng.
Đêm nằm, tưởng cái gối bông,
Giật mình gối phải râu chồng nằm bên.
Sụt sùi tủi phận hôn duyên,
Oán cha, trách mẹ tham tiền bán con.

*

If you must go into the army, go.
I can take care of business at home.
The twelfth month is for planting sweet potatoes.
The first month is for planting mung beans.
The second month is for planting eggplants.
The third month is for plowing the field.
The fourth month is for sowing rice seeds.
Everything is fine.
The fifth month is for harvesting.
Rain pours down, flooding the rice paddies.
Go perform your public duties,
Leave me alone to work the field.

Anh ơi! phải lính thì đi,
Cửa nhà đơn chếch đã thì có tôi.
Tháng chạp là tiết trồng khoai,
Tháng giêng trồng đậu, tháng hai trồng cà.
Tháng ba cày bở ruộng ra,
Tháng tư gieo mạ thuận hòa mọi nơi.
Tháng năm gặt hái vừa rồi,
Trời đổ mưa xuống, nước trôi đầy đồng.
Anh ơi! giữ lấy việc công,
Để đây em cấy mặc lòng em đây.

*

Eighteen baskets of hair in my nose.
My husband said: “Whiskers from a dragon, a godsend.”
At night I snore, “Aww! Aww!”
My husband said: “Snoring cheers up the house.”
I often snack while shopping.
My husband said: “You’ll eat less at home.”
Trash and straw on my head.
My husband said: “Fragrant flowers in your hair.”

Lỗ mũi em mười tám gánh lông,
Chồng yêu chồng bảo: “Râu rồng trời cho”
Đêm nằm thì ngáy o o…
Chồng yêu chồng bảo: “Ngáy cho vui nhà.”
Đi chợ thì hay ăn quà,
Chồng yêu chồng bảo: “Về nhà đỡ cơm.”
Trên đầu những rác với rơm,
Chồng yêu chồng bảo: “Hoa thơm trên đầu.”

*
As a concubine, I get nothing. Although
As endowed as the mistress, I’m laid aside.
Each night she claims the bedroom, giving me
A straw mat, to lie alone in the outer room.
At dawn she yells, “Hey, servant, get up!”
I wake to slice sweet potatoes, chop water fern.
It’s all because my parents are poor.
That’s why I must slice potatoes, chop water fern.

Thân em lấy lẽ chả hề,
Có như chính thất mà lê giữa giường.
Tối tối chị giữ mất buồng,
Cho em mảnh chiếu nằm suông nhà ngoài.
Sáng sáng chị gọi: “Ở Hai!”
Bây giờ mới dậy, thái khoai, đâm bèo.
Vì chưng bác mẹ tôi nghèo,
Cho nên tôi phải đâm bèo, thái khoai.

*

Chastity is worth more than gold.
From my ex-husband to you, that’s five men.
As for my history of furtive love,
A hundred have lain upon my belly.
Chữ trinh đáng giá nghìn vàng,
Từ anh chồng cũ đến chàng là năm.
Còn như yêu vụng dấu thầm,
Họp chợ trên bụng hàng trăm con người.

*

I was not the only loose girl. There were two or three
In Thanh Lam, Dong Som. It’s hard to admit, Sisters,
Lest you laugh. I was married in September,
Had my baby in October.
Lẳng lơ chả một mình tôi.
Thanh Lâm, Đồng Sớm, cũng đôi ba người.
Nói ra sợ chị em cười,
Lấy chồng tháng chín, tháng mười có con.

*

My husband is useless, Sisters. He gambles
All day long, goes berserk
When I complain. It is embarrassing
Even to talk about it. To settle his debts,
I’ll have to sell four or five baskets
Of threshed rice, kilos of cotton.
We’ll eat less. This bitter berry
I’ll suck without complaints, lest everyone laughs.
Confucian-trained, yet I live with a fool.
A dragon in a pool of mud.
A smart wife with a stupid husband.

Chồng em nó chẳng ra gì,
Tổ tôm sóc đĩa nó thì chơi hoang.
Nói ra xấu thiếp, hổ chàng,
Nó giận nó phá tan hoang cửa nhà.
Nói đây thôi có chị em nhà.
Còn năm ba thúng thóc với một vài cân bông.
Em bán đi trả nợ cho chồng.
Còn ăn hết nhịn cho hả lòng chồng con.
Đắng cay ngậm quả bồ hòn.
Cửa nhà ra thế, chồng con kém người.
Nói ra sợ chị em cười.
Con nhà nho giáo lấy phải người đần ngu.
Rồng vàng tắm nước ao tù,
Người khôn ở với người ngu nặng mình.

*

Gambling does not agree with you.
Having sold your shirt and your pants,
You don’t even have a piece of rag left.
A gust of cold wind, and you duck into a pile of stubbles,
With your ass sticking out, for the crows to pick.

