On one of my trips to my parents' house in London I found a short poem in Arabic and spent a bit of time comparing it with the translation. Then I came back here and left the poem behind totally. I searched and searched online with no luck.
But then.. my mother arrived with that same iPad in her luggage. Lo and behold, there it was. Not even deep in the history, just on the first page I opened.
Dia'a Al-Abdullah - The Crypt
translated by Ghias Aljundi and Mitch Albert
www.penusa.org
It looks as if there is no news since March 2012 when he was taken into a Syrian jail.
David Beispiel's Poetry Wire blog has an article which gives the whole poem, just in translation in English, plus other information. Worth following.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, 11 December 2014
Tuesday, 9 December 2014
Drat, missed a chance
I was wandering round the Blake exhibition, sort of involved, but feeling ignorant, yet again.
Then I was gripped by turning the pages of a screen which had one of his poetry notebooks in it. Without expecting it in the slightest, I read some words I knew: Rose thou art sick... the original draft plus changes was right there for me to read for myself.
Further back I found Tyger Tyger, right there, in 2 versions, one all messed about with and one all neat.
A woman came along, so I showed her what I'd found and we read them out loud together. I should have asked her for a coffee. Not that I had any time at all, but I should have risked having my car clamped for the chance of a conversation with a like minded soul.
I might well find her again. I'd recognise the way she peered, from a few inches away, at the pictures.
The pictures were good, the reds and the blues were equally warm. I like warmth. The fingers and feet have a particular way about them. He also really likes the vertical. I wouldn't get very far with writing an essay on art would I? Some things don't need to be written about.
Then I was gripped by turning the pages of a screen which had one of his poetry notebooks in it. Without expecting it in the slightest, I read some words I knew: Rose thou art sick... the original draft plus changes was right there for me to read for myself.
Further back I found Tyger Tyger, right there, in 2 versions, one all messed about with and one all neat.
A woman came along, so I showed her what I'd found and we read them out loud together. I should have asked her for a coffee. Not that I had any time at all, but I should have risked having my car clamped for the chance of a conversation with a like minded soul.
I might well find her again. I'd recognise the way she peered, from a few inches away, at the pictures.
The pictures were good, the reds and the blues were equally warm. I like warmth. The fingers and feet have a particular way about them. He also really likes the vertical. I wouldn't get very far with writing an essay on art would I? Some things don't need to be written about.
Thursday, 4 December 2014
End of term capers - Reward for 10 weeks' work
There is Christmas planning and there is holiday reading planning.
My massive stack of poetry and Arabic is calling to me. Where do I start? Do I lay them all out on my rug and take a photo and sit there wondering? Do I start 5 at once and just get 10 pages into each one?
Or write out a neat plan and tell my brother so I can be accountable to him for any stray reading? We are an accountability group of 2, we meet by phone and share what we plan to do. No punishments though.
I could be systematic and pick a male then a female poet, same with the Arabic stuff, go alternately. It's been a very long 10 weeks since I could just read without any homework needing to be done. Wanting a good mark meant doing all of it as carefully as possible.
My vocab was well hidden in the boot of my son's car, so now I can play with that too.
My massive stack of poetry and Arabic is calling to me. Where do I start? Do I lay them all out on my rug and take a photo and sit there wondering? Do I start 5 at once and just get 10 pages into each one?
Or write out a neat plan and tell my brother so I can be accountable to him for any stray reading? We are an accountability group of 2, we meet by phone and share what we plan to do. No punishments though.
I could be systematic and pick a male then a female poet, same with the Arabic stuff, go alternately. It's been a very long 10 weeks since I could just read without any homework needing to be done. Wanting a good mark meant doing all of it as carefully as possible.
My vocab was well hidden in the boot of my son's car, so now I can play with that too.
Tuesday, 2 December 2014
I am not a silent poet - Reuben Woolley
A friend of mine has just set up a blog-zine for protest poetry. I predict he will be swamped by submissions. But that is a good thing in the long run, so I am mentioning his project here.
