Do you have well-crafted, unpublished poems yearning to make their way out into the spotlight? Every Day Poets is looking for short, quality poems for upcoming issues. "Every Day Poets is a magazine that specializes in bringing you fine, short poetry. We publish a new poem, every day, of up to 60 lines or up to 500 words."
Round up of knit objects from the past month or so. Not knitting as much, the threat of spring does that to me. The Corgis have been on hikes almost every day for two weeks, but nothing exciting to document. Yet.
On the needles, two pairs of unfinished socks - one toes up cashmere blend, one top down Lorna's Laces Mock Cable, an unfinished Ulla scarf, an unfinished shell, an unfinished pair of mittens, and an almost finished stuffed animal of the ovine persuasion.
That's a lot of unfinished, but hey, it's spring! Time to be outdoors, before the next big snowfall.
Because I promised to write a glowing, positive, just-this-shy-of-gushing post about the awesomeness of my big brother, Anonstrodomus, I won't tell you (right away) of the interesting array of feelings I had when I opened the brown paper wrapped package hiding in my post box.
But first, some backstory. *Cue Lost-esque whooshing sound*
As some of you well know, I have an interest in taking things apart and putting things together (and blowing things up, but that's another story). I come by this interest naturally, my big brother used to do things like dismantle my clock or radio and leave it in pieces for me to put back together. Because of my brother I learned the joys of dismantling, destruction, and how to play dumb when someone yelled, "What happened to my _______!" Anon usually got blamed anyhow, because what little girl liked mucking about with tools and experiments and dirt?
This one.
Sometimes for fun, sometimes for necessity -- Like when my brother 'traded' cars with me in high school, leaving me the car with a flat tire to change -- I'm sure it was some of his influence that helped when I decided to join the Army, where, despite my solid C- average in high school math, they made me an engineer. And guess what? I discovered I liked math when physics was involved, or formulas, or blowing things up... My bridges didn't fall down, my buildings stayed upright, and none of my runways swallowed any airplanes. Thus began a covert love affair with science in general, physics in particular. With no real background in either I settled for reading about them.
My latest acquisition is a copy of How To Teach Physics To Your Dogby Chad Orzel
I've been reading Chad Orzel's blog, Uncertain Principles ("features the miscellaneous ramblings of a physicist at a small liberal arts college") for quite a while. I knew about the book, but just hadn't gotten around to getting a copy yet, when I read Chad was going to be at a book signing in my hometown, in the far off distant land of upstate New York. Since I doubted Chad would ever make it out to Wyoming, I immediately whined/begged/cajoled my brother into trying to secure me a copy, complete with autograph.
Brother Anon came through and a week later I found a brown paper wrapped package (should have been my first clue) in my post box. Upon opening it... I didn't find quite what I expected. Seems Anon felt the urge to rub in that he gets to eat delicious white garlic pizza on a regular basis. Nestled inside the (sadly empty) box was the prize. My signed copy of How To Teach Physics To Your Dog. My brother didn't want monetary payment, just a "moment of acknowledgment" expressed here on The Periphery - where he is harassed on a semi-monthly basis should he dare comment unprepared.
Please.
You think by now, after all these years, he would have learned. Never give your little sister an opening and expect to emerge totally unscathed.
So, in keeping in the spirit of the bargain, here is my expression of gratitude to my awesome big brother, Anonstrodomus, set to music and in condensed movie form. And here is the second: Thanks for going to the trouble of getting me the book, Brudder Dear. (And thanks to Nonny Moose for encouraging him to do so.) Enjoy!
(Book review to come later. Painting, poem, or mini-movie? Who knows...)
Although I've been writing poetry every week I felt my output wasn't where it should be. The poems were scattered in theme and many felt unfinished even when completed – a sort of bookish throat clearing that happens periodically as I flail about, searching. I needed to move out of the 'any written down poem is a good thing' mentality.
As a way of shaking up my poetic melancholy I turned to an unusual method. I read another poet as inspiration. So what, you're thinking. We all feed the muse with literary encouragements. This time I decided to take things a bit further, and experiment. I chose a book of poems and read them, one at a time. After reading each one I wrote a response–of sorts. I allowed myself to key off of a single word, a phrase, an idea, or some other trigger from the poem. Every poem. I didn't let myself proceed until I wrote a poem in response to the read poem.
Some were easy, my mind flashed on a word or idea and the poem tumbled out, eager. Others were harder and had to be coaxed from the shadows. I reread the poem, focused in on the emotion or mood it evoked in me, and created from there. In a few of the poems you can see the influence from the poet I read, but in most cases, it's me and my style, something I wasn't sure would ever develop, even though I'd seen inklings of it the past year.
