Posts tagged ‘1991’

Sunday, 16 June 2019

Poem Reaching For Something by Quincy Thomas Troupe, Junior

we walk through a calligraphy of hats slicing off foreheads
ace-deuce cocked, they slant, razor sharp, clean through imagination, our
spirits knee-deep in what we have forgotten entrancing our bodies now to
dance, like enraptured water lilies
the rhythm in liquid strides of certain looks
eyeballs rippling through breezes
riffing choirs of trees, where a trillion slivers of sunlight prance across
filigreeing leaves, a zillion voices of bamboo reeds, green with summer
saxophone bursts, wrap themselves, like transparent prisms of dew drops
around images, laced with pearls & rhinestones, dreams
& perhaps it is through this decoding of syllables that we learn speech
that sonorous river of broken mirrors carrying our dreams
assaulted by pellets of raindrops, prisons of words entrapping us
between parentheses — two bat wings curving cynical smiles
still, there is something here, that, perhaps, needs explaining
beyond the hopelessness of miles, the light at the end of a midnight tunnel —
where some say a speeding train is bulleting right at us ——
so where do the tumbling words spend themselves after they have spent
all meaning residing in the warehouse of language, after they have slipped
from our lips, like skiers on ice slopes, strung together words linking
themselves through smoke, where do the symbols they carry
stop everything, put down roots, cleanse themselves of everything
but clarity —— though here eye might be asking a little too much of any
poet’s head, full as it were with double-entendres.

From: https://www.lacan.com/frameIII5.htm

Date: 1991

By: Quincy Thomas Troupe, Junior (1939- )

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Friday, 7 June 2019

Extemporaneous by Betsugen Enshi

The courtyard is so lonely in autumn rain
that I open the window and gaze all day at the peak.
From the beginning of the world my two eyes
have been fixed to those mile-high pines on top.

From: Carter, Steven D. (ed. and transl.), Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology, 1991, Stanford University Press: Stanford, California, p. 271.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=dq7TOrkTCP0C)

Date: 14th century (original in Japanese); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Betsugen Enshi (1294-1364)

Translated by: Steven D. Carter (19??- )

Saturday, 11 May 2019

Mansize by Maura Dooley

Now you aren’t here I find
myself ironing linen squares,
three by three, the way
my mother’s always done,
the steel tip steaming over your
blue initial. I, who resent
the very thought of this back-breaking
ritual, preferring radiator-dried
cottons, stiff as boards, any amount
of crease and crumple to this
soothing, time-snatching chore.

I never understood my father’s trick,
his spare for emergencies, but was glad
of its airing-cupboard comforts often enough:
burying my nose in it, drying my eyes
with it, staunching my blood with it,
stuffing my mouth with it. His expedience,
my mother’s weekly art, leaves me
forever flawed: rushing into newsagents
for Kleenex, rifling your pockets in the cinema,
falling on those cheap printed florals.

What I really want is Irish linen,
shaken out for me to sink my face in,
the shape and scent of you still warm
in it, your monogram in chainstitch
at the corner. Comforter, seducer, key witness
to it all, my neatly folded talisman,
my sweet flag of surrender.

From: https://anthonywilsonpoetry.com/2012/06/05/lifesaving-poems-ian-duhigs-from-the-irish-and-maura-dooleys-mansize/

Date: 1991

By: Maura Dooley (1957- )

Monday, 7 May 2018

Teaching the Ape to Write Poems by James Vincent Tate

They didn’t have much trouble
teaching the ape to write poems:
first they strapped him to the chair,
then tied the pencil around his hand
(the paper had already been nailed down).
Then Dr. Bluespire leaned over his shoulder
and whispered into his ear:
“You look like a god sitting there.
Why don’t you try writing something?”

From: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/teaching-ape-write-poems

Date: 1991

By: James Vincent Tate (1943-2015)

Saturday, 28 April 2018

I’m A Nobody by Bianor

I’m a nobody,
no one special,
a nothing —
yet even I am loved.
Even I am the master
of someone else’s soul.

From: Nystrom, Bradley P. (ed. and transl.), The Song of Eros: Ancient Greek Love Poems, 1991, Southern Illinois University Press: Carbondale, p. 20.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=f9nNuChxuREC)

Date: 1st century (original in Greek); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Bianor (1st century)

Translated by: Bradley P. Nystrom (19??-)

Friday, 6 April 2018

Laments by Fujiwara no Shunzei

How is it that ducks
are able to stay afloat
out on the water,
while I feel myself sinking
even here on the land?