I know him via 52, the Facebook poetry group we are both part of. He is also the first 52-er I met in real life, quite by chance, after a poetry reading.
I know him via 52, the Facebook poetry group we are both part of. He is also the first 52-er I met in real life, quite by chance, after a poetry reading.
Saturday, 29 November 2014
Sigh, not that sort of sigh, this sort..emotional, expressive, thankful, appreciative
This is why I spend so much time reading poetry blogs, going to festivals and more:
The woman at the workshop
Why does the word 'sigh' imply entirely the wrong thing? With all its words, English just fails, and needs phrases instead, lengthy explanations. It has to be created freshly each time in order to actually say anything. How can anyone learn English?
The woman at the workshop
Why does the word 'sigh' imply entirely the wrong thing? With all its words, English just fails, and needs phrases instead, lengthy explanations. It has to be created freshly each time in order to actually say anything. How can anyone learn English?
Wednesday, 26 November 2014
page poems vs performance poems
I have just come across an interview with Carrie Etter. At the end of the article this topic comes up.
When I am at a reading I know I will never hear the poem again or read it, unless it gets published some time in the future. Often I don't know the name of the poet either, it whizzes past. Followed by many more.
Now I know I need to go up to the person I liked the most and get their name. Then I may see them again at another reading or workshop. Gradually I am getting to know the writers whose work I love the most.
Choosing a set is interesting. Do I make sure nothing is ever read out twice? Or do I read out my favourites? Do I test things out on live audiences, risking the not quite rightness of a piece? Do I dare to read out a piece I wouldn't want published, knowing it won't be recorded, risking that exposure, deciding it won't go any further, letting others enjoy it there and then, live but not in type?
The other thing is that I have to speak loudly, so a soft gentle poem can't be spoken in that way and also be heard. That means only direct, uncompromising poems can be read out across a big room.
Now I know that a writer produces many things which never get performed or printed. The more experimental and personal pieces. The ones which are more from themselves and which mean more to them than to anyone else. So the performance or the print version is just part of it.
When I am at a reading I know I will never hear the poem again or read it, unless it gets published some time in the future. Often I don't know the name of the poet either, it whizzes past. Followed by many more.
Now I know I need to go up to the person I liked the most and get their name. Then I may see them again at another reading or workshop. Gradually I am getting to know the writers whose work I love the most.
Choosing a set is interesting. Do I make sure nothing is ever read out twice? Or do I read out my favourites? Do I test things out on live audiences, risking the not quite rightness of a piece? Do I dare to read out a piece I wouldn't want published, knowing it won't be recorded, risking that exposure, deciding it won't go any further, letting others enjoy it there and then, live but not in type?
The other thing is that I have to speak loudly, so a soft gentle poem can't be spoken in that way and also be heard. That means only direct, uncompromising poems can be read out across a big room.
Now I know that a writer produces many things which never get performed or printed. The more experimental and personal pieces. The ones which are more from themselves and which mean more to them than to anyone else. So the performance or the print version is just part of it.
Sunday, 23 November 2014
The American Sentence, try it out
Explanation of the American Sentence, an 11 syllable sentence, written across the page, no line breaks.
Interestingly, this is simply part of a Sapphic Stanza, 3 lines of 11 syllables, followed by a 5 syllable line.
Interestingly, this is simply part of a Sapphic Stanza, 3 lines of 11 syllables, followed by a 5 syllable line.
Saturday, 22 November 2014
Reading out someone else's poem
First time around I made a stanza break, not realising I should read on into the second stanza. Then I noticed that I made 2 grammatical changes, unable to stop myself.
The second time, I read over the stanza break and I read out the exact words. I was proud of myself for attending to my errors.
The second time, I read over the stanza break and I read out the exact words. I was proud of myself for attending to my errors.
