Tuesday, July 19, 2016

by Adriel Ruben, Translation by Miles Boucher Try the Second

(Go), do not come back to me,
Do not tell me those “angry words”.
I do not accept this face of yours;
This face that lies to me.

Go, go say that I’m a fool so everybody knows,
Go and really enjoy all of your malice!
In your mistakes lies my solace;
In your Fall—the Face of Despair shows.

Go and keep your childish journey to yourself.
Go and try to free yourself from your destiny!
With it you become more evil, nasty,
And your arrogance refines itself.

Go and keep with those outrageous words longer-
I will be stronger at the end of this journey, I swear,
Because it’s your own grave that you prepare,
Each and every day your road becomes smaller.

Go, be sated with your devastation!
Go and show why I still survive.
It’s in your laugh, from which my anger derives,
And revenge--my life’s motivation…

Go and sing your sorrows, my ward,
Go and savor your fall-ure, my dear.
And slowly, bit by bit, you die in your tears,
You make your death my only reward.

So this one was really hard because it is where my poetry is weakest at the moment: 
RHYME. 
Rhyme is bloody hard guys.
But, it is the very quintessence of poetry.
So I decided to start with a literal translation and then move to the rhyme.
It was difficult, but mostly trying to find what would rhyme with what and where.
Because I have to keep the rhyme scheme, but also the original translation without departing too far from the original.
I can add words here and there, but eventually it is becoming its own poem rather than what was originally there.
But, Adriel and I worked for so long to find the right word in English that certain words have to rhyme with that one word (solace!)
Next up? Metre and syntax.
Those I feel much more comfortable with. 
We'll see though if the rhyme scheme stays the same as I start mismatching words and things.

Monday, July 18, 2016

Association Experiment IV

Work, work, work, woke, woe,
woes, walls, was, wars, roars,
rose, ruse, rues, rise, ryes, lies,
leyward, weyward, woeward, westward,
toward, forward, foreward, forewarned,
post warned, fore word, prologue,
what’s past, what’s post, what’s now,
what is, what, what, what, w-

Work, work, work
Work wearies the weary soul
Work wearies the wary old.
None to do
And none to hold
The wayward, weyward sister.
Onward and froward
She casts her Self
She castes herself
Oneward and upward
She finds some help
She founds some Hell.
She warns no one
She warps a nun
Down and down she fell
Until she knelled

Haiku Blast - Didn't really have a theme, so damn it, make em funny.

A wayward star streams
Across night’s noontide, tracking
Stardust on the floor


Please! Picking Posies!
What else to do in summer?
(Over there...like rabbits)


Systematic change
Is precipitated by
Recognizing whole


Politely picking
Nose hairs. Social grooming is
The weirdest love form.


It’s like comedy
The jokes are slower and the

Laughs--none. What of that?

Sunday, July 17, 2016

You are most beautiful

You are most beautiful
I could die in your eyes,
be buried in your breast,
and find heaven in your mouth.
But, I would not stop for that.

There are worlds between your Legs
Starlight in your Eyes
and Sunshine in your Hair.
But, that was never enough.

I want to know you biblically
Shake the Roots of the Earth
and with our cries, sing the Song
that makes the Stars shine silver
But, I could not wait for that.

I am willing to explore
the infinite curve of your smile
the unfathomable depths of your pink
the Mystery of your whisper.

But, you have to let me out.

Haiku Blast-Questions

A Dear John Letter,
And folded, pretty panties.
A rememberance?


Mother Goose mothers
Her goslings with a story.
Am I included?


Here I stand in Rain.
Do Happy, Peppy People:
Take their meds like me?


The same plays again?
Echoing through the seasons.
...they still sound like shit.


Lovers speak words? Flat.
Rote. At each other’s faces?
Kiss? Die a little.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Haiku Blast

I would a girl with
Vibrant, electric converse
Kicked out of my skull.

Lonely depressives
Sitting alone. Expected.
Try salsa classes.

Father makes plans for
His retirement. Her name? Ilse
She's not born yet. Gross.

Metred mites measure
Morose musings according
To musical mess.

Shakespeare in the park
Grates against the teeth like the
Biting of a spoon.

Burn the theatres
So goes the whispering words

Burn the theatres.