The results of the experiment? I wrote 36 poems in 8 days. Out of those thirty-six the vast majority are worthy of further development. A good portion theme together nicely. The other advantage to my test—whether intentionally (through following the read poet's body of work) or subconsciously, an overarching theme emerged. Themes have reared their Cerebusian heads in other poems but never consistently until now. Many of the poems fit the theme, overtly or covertly. The ones that don't are being developed as stand alone poems. It's also a relief to know I can write with a theme in mind and let the poems emerge from the mist, confident they will maintain the overtones I want. I only found one poem I dislike, in that it's trying too hard to bend itself into something it's not. It may be salvageable, or it may become a victim of the editorial sword.
The nice thing is feeling secure in my ability to produce a coherent body of work from a self-imposed exercise. I've been editing and honing for the past two weeks just to get the "Call and Response" poems to a resting place, where they will sit undisturbed and ferment, turning either into a raw wine, or some moldy green science experiment gone horribly awry. I've read a few at my writer's group, and the response tells me the overall feeling I was going for is there. I just need to mold them into a finished product without losing the raw emotion that caused me to write them in the first place.
In my quest to find a good translation of Rainer Maria Rilke poems I ran across the same problem I had in finding a good translation of The Cloud of Unknowing. Not being a native speaker of German – my grasp is far better at the written rather than spoken in several languages – how would I know what I was reading was a true and accurate reflection of what the author intended? What gets fumbled in translation, either to the translator's interpretation or to nuances I don't quite grasp?
This is where reviews by more knowledgeable scholars, not to mention Google Books and Amazon's Look Inside This Book features come in handy. I know there are those who recoil in horror at Google Books and their previews feature. How could it be a good thing to allow people to read content without paying? Well, in my case I've purchased far more books after reading the excerpts than I have based on reviews. It is the equivalent of going to a bookstore and being able to open each copy of a book I am interested in, check the writing style, see if the contents match up with my expectations. I don't live in a big city, with dozens of shops to peruse. We have one small chain bookstore, its offerings are mediocre at best, and non-existent for anyone wanting to do serious research or read poetry other than Shakespeare, Dickinson, and Whitman. (Although I've noticed a recent retail clerk fascination with Charles Bukowski - they have 7 different poetry books by him and nothing by any poet laureate of the U.S.)
Previewing the books allows me to compare and contrast translations. In the case of Rilke, I knew I preferred a book that had the German on one page, and the English translation on the other. Even though my grasp of German is thin, being able to read the words in the original, feel the rhythm and twists of the language helped me get a feel for what the poet was trying to do. On the translation side, I was looking for an interpretation that fit my understanding of Rilke and his poetry. One translation seemed very mechanical. The words were there but seemed stilted, as if the meaning was lost even though all the right words were on the page. Another translation may not have been 100 percent accurate, word-wise, but the flow and depth and loveliness of Rilke's poetry came across very well. You know which translation I went with.
I had no desire to suffer reading the Cloud of Unknowing in Middle English, although I probably could bull my way through. Since this was for private theology study, and not some college paper, I looked for a translation that kept the original wry and conversational tone of the anonymous fourteenth century English monk. I passed on thou's and other ancient affects as well as a William Johnston translation in favor of a Carmen Acevedo Butcher translation. Why? It spoke to me more eloquently than the Johnson translation did. It matched up to the idea in my head of everything I'd heard/read about the monk and his work.
I noticed the same thing while reading two versions of eighth-century Persian poet Rabia al Basri's love poetry. One translation did nothing for me. But another spoke to me, forced me to reread and savor, to confront the mysticism present in her work. A difference in a few words, the presentation, but what a difference it made.
There are those that say we shouldn't even attempt to translate poetry into another language, for the mood, tone, voice will be lost. Don't discount the ability of a poetry lover to come to the meaning without full knowledge of the language. Trust in them to reach beyond the printed word on the page and discover the nuances. After all, poetry is intensely personal. I would hate to have missed out on the transformational encounter that was my first reading of Hafiz, or Rilke, or Li Po and Chiyo-ni. What I read might not have been an exact translation, but the feel was close enough to turn my read into a profound experience. Isn't that what good poetry is all about?
I live my life in widening circles
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
--- Rainer Maria Rilke
I spun some yarn to sell for food
And sold it for two silver coins.
I put a coin in each hand
Because I was afraid
That if I put both together in one hand
This great pile of wealth might hold me back.
—Rabi’a al-Adawiyya
Tired of Speaking Sweetly
Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.
If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