Wednesday, 19 November 2014
Form - Sara Peters
"it's noodling and experimenting until you find a form that helps you generate what you want to say."
and
"something that helps you do it as well as you can."
Robert Pinsky on form, in a discussion which centred on a poem, not available online, called Abortion, by Sara Peters.
It is written in 6 stanzas, starting with just a one line stanza, increasing so that the last one has six lines.
I think this is the problem with the first poem I read on Sunday. I am too attached to the form I chose. I need to let that go and do a total rewriting session, which would mean arriving somewhere else entirely.
and
"something that helps you do it as well as you can."
Robert Pinsky on form, in a discussion which centred on a poem, not available online, called Abortion, by Sara Peters.
It is written in 6 stanzas, starting with just a one line stanza, increasing so that the last one has six lines.
I think this is the problem with the first poem I read on Sunday. I am too attached to the form I chose. I need to let that go and do a total rewriting session, which would mean arriving somewhere else entirely.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Those 2 love poems which silenced us on Sunday afternoon
I'm half thinking that it is better to just hear these poems read out to you when you are least expecting them. So I won't give the poets' names or the poems' titles, in case you want to save yourself for those moments sometime in the future.
First one
Second one
First one
Second one
Monday, 17 November 2014
Not knowing where a poem is going: 'Out, Out - ' Robert Frost
I am rattling through the Pinsky poetry class before it all disappears on around the 3rd December.
Many poems are linked to as examples of this and that.
This video from favoritepoem.org, an American project, shows a teacher talking about her work, then reading out this particular poem.
I needed the ocean at the end.
Many poems are linked to as examples of this and that.
This video from favoritepoem.org, an American project, shows a teacher talking about her work, then reading out this particular poem.
I needed the ocean at the end.
Woodstock Poetry Festival - This weekend in London
Woodstock Poetry Festival
Feel the entire room go still, holding their breath to a stunning love poem.
Enjoy the mystery of not knowing what each reading will contain.
Don't read out a poem which needs sharpening, people need my best.
Do read out a tight poem, even if it is almost too risky, for that murmur.
Clap extra loudly for the first time reader, welcome her in.
Look and listen to the reader being filmed, take in her voice.
...
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My mother has just got out of the car to go back home, but we waved at her to come across to the Serbian cafe. I could see her do a bit of thinking, then turn the zimmer frame to make her way over here. We all took photos of each other and talked too loudly. My brother took this one and my father is just to my brother's right, next to my mother. I had lost my cards and wallet, so was down to a £1.15 small espresso. I tipped every bit of sugar into it since it was included in the price. Wolfed down the biscuit too.
The necklace was one I'd found on the tarmac in the rain. No one took it from the top of my car, where I put it to be found by the owner, so I decided to keep it. Wearing it in public near where I had found it was not a very clever thing to do though. I imagined someone walking past and thinking it was just like the one they'd lost... All I would have had to do was hand it over and say sorry.
...
This weekend in London
Carry the breakfast tray my father has made for my mother, put it on the bed.
Wait for the next request, don't rush the morning, let her sleep.
Stand outside the shower room, waiting for my mother to finish.
Make an improvised tube of toothpaste for her from a corner of a plastic bag.
Sit on the bed with her sharing a hot chocolate and a danish from the cafe.
Never mind about past dramas, just live in each half hour.
Feel the entire room go still, holding their breath to a stunning love poem.
Enjoy the mystery of not knowing what each reading will contain.
Do read out a tight poem, even if it is almost too risky, for that murmur.
Clap extra loudly for the first time reader, welcome her in.
Look and listen to the reader being filmed, take in her voice.
...
My mother has just got out of the car to go back home, but we waved at her to come across to the Serbian cafe. I could see her do a bit of thinking, then turn the zimmer frame to make her way over here. We all took photos of each other and talked too loudly. My brother took this one and my father is just to my brother's right, next to my mother. I had lost my cards and wallet, so was down to a £1.15 small espresso. I tipped every bit of sugar into it since it was included in the price. Wolfed down the biscuit too.