It's called I wish because originality is overrated...damn you

I wish I were a fucking tree.
I wish I were a merry ghost.
I wish I left no trace of me,
I wish I were a winsome host

I wish I were the catcher in the rye.
I wish children played upon me,
I wish them safe before I die
And yet they never played with me

I saw them through my prison bars
And yet never could I leave.
I sought them through apologetic scars
And yet never could they conceive

I wish I were a fucking tree
So children could climb me;
And it wouldn't hurt so god damn always
So lovers and fighters could rest in my shade
and sleep forevermore
And rest for ever and more
So I could live a hundred half-lives,
which never hurt another soul in a thousand years

I am waiting for the day when my clock runs down
I pray for the ticking to cease
The pulsing stops, so the pulse stops....
the footsteps echo to a close
and I can be an echo

An echo is like a memory
It fades until it is nonsense
I wish I were nonsense, non-sense, no sense.


Friday, July 15, 2016

Love liminially.

love illumines the liminal place
the natural, natal helix
Nature meets nurture
inside the Cosmic Egg.
The serpent and Eve
Entwining inside of Eden.
Adam is adamantly
Infatuated with Lilith.
A little of this, a little of that,
A dash of earth, and we muck it all about.


Life is life is life is life,
filling our guts with boiling light.
Love is life is love is love:*
A double pot of crazy.


You know,


For those eccentric after dinner after-tastes
A cooling mint, a soothing balm
that burns a hole
From tongue to toe
To soul to amygdala.


Build you back up again.
Knock you back up again.


Love is lodged,
Lodged in my lebido
Screwing and cooing
Like locusts
Even as it coils round my heart-soaked broth.


Sighing gives me away
Breathing gives me away
Will you give me away?

*I was really surprised to find this line. This poem was written....I'm not sure, but several weeks ago. I'm sure I could dig it out of my timeline, point is, I was shocked to find this after the events of Orlando and Lin Manuel Miranda's beautiful acceptance speech. Just part of the world I guess. I saw it, considered taking it out, realized I would hate myself if I did.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Goodness Knows

Friends hard won
Are hard lost.
Wouldn’t know--
I’ve been told--
All I’m good
For is theft--
Of Hearts and Minds that
Aren’t mine.
Love to lose--
Setting loose.
Good and lost
Aren’t I--
Ever alone
Are the lost--
Lost things
Cannot sing--
They are in
Broken drains,
Choking on
Ichor bubbles--
Blackened dolls
Crying salt,

And Ashen tears

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

by Adriel Ruben with Translations by Miles Boucher

Our first attempt at a literal translation:

Don’t come back to me (A)
Don’t tell me those angry words (B)
I don’t swallow this face of yours (B)
Face that lies to me (visage?) (A)

Go, go tell every one that I am foolish/a fool,
Go and take advantage (bem=really enjoy) of your exaggeration!
It is in your mistakes/error wherein lies my solace,;
(From) In Your fall (verb(reflects))--the Face of Despair (shows).

Go and keep your infantile/childish journey.
Go and try to free yourself (reflexive) from your kharma/lot in life/destiny/fortune/fate!
With this attitude/behavior you become more evil/vile/mean/nasty,
And your arrogance refines itself (reflexive);

Go and keep with those confrontation*/affronting/insulting/outrageous words -
I will be stronger at the end of this road/journey,
Because it is for yourself that you make ready your grave*/pit/hole/burrow
Every day smaller, your road becomes.

Go and get satiated with your injustice!
Go and show why I am still alive.
It’s in your laugh that poke/tease/incite/provoke/induce my anger/ire
And the anger/revenge my life’s only motif/ motivation/motivator/reason…

Go and cry/sing? your sorrows,
Go and taste/savor your fallen/bankruptcy/collapse/crash/fall-ure.
And Slowly/bit by bit/Little by little you die in your own tears,
You make your death my only reward.

Already there are a lot of interesting problems to solve.
The first stanza, we looked at a pretty quick translation and then how the rhyme scheme was going to have to syn up.
In stanzas two and three, we got into some nitty gritty on what word was most important in the stanza to give the sense of the line.
For example: in the third line, solace was better than the other word--consolation--and therefore, the rest of the stanza has to rhyme with solace.
The rest were hard and fast not worrying so much about specifics, but creating vocabulary from which to pull in order to fill in the lines or complete the rhyme scheme and keep the sense of the words.
Whoo!
This was a surprisingly fun first draft and already so many problems to work through.
I'm very excited for this project and hope I can do it justice.
This may just be the first, which is scary, and exhilarating.

by Adriel Ruben with translator: Goggle machine

So this is the next thing that we did as translators.
Adriel kindly sent me one of his poems through the Goggle machine.
And the Goggle machine kindly translated his poem into English
So here is the "first" translation:

Va, 'Do not come back to me, 
do not tell me these angry words. 
I do not buy that your face; 
guy who minds for me. 

