Walt Whitman- "Glimpse"
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Day the whatever
Oscar Wilde- "The Grave of Shelley"
Out in the long grass I am peering moodily into a limpid pool. There are faces in the water and dandies lurking in the shrubbery.
Oh and there's R on the avenue furtively groping some faux-Praxitelian marble. She looks adorable, don't you think?
My locus amoeus is now complete.
Out in the long grass I am peering moodily into a limpid pool. There are faces in the water and dandies lurking in the shrubbery.
Oh and there's R on the avenue furtively groping some faux-Praxitelian marble. She looks adorable, don't you think?
My locus amoeus is now complete.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Day the 21st
John Ashbery - "The Picture of Little J.A. in a Prospect of Flowers" - I
To my sadness I could not present the poem in its entirely but you can find it here.
And please note, if you will the cross-cultural poetic transposition on stage left.
We are such clever children and we aim to please.
Next door, R gives us some aphorisms to love by. I'll pack them in my bag when I go wandering.
To my sadness I could not present the poem in its entirely but you can find it here.
And please note, if you will the cross-cultural poetic transposition on stage left.
We are such clever children and we aim to please.
Next door, R gives us some aphorisms to love by. I'll pack them in my bag when I go wandering.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Day 19
H.D.- "At Baia"
Flowers and letters that say nothing and imply everything and love that acts upon objects rather than people. It's like a love affair done up as a still-life in oil, utterly beautiful and tragically immobile. An enthusiastic osculation to you, Hilda.
And a double whammy from R who plucks from her own field of blooms some Marvell and Blake for your enjoyment.
Flowers and letters that say nothing and imply everything and love that acts upon objects rather than people. It's like a love affair done up as a still-life in oil, utterly beautiful and tragically immobile. An enthusiastic osculation to you, Hilda.
And a double whammy from R who plucks from her own field of blooms some Marvell and Blake for your enjoyment.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Day 15
Andrew Marvell - The Mower to the Glo-Worms
Poetry for a summer's night but we're still languishing in February. This is the next best thing I s'pose.
R lilts Armantrout in Translation, which, with her cryptic taxonomies, is sorely needed.
Poetry for a summer's night but we're still languishing in February. This is the next best thing I s'pose.
R lilts Armantrout in Translation, which, with her cryptic taxonomies, is sorely needed.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Day the 13th
But again a day late.
R is experimenting in onomatopoetic stasis. Listen closely and you might hear all afternoon the gramaphone.
Rae Armantrout- Covers
A happy Lupercalia to you all.
R is experimenting in onomatopoetic stasis. Listen closely and you might hear all afternoon the gramaphone.
Rae Armantrout- Covers
A happy Lupercalia to you all.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Ninth Day
Actually, I'm a day behind. Sorry, my tender flotsam, but another post tomorrow je vous promis.
Now enjoy--
Elizabeth Bishop-- "The Electric Storm" (with attendant crashings in the background and dramatic hesitation)
And R somnabulates a lovely berceuse next door.
Now enjoy--
Elizabeth Bishop-- "The Electric Storm" (with attendant crashings in the background and dramatic hesitation)
And R somnabulates a lovely berceuse next door.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Day the 7th
creeping stealthily with eight-toed paws--listen here to R's mellifluous growing.
And now for something completely different.
John Keats - Lines on the Mermaid Tavern
And now for something completely different.
John Keats - Lines on the Mermaid Tavern
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Cinqieme Jour
Charles Baudelaire- "Sed Non Satiata"
We thought you'd enjoy at least one day of la poesie fracophone. Listen in to R's most skillful venery and stay tuned for a compliment to M. Baudelaire tomorrow.
a bien tot, mes petits choux
___
Later:
Thanks to my partner in crime for providing a translation. You're right darling, the words are too delicious not to be appreciated by non Francophones. I am shamed in to doing likewise.
In (mostly acurate) and literal translation
Sed Non Satiata- Never Satisfied- or as one translation has it- Unslakable Lust
Strange deity, brown as the nights,
whose scent is mixed musk and Havana,
work of some obi, Faust of the savanna,
sorceress of ebony thighs, child of black midnights.
I prefer to faithfulness, to opium, to the night
the elixir of your mouth where love pavanes
when my desires, towards you, set out in caravan
your eyes are the cistern where I drink my cares.
By your great large dark eyes, sighing out your soul,
Oh pitiless demon! pour on less flame upon me.
I am not the Styx who can embrace you nine times.
Alas! And I may not, licentious Megera,
in order to break your spirit and put you at bay,
in the hell of your bed become Proserpina.
Please see here for more accomplished versions.
We thought you'd enjoy at least one day of la poesie fracophone. Listen in to R's most skillful venery and stay tuned for a compliment to M. Baudelaire tomorrow.
a bien tot, mes petits choux
___
Later:
Thanks to my partner in crime for providing a translation. You're right darling, the words are too delicious not to be appreciated by non Francophones. I am shamed in to doing likewise.
In (mostly acurate) and literal translation
Sed Non Satiata- Never Satisfied- or as one translation has it- Unslakable Lust
Strange deity, brown as the nights,
whose scent is mixed musk and Havana,
work of some obi, Faust of the savanna,
sorceress of ebony thighs, child of black midnights.
I prefer to faithfulness, to opium, to the night
the elixir of your mouth where love pavanes
when my desires, towards you, set out in caravan
your eyes are the cistern where I drink my cares.
By your great large dark eyes, sighing out your soul,
Oh pitiless demon! pour on less flame upon me.
I am not the Styx who can embrace you nine times.
Alas! And I may not, licentious Megera,
in order to break your spirit and put you at bay,
in the hell of your bed become Proserpina.
Please see here for more accomplished versions.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Day 3
in homage to Dorothy Dunnett and Johnathan Rys Meyers
Thomas Wyatt- "They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek"
Just a reminder, we haven't set the agenda for the rest of the month. Your poem-ry ideas are still welcome!
Thomas Wyatt- "They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek"
Just a reminder, we haven't set the agenda for the rest of the month. Your poem-ry ideas are still welcome!
Friday, February 1, 2008
Day 1
W.H. Auden- "What's in your mind, my dove, my coney."
The voice distortion frightens me. I sound rather like a 2-pack-a-day woman or like some aggrestive tibe of phlem has colonized my throat. Perhaps I'll try to achieve the same effect again with Baudelaire. I'm just learning, Chickadees. Bear with me.
PS: I think I should note here that Miss. R convinced me we should post our first read of each poem. My radio producorial skills cry out for editing but you're getting it here raw.
The voice distortion frightens me. I sound rather like a 2-pack-a-day woman or like some aggrestive tibe of phlem has colonized my throat. Perhaps I'll try to achieve the same effect again with Baudelaire. I'm just learning, Chickadees. Bear with me.
PS: I think I should note here that Miss. R convinced me we should post our first read of each poem. My radio producorial skills cry out for editing but you're getting it here raw.
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