The necklace was one I'd found on the tarmac in the rain. No one took it from the top of my car, where I put it to be found by the owner, so I decided to keep it. Wearing it in public near where I had found it was not a very clever thing to do though. I imagined someone walking past and thinking it was just like the one they'd lost... All I would have had to do was hand it over and say sorry.
...
This weekend in London
Carry the breakfast tray my father has made for my mother, put it on the bed.
Wait for the next request, don't rush the morning, let her sleep.
Stand outside the shower room, waiting for my mother to finish.
Make an improvised tube of toothpaste for her from a corner of a plastic bag.
Sit on the bed with her sharing a hot chocolate and a danish from the cafe.
Never mind about past dramas, just live in each half hour.
Monday, 10 November 2014
Oh my God! London - 0 Friday
The tree trunks and branches are covered with white lights in front of the Natural History Museum.
Skating has started beneath it.
There are 2 shisha cafes in Beauchamp Place now. I will take my brother there as soon as I can.
Tomorrow I might be able to go to the World News Oratorio, Jude Montague is putting this on.
Time at my father's desktop, finished my first draft of comments on a sequence of poems.
A big responsibility, I need to make it concise and helpful for the rewriting phase.
Skating has started beneath it.
There are 2 shisha cafes in Beauchamp Place now. I will take my brother there as soon as I can.
Tomorrow I might be able to go to the World News Oratorio, Jude Montague is putting this on.
Time at my father's desktop, finished my first draft of comments on a sequence of poems.
A big responsibility, I need to make it concise and helpful for the rewriting phase.
Thursday, 6 November 2014
Urgent Poetry - Kim Hyesoon - Cathy Dreyer
Hi Cathy, you are in my blog post.
We met up for lunch and I came away with the name Kim Hyesoon. I have just had a google and hit an article with the stunning title of 'What is urgent poetry?' I then found a gory kitchen poem.
What is urgent poetry? I like this phrase because I used it myself in a poem I wrote a few weeks ago after a poetry experiment out in our garden during a massive thunder and lightning storm with no rain. See how different the comments are.
Gory kitchen poem by Kim Hyesoon The cries of the spoons....a glass of tangy star...a flock of birds crawled out of the hole...
Cathy edits The Stare's Nest with Judi Sutherland. Do submit work to them.
أحبك - Poem for my mother
والدتي في المستشفى
كنت في لندن
اسمك آن
أنا بعيد عنك
أنا أحبك جدا
غدا في لندن
I need to switch these lines around so they have some sort of pattern. The vowel markings don't show in type, so you have to know that there are lots of kasras, the 'i' sound.
أحبك
هو الليل
والدتي في المستشفى
غدا في لندن
اسمك آن
أنا بعيد عنك
أنا أحبك جدا
Ok, so now there are 2 stanzas, first lines have 2 words each, second and third lines both have 3. Title is addessed to my mother, first stanza is stating facts and second is addressing her again. Neatly, it has her name at the end of the first line of that second stanza. On another laptop I could add a word which looks exactly the same as her name, but which means 'now'. That could go in the same place but on the first stanza. But then it would ruin the 2,3,3 pattern.
There, all done, for now = aan/ann, oh dear, an arabic/english pun. Now to call and see if she is on the table, under the knife.
Thursday, 30 October 2014
'Not so much cars, more tanks' - On stage at the Wantage Betjeman Literary Festival
'Not so much cars, more tanks'
I had asked what the film 'Fury' was about, and suggested 'guns and cars?' That phrase was the answer. Then we both watched the trailer. I wonder when IS will be safely enough in the past to be filmed? Though what could be a good angle on something that brutal?
Today I was at the village shop, post-hospital-visit and not feeling myself. The lady asked me if I'd like a bag and I answered with 'No, I want a miracle!'