Go, go tell everyone that I am
 a fool, 
go and enjoy your well exaggeration! 
It is in your error you are my consolation, 
in your fall the face of despair. 

And will continue your children's journey. 
Go and try to break free of your fate! 
With this attitude it is that you become more vile, 
and his arrogance is refined; 

go and continue with your affront words - 
will be stronger at the end of this journey, 
it is for yourself that your aprontas pit 
and each smaller time becomes your road. 

Go and be satiated with your injustice! 
I will show why I'm still alive. 
It's in your laugh that Atico my anger, 
and revenge is my life single reason ... 

will cry and your sorrows, 
go and savor your bankruptcy. 
And gradually, as you die in your tears, 
Makes your death my only reward.

by Adriel Ruben

So this is an exciting time in the household.
Apparently I am now a translator!
Hello CV, here we come!!
Adriel has asked me to translate some of his poetry from Portugues into English verse.
I am super nervous and very excited.
So here we start and here we go.
The original Portugues:

Va,´não voltes para mim,
não me diga essas palavras de raiva.
Eu não engulo essa sua cara;
cara que mentes para mim.
  
Vai, vai dizer para todos que sou tolo,
vá e aproveite bem o seu exagero!
Pois é no teu erro que estás meu consolo,
em vossa  queda a face do desespero.
  
Vai e continua a tua jornada infantil.
Vai e tente se libertar de vossa sina!
Com essa atitude é que você se torna mais vil,
e a sua arrogancia se  refina;
  
vai e continue com as vossas palavras de afronta -
 serei mais forte no final desta jornada,
pois é para ti mesmo que vossa cova aprontas
e cada vez menor se torna vossa estrada.
  
Vai e se  sacie com vossa injustiça!
Vou mostrar porque ainda estou vivo.
É em vossa gargalhada que atiço a minha ira,
e a vingança é de minha vida unico motivo...
  
vai e chora vossas magoas,
vai e saborei vossa falência.
E aos poucos, enquanto morres em tuas lágrimas,
Faz de vossa morte minha única recompensa.

An excerpt from one of my latest stories: Haunted, a tale about death, madmen, and other symbols of love.

It all started with a gun to the face.
A bullet to be more precise.
I don’t know calibers.
But, it was a big one.


The End.


I stood over his corpse.
He was not a pretty one.
Not that I had ever met a pretty corpse.
You understand.
It was the polite thing to say: You’re not a pretty corpse.  
I realized that I hadn’t said it aloud.
You aren’t a pretty corpse. He didn’t seem to care. He didn’t move or blush or anything.
I looked around. No one had heard me. I felt embarrassed anyway.  
I blushed.


I coughed and no sound escaped.
Sheepishly, I looked around the room. It was an ordinary room. Ordinary wallpaper with an ordinary design and ordinary peeling edges. Ordinary furniture with ordinary dust and just a bit off center. Ordinary blood splatter, brains and viscera glistening. Ordinary corpse, it really was quite ordinary. Boring to be honest.
Just the sort of place where I would throw a party.


The corpse hadn't exactly dressed up for the affair, far from dapper. I would say he was unremarkable in life and merely pathetic in death. His suit was too large, frumpy even. It had patches everywhere except where it might be considered fashionable. His hair (what was left attached to the skull) was thin and reedy like straw. I could not make out his face because it was no longer there. Technically it was there and there and there. It was technically everywhere: on the walls, the floor, the carpet.
Oh
The carpet looked ordinary too.


Not knowing what the polite thing to say would be I said the only thing I could think:
Nice face painting. I nodded.
It seemed the right thing to say. Given the circumstances.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

So, back in a day, I was taught to write down poetry that isn't yours so that you can learn from it. Find out what makes it tick and be better for it. I doubt my teacher thought this would be one way of doing it...but fuck it! Digital age for life!
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


Athena's a Wicked Little Imp, Trying Zeus' Patience till he falls on His Face

Athena.
Child princess of the mind
Whose mind?
Well, mine, I suppose.
Whose mind?
Well, yours, I suppose.
Now, that I think about it.
My mind?
Well, yes, I suppose.
In point of fact, it's yours.
Why?
Well now, I suppose,
All that I possess is yours.
There isn't a single thing
that I would keep from you.
My body is my mind:
My hair as it flecks my pate is mind;
My skin, as it bakes in heaven's ovens is mind;
My wealth, which is but little else but mind, is mind;
My teeth--for nibling, nails--for tickling,
My face--for petting, lips--for kissing,
My laugh--for joying, wit--for playing.
In sum and total allowance
Is all for you and you,
My daughter, my self, my dear, sweet girl.
Why?

Only children silence gods.