Slow down on Hopper Street. Or Nogalitos Springfield Lawson Dereloc right. Make puddles roll. Cars lost in ditches. Photos couldn't capture the how. Fireworks for sale up and down endless rocking rivers of steel built up into cliffsides trailers and shacks you sleep their day and night. Buildings and Monterrey lost in fog we wandered. Thought there might be a way out. Obsession. Like you said on the phone, keep it. Miles of farm roads become forests become pseudo subdivision become wood. How it molds so carelessly how it sags and turns food for termites home for bees cockroaches. A four story construction made of plywood concrete scraps railing a balcony at the top above the mechanic shop at the front all of it threatens to slide into a ditch deeper than my body flowing faster than we drive. Up above a dream world above the trees and improbable longings. Children on new fresh from the package bikes in that brief window before they too will be on that junkpile over there already sinking. Omaigod. Bulky feathered browned bunches long legs thick necks heads poke out of the cyclone fence. Stop the car. Heads rock and sway to whistling as the entire family gathers. Emu females emit eggs then the males over them while the females go on fucking. Males collecting eggs warm. Horses by tree houses by bright blue metal fencing. Run down wood house behind a two story brick wall fit for San Pedro Garza García arcos y ladrillos pedazos de alambre puestos entre los arcos para que no entren los ladrones. Call your City Council trash like waves of deliberation. Is this isolated enough? Stopped because of the pine, no a pond, dark and slimy back in the new woods. Discount. Abandoned. Nowhere to go but down down down into the rain and fog and moisture and slime and rot. A lost wood. Don't step in to lift it up. Floodwaters rise as a New Year dawns. The cracks on the side of the asphalt as slippage. The open wood door has metal grates orange glass the floor inside slopes down then on the other side of that doorway surges violently up. Thought a scream came from inside, just you with green leaves fourteen points on each one a node tiny air roots shooting out crying for nourishment. Ripped out to make home.
La traducción chupa...
Estaba leyendo el ahora difunto blog en inglés (The Tijuana Bible of Poetics) de Heriberto Yepez. Aquí dos citas de un post de 2003:
Translators should permanently work the other way around they normally do. Not to continue using their knowledge of another language and culture to completely change them into their own linguistic and cultural codes.
...
You wanna learn another language? Write in it—instead of just using second languages to keep your original language sharp and well fed. You're never going to learn another language. That's the beauty: to never forget other cultures are different from us, and we can never, and should never overpower them.
Me encantan los "errores" del inglés. Me encanta que yo también tengo "errores" en español. Y los tendré para siempre. Y más vale aceptar que mis lectores que hablan el español como primer idioma van a ver mis errores y quizás reirse y quizás burlarse de mí. Y que está bien que lo hagan. Que allí reside una inversión de poder. Una inversión muy grata.
Si quieren leer el blog del Yepez está aquí.
Translators should permanently work the other way around they normally do. Not to continue using their knowledge of another language and culture to completely change them into their own linguistic and cultural codes.
...
You wanna learn another language? Write in it—instead of just using second languages to keep your original language sharp and well fed. You're never going to learn another language. That's the beauty: to never forget other cultures are different from us, and we can never, and should never overpower them.
Me encantan los "errores" del inglés. Me encanta que yo también tengo "errores" en español. Y los tendré para siempre. Y más vale aceptar que mis lectores que hablan el español como primer idioma van a ver mis errores y quizás reirse y quizás burlarse de mí. Y que está bien que lo hagan. Que allí reside una inversión de poder. Una inversión muy grata.
Si quieren leer el blog del Yepez está aquí.
Language makes tracks.
I suppose I had always hoped that, through an act of will and an effort of practice, I might be someone else, might alter my personality and even my appearance, that I might in fact create myself, but instead I found myself trapped in the very character which made such a thought possible and such a wish mine.
Sirens an emergency far away that I will never then knew. Statement made my story. Arguments undermined it but brought up water.
We have a come a long way from what we actually felt.
Middle school library light, the magazine racks and the stacks. The light moving slowly up the wall in a recent story. Shouting nuns. Honduran refugees were on the Gulf Coast a long time before rooftops.
Realism, if it addresses the real, is inexhaustible.
Flaking paint on long rusted metal boxes. Fog lingered for days, made weather that called for taking jackets off, for carrying crumpled plastic and sweet musty gray material on forearm. The old man did not wave to you as the garbage men would come for the palm fronds. Obviously no one has swept in ages. Does the wind make those trees bend like that. Or did they cut them that way.
Language makes tracks.
Stuck, objectified, you hauled your ill-gotten prey through the wood and left stained-glass shadows. The word knew it was too serious for pigeons, for porn. The Victorian period is not past. Love between men is simply civilized, provokingly back into the bush. This wood that makes me feel so comfortable. Your balconies. The ice cream truck. A lack of dust. The curtains were made to block the sun. Pots of gumbo served with jalapeños, tabasco and Korea. If ever belief, then the cornice pieces the new colors invisible to these Daltonic eyes the sky blue isolated from roof lines, palm trees, rocks make out a torso lures passersby into the dirt where long worm tails hid from the coffee and goats. Imagine: the light did not wake me!
Imagine: never to be unintelligible!
"How am I to choose between all the subjects I have remembered because they once seemed beautiful to me, now that I feel much the same about them all," he answered.
Quotes from My Life, Lyn Hejinian: 47-8, 51, 101, 60, 66, 73.
Sirens an emergency far away that I will never then knew. Statement made my story. Arguments undermined it but brought up water.
We have a come a long way from what we actually felt.
Middle school library light, the magazine racks and the stacks. The light moving slowly up the wall in a recent story. Shouting nuns. Honduran refugees were on the Gulf Coast a long time before rooftops.
Realism, if it addresses the real, is inexhaustible.
Flaking paint on long rusted metal boxes. Fog lingered for days, made weather that called for taking jackets off, for carrying crumpled plastic and sweet musty gray material on forearm. The old man did not wave to you as the garbage men would come for the palm fronds. Obviously no one has swept in ages. Does the wind make those trees bend like that. Or did they cut them that way.
Language makes tracks.
Stuck, objectified, you hauled your ill-gotten prey through the wood and left stained-glass shadows. The word knew it was too serious for pigeons, for porn. The Victorian period is not past. Love between men is simply civilized, provokingly back into the bush. This wood that makes me feel so comfortable. Your balconies. The ice cream truck. A lack of dust. The curtains were made to block the sun. Pots of gumbo served with jalapeños, tabasco and Korea. If ever belief, then the cornice pieces the new colors invisible to these Daltonic eyes the sky blue isolated from roof lines, palm trees, rocks make out a torso lures passersby into the dirt where long worm tails hid from the coffee and goats. Imagine: the light did not wake me!
Imagine: never to be unintelligible!
"How am I to choose between all the subjects I have remembered because they once seemed beautiful to me, now that I feel much the same about them all," he answered.
Quotes from My Life, Lyn Hejinian: 47-8, 51, 101, 60, 66, 73.
Me too neither.
Fog from my mouth made into creamsickles on treecorners an imagined course of sinewy air a turn left across lane markings into the emptiness of gray and cross traintracks smiles and courses winter ornaments glistening metallic garlands metal red bronze and silver. Knelt down bending smiling through ache ¿Por qué no escribes le dije? No sé. ¿Sabes el nombre del lugar de dónde vienes? No. Sin embargo de alguna manera montastes esos caballos los de tu abuelo y el rancho donde vivías ya me hiciste imaginar como fