Poemas Internacionales International Poems
Transcription
Poemas Internacionales International Poems
Poetry Class Honoring Joy Harjo John Grey Abbie Massey Cotrell They were gathered there in the place of all beginnings… the women who birth women, wild hair tangled in stars, voices echoed by moon. The clay is ready they said— strong with bone of proud horse, slipped with blood of broken heart. Hurry they said—the wild herd is passing and they threw you onto the back of sweat slick stallion. Hold on they said—when skin strips from bone and black mane blinds the eye. Hold on until you feel the sweet red of Muscogee mud and strange new air explodes the lung— then loose your cry into the dry night sky like white heat lightening. They will call you Joy… and you will sing their pain. A Clear Midnight The boys are at the poetry again, pressing lips against it, holding it up to the nose. One even tries to wear it. Read it, I tell them, but no, it’s on paper, thus, the paper plane. And it’s words and not a one has read one of those in years. Tastes good, says the youngest, as he stuffs a metaphysic down his throat. Comes in handy, declares another, wiping his shoes with Lake Poets. Look, I tell them, it’s poetry, you’re not supposed to use it. But they don’t listen. Not with Coleridge stuffed in their ears. Walt Whitman This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars. Poemas Internacionales Manchmal Hejo Müller International Poems Sometimes Hejo Müller / translated by James Brandenburg Manchmal tropfen die Tage herab ins Keuchen des Windes Sometimes days drip down into the panting of the wind Es scheint so, als kämen dann nur noch ganz wenige Wochen angekrochen. It seems that very few weeks remain— weeks crawling in on their knees Schon angesagte Stunden verkriechen sich wieder… hours crawl away too soon— hours already doled out Alle Stille—bitter wie Galle All that silence—bitter like bile Ach, wenn es doch bloß keine Sekunden gäbe… Oh, if there were only no more seconds… (Wir haben ja auch keine Angst vor dem Tode!) (We are not afraid of death!) Voices de la Luna, 15 August 2016 19