On Stage
A wonderful feeling to be there with a whole room of attentive people, just 5 short poems to read out and instructions to give a bit of chat as well. The reactions were amazing, a little 'mm' after each one. I have never heard that before in any readings I have been to, or maybe I am not that perceptive? The things I read were as different from each other as I could choose. I ended with a high energy one.
Wantage Betjeman Literary Festival
2 people I know are performing this coming Sunday, Nic May and Cathy Dreyer: includes vegetarian lunch and is upstairs at the beautiful Shoulder of Mutton pub in the centre of Wantage, at midday.
I had asked what the film 'Fury' was about, and suggested 'guns and cars?' That phrase was the answer. Then we both watched the trailer. I wonder when IS will be safely enough in the past to be filmed? Though what could be a good angle on something that brutal?
Today I was at the village shop, post-hospital-visit and not feeling myself. The lady asked me if I'd like a bag and I answered with 'No, I want a miracle!'
On Stage
A wonderful feeling to be there with a whole room of attentive people, just 5 short poems to read out and instructions to give a bit of chat as well. The reactions were amazing, a little 'mm' after each one. I have never heard that before in any readings I have been to, or maybe I am not that perceptive? The things I read were as different from each other as I could choose. I ended with a high energy one.
Wantage Betjeman Literary Festival
2 people I know are performing this coming Sunday, Nic May and Cathy Dreyer: includes vegetarian lunch and is upstairs at the beautiful Shoulder of Mutton pub in the centre of Wantage, at midday.
Monday, 27 October 2014
Translating something for real, asked by a friend
Terrifying and humbling. I peer at my dictionary, looking for the exact spelling of the word somewhere in the long paragraphs of slight variations. I hope there are no typos in the original I have been emailed. Do I have just enough familiarity with modern Arabic poetry to know the rough way that the thoughts are laid out? Do I know the starting text well enough, against which/because of which the piece was written?
I need to look at that starting text in Arabic to see if any of the words are being reused here. I need to use every trick I can think of to get my best version in English before I approach someone to help me with the remaining queries/question marks. I don't want to look a total fool to the person I ask.
I could look up some of the writer's other work online, see if it has been translated, are there any key words or concepts which are likely to be buried in this one?
Why does the very word Arabic lead others to assume I have much of it between my ears? If only they knew the dreadful lack of certainty. I have vague 'oh, I have seen that word before' happy thoughts, but they are not precise, just half recognitions.
There are words which come up which I know I have never, ever seen before. That is a nice feeling, because it implies that the others are somewhere in my continuum of familiar.
I'd forgotten how hard I can work if I want to.
I need to look at that starting text in Arabic to see if any of the words are being reused here. I need to use every trick I can think of to get my best version in English before I approach someone to help me with the remaining queries/question marks. I don't want to look a total fool to the person I ask.
I could look up some of the writer's other work online, see if it has been translated, are there any key words or concepts which are likely to be buried in this one?
Why does the very word Arabic lead others to assume I have much of it between my ears? If only they knew the dreadful lack of certainty. I have vague 'oh, I have seen that word before' happy thoughts, but they are not precise, just half recognitions.
There are words which come up which I know I have never, ever seen before. That is a nice feeling, because it implies that the others are somewhere in my continuum of familiar.
I'd forgotten how hard I can work if I want to.
Saturday, 11 October 2014
The moon is blowing from a new direction
That must be it.
I have sent off my first submission of 6 poems.
I am sewing my first skirt, all by hand.
I have 2 and a half weeks until I am on for 5 minutes at a pub in Wantage. People will have to pay to see all of us.
I met someone in Didcot today who explained what ahlan wa sahlan means, so I used it there and then.
H made supper for me last night and washed up. I took lots of photots for him and then took a video of him at the sink. I hadn't realised how elegantly he moves about. Now I do. He put his music through the kitchen speakers and I cleared our end of the table to look nice. We had a candle too...
I have sent off my first submission of 6 poems.