Cờ bạc nó đã khinh anh,
Áo quần bán hết một manh chẳng còn.
Gió đông chui vào đống rạ,
Hở mông ra cho quạ nó lôi.
Anh còn cờ bạc nữa thôi?
 ____________
TPB's note:source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2008/05/h%E1%BB%93-xuan-h%C6%B0%C6%A1ng/

Friday, November 6, 2015

VIETNAMESE POETRY: one classical and one modernist
************************************************

Hồ Xuân Hương
On Sharing A Husband


Screw the fate that makes you share a man.
One cuddles under cotton blankets; the other's cold.
Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not,
once or twice a month, oh, it's like nothing.
You try to stick to it like a fly on rice
but the rice is rotten. You slave like the maid,
but without pay. If I had known how it would go
I think I would have lived alone

translated by Tony Nyen

in the Vietnamese:

Hồ Xuân Hương
Lấy Chồng Chung

Kẻ đắp chăn bông kẻ lạnh lùng,
Chém cha cái kiếp lấy chồng chung.
Năm thì mười họa chăng hay chớ,
Môt tháng đôi lần có cũng không.
Cố đấm ăn xôi, xôi lại hẩm,
Cầm bằng làm mướn, mướn không công.
Thân này ví biết dường này nhỉ,
Thà trước thôi đành ở vậy xong.
 ____________
TPB's note: from wiki: Hồ Xuân Hương (胡春香; 1772–1822) was a Vietnamese poet born at the end of the Lê Dynasty. She grew up in an era of political and social turmoil – the time of the Tây Sơn rebellion and a three-decade civil war that led to Nguyễn Ánh seizing power as Emperor Gia Long and starting the Nguyen Dynasty. She wrote poetry using Chữ Nôm (Southern Script), which adapts Chinese characters for writing demotic Vietnamese. She is considered to be one of Vietnam's greatest classical poet. Xuân Diệu, a prominent modern poet, dubbed her "The Queen of Nôm poetry". https://en.wikipedia.org/…/H%E1%BB%93_Xu%C3%A2n_H%C6%B0%C6%…


Xuân Diệu
Boys' Love


I still remember Rimbaud and Verlaine,
The two besotted men of poetry
Drunk with exotic verse and with passion,
Defying worn paths and old ways.
They walked in lock step on their way,
Their souls steeped in the fragrant air;
Weak in strong their arms enlaced fore'er;
In all weather, singing their love song gay.
Nothing matters, future or past,
Who wears makeup or colored dress.
Who cares about heaven or hell?
They are simply in love; that's swell.

Translated from the Vietnamese by Thomas D. Le
 ____________
TPB's note: from wiki: Ngô Xuân Diệu (February 2, 1916 – December 18, 1985) more commonly known by the pen name Xuân Diệu, was a prominent Vietnamese poet. A colossal figure in modern Vietnamese literature, he wrote about 450 poems (largely in posthumous manuscripts) especially love poems, several short stories, and many notes, essays, and literary criticisms. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xu%C3%A2n_Di%E1%BB%87u


Hồ Xuân Hương
A Roadside Teahouse


Aslant, staring at a trembling landscape:
A twining road, a tottering teahouse,
A hut with a thatch roof, ragged, pathetic,
A slitted, scrawny bamboo beam,
Three tree clumps, bending, coquettish,
An emerald green stream, scanty grass.
Pleasured, I forget my old worries.
Look: someone’s kite’s spiralling.

translated by Linh Dinh

in the Vietnamese:

Hồ Xuân Hương
Quán Khánh

Đứng tréo trông theo cảnh hắt heo,
Đường đi thiên thẹo, quán cheo leo.
Lợp lều, mái cỏ tranh xơ xác,
Xỏ kẽ, kèo tre đốt khẳng kheo.
Ba chạc cây xanh hình uốn éo.
Một dòng nước biếc, cỏ leo teo.
Thú vui quên cả niềm lo cũ,
Kìa cái diều ai gió lộn lèo.
 ____________
TPB's note: see: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/…/h%E1%BB%93-xuan-h%C6%B0%…/
J P CLARK, WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS, & EZRA POUND
************************************************************************
three poems about cities.

JOHN PEPPER CLARK BEKEDEREMO 
Ibadan

Ibadan,
running splash of rust
and gold – flung and scattered
among seven hills like broken
china in the sun.
 _____________
TPB's note:  published in 1962, along with 'Night Rain'(?); found online. 

_____________________


WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
Paterson

Paterson lies in the valley under the Passaic Falls
its spent waters forming the outline of his back. He
lies on his right side, head near the thunder
of the waters filling his dreams! Eternally asleep,
his dreams walk about the city where he persists
incognito. Butterflies settle on his stone ear.
Immortal he neither moves nor rouses and is seldom
seen, though he breathes and the subtleties of his machinations
drawing their substance from the noise of the pouring river
animate a thousand automations. Who because they
neither know their sources nor the sills of their
disappointments walk outside their bodies aimlessly
for the most part,
locked and forgot in their desires-unroused.

—Say it, no ideas but in things—
nothing but the blank faces of the houses
and cylindrical trees
bent, forked by preconception and accident—
split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained—
secret—into the body of the light!

From above, higher than the spires, higher
even than the office towers, from oozy fields
abandoned to gray beds of dead grass,
black sumac, withered weed-stalks,
mud and thickets cluttered with dead leaves-
the river comes pouring in above the city
and crashes from the edge of the gorge
in a recoil of spray and rainbow mists-

(What common language to unravel?
. . .combed into straight lines
from that rafter of a rock's
lip.)

A man like a city and a woman like a flower
—who are in love. Two women. Three women.
Innumerable women, each like a flower.

But
only one man—like a city.
 _____________
TPB's note:n/a
_____________________


EZRA POUND
The Garden

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor. They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.

She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.

_______ 
TPB's note: a poem about a city or of a woman of a certain city - or
a certain city and this particular woman in it?