From: Carter, Steven D. (ed. and transl.), Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology, 1991, Stanford University Press: Stanford, California, p. 150.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=dq7TOrkTCP0C)

Date: c1188 (original in Japanese); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Fujiwara no Shunzei (1114-1204)

Translated by: Steven D. Carter (19??- )

Wednesday, 20 September 2017

The Story from “The Epic of Gilgamesh” by Anonymous

of him who knew the most of all men know;
who made the journey; heartbroken; reconciled;

who knew the way things were before the Flood,
the secret things, the mystery; who went

to the end of the earth, and over; who returned,
and wrote the story on a tablet of stone.

He built Uruk. He built the keeping place
of Anu and Ishtar. The outer wall

shines in the sun like brightest copper; the inner
wall is beyond the imagining of kings.

Study the brickwork, study the fortification;
climb the great ancient staircase to the terrace;

study how it is made; from the terrace see
the planted and fallow fields, the ponds and orchards.

This is Uruk, the city of Gilgamesh
the Wild Ox, son of Lugalbanda, son

of the Lady Wildcow Ninsun, Gilgamesh
the vanguard and the rear guard of the army,

Shadow of Darkness over the enemy field,
the Web, the Flood that rises to wash away

the walls of alien cities, Gilgamesh
the strongest one of all, the perfect, the terror.

It is he who opened passes through the mountains;
and he who dug deep wells on the mountainsides;

who measured the world; and sought out Utnapishtim
beyond the world; it is he who restored the shrines;

two-thirds a god, one-third a man, the king.
Go to the temple of Anu and Ishtar:

open the copper chest with the iron locks;
the tablet of lapis lazuli tells the story.

From: Ferry, David, Gilgamesh: A New Rendering in English Verse, 1993, Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York, pp. 3-4.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=iTClBAAAQBAJ)

Date: c1200 BCE (original in Akkadian); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Anonymous

Translated by: David Ferry (1924- )

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

Wine is the Test for Love by Asclepiades of Samos

Wine is the test for love:
Nikagoras told us he loved no one,
but his many toasts betrayed him.
Oh yes! He bent his head and wept,
and then his wreath slipped,
half to cover the aching in those
sad dark eyes.

From: Nystrom, Bradley P. (transl.) and Little, Claudette Sherbert (ill.), The Song of Eros: Ancient Greek Love Poems, 2009, Southern Illinois University Press: Carbondale, p. 10.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=f9nNuChxuREC)

Date: c270 BCE (original in Greek); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Asclepiades of Samos (c320 BCE-c260 BCE)

Translated by: Bradley P. Nystrom (19??- )

Sunday, 4 June 2017

[Love’s Poverty] by Paulus Silentiarius

Locked in Hippomenes’ kisses,
my heart clings to Leander;

wet with Leander’s lips,
Xanthus leaps to mind;

lying with Xanthus,
who should I dream but Hippomenes!

One after another,
I love my lovers,

but in the arms of each,
long for others.

Say what you will of me,
I know nothing

of love’s poverty.

From: Hamill, Sam, The Infinite Moment: Poems from Ancient Greek, 1992, New Directions: New York, p. 80.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=uH5R8Ar1oscC)

Date: c550 (original in Greek); 1991 (translation in English)

By: Paulus Silentiarius (d. 575-580)

Translated by: Sam Hamill (1943- )

Sunday, 25 December 2016

Liquidity by Joan Austral Fraser (Amy Witting)

In a flurry of daylight, watercold, windy and sunny,
the tall liquidamber is dancing a daydream of money,
silver coins flashing among its rich copper and gold.
Ashputtel, put out your apron for riches untold,
for bicycles, skiboots and ponies, for ease and for glee,
a ruby ring shaped like a heart and a house by the sea,
deep drifts of carpet caressing, consoling the feet,
money in pocketfuls, handfuls to toss in the street,
to startle, to melt the set faces, to cure disbelief,
a bucketful set in the doorway to smile at the thief,
for mink coats and Volvos, for Christmas trees twenty feet tall
and loaded with presents, new shoes and warm blankets for all.
O plenty, o cartloads, o boatloads … The wind starts to die,
the little hands flutter a slow, ironic goodbye.

From: http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/witting-amy/liquidity-0051011

Date: 1991

By: Joan Austral Fraser (Amy Witting) (1918-2001)