I am sewing my first skirt, all by hand.
I have 2 and a half weeks until I am on for 5 minutes at a pub in Wantage. People will have to pay to see all of us.
I met someone in Didcot today who explained what ahlan wa sahlan means, so I used it there and then.
H made supper for me last night and washed up. I took lots of photots for him and then took a video of him at the sink. I hadn't realised how elegantly he moves about. Now I do. He put his music through the kitchen speakers and I cleared our end of the table to look nice. We had a candle too...
Monday, 6 October 2014
So: the Swindon Poetry Festival 2014
The list of the fabulous things I missed is longer than the list of things I saw.
So many people, chatting, how did you get into poetry, who are you reading, where are you published, are you in a regular workshop, what is your writing like, what has changed for you since this afternoon? How tired are you? Where is my key? Come over here and talk, I am going to sleep now, I had a thought and my shoulder suddenly started hurting, checking out the new men in an instant, going outside to confess our reactions, get it out of our systems. Hmm, my household is so like yours. Wow, I love what you wrote? Instant writing, reading out what we have written, deciding which collections to buy. Showing someone the Arabic alphabet, shoot me, I can't help myself. Endless talking and being with people we already know from sharing our stuff over these past months. A word game out in the sunshine. Sleeping on the sofa, warm blanket, hearing the people talking past me, no internet, just our little, huge world, endless tentacles of other links. Faces, expressions, saying, writing things we didn't know were there.
Reading: Michael Scott and Emily Harrison (wonderful titles)
Reading/Performance: Mohan Rana/Jo Quail and SAPAC dancers
Workshop: Cliff Yates = 2 new poems
Workshop: Jackie Wills = 2 more new poems
Reading: Allison McVety
Reading: Cliff Yates and Jackie Wills
Reading: Battered Moons prize-giving and readings/David Morley/Cristina Navazo-Eguia Newton/wonderful guitarist
I have just looked at the full programme, I can't believe all the things I missed. Just note down all the names and in time recognise them when they appear in your world. I am shaking my head.
So many people, chatting, how did you get into poetry, who are you reading, where are you published, are you in a regular workshop, what is your writing like, what has changed for you since this afternoon? How tired are you? Where is my key? Come over here and talk, I am going to sleep now, I had a thought and my shoulder suddenly started hurting, checking out the new men in an instant, going outside to confess our reactions, get it out of our systems. Hmm, my household is so like yours. Wow, I love what you wrote? Instant writing, reading out what we have written, deciding which collections to buy. Showing someone the Arabic alphabet, shoot me, I can't help myself. Endless talking and being with people we already know from sharing our stuff over these past months. A word game out in the sunshine. Sleeping on the sofa, warm blanket, hearing the people talking past me, no internet, just our little, huge world, endless tentacles of other links. Faces, expressions, saying, writing things we didn't know were there.
Reading: Michael Scott and Emily Harrison (wonderful titles)
Reading/Performance: Mohan Rana/Jo Quail and SAPAC dancers
Workshop: Cliff Yates = 2 new poems
Workshop: Jackie Wills = 2 more new poems
Reading: Allison McVety
Reading: Cliff Yates and Jackie Wills
Reading: Battered Moons prize-giving and readings/David Morley/Cristina Navazo-Eguia Newton/wonderful guitarist
I have just looked at the full programme, I can't believe all the things I missed. Just note down all the names and in time recognise them when they appear in your world. I am shaking my head.
Wednesday, 1 October 2014
Issue 2 of The Broadsheet
It has been launched and is nearly ready to be ordered online.
Buy here using Paypal
It only comes out once a year. My first copy has been on my wall for months and months. I turn it over every so often so I can endlessly re-read the other side.
I can't wait, but I will have to.
Buy here using Paypal
It only comes out once a year. My first copy has been on my wall for months and months. I turn it over every so often so I can endlessly re-read the other side.
I can't wait, but I will have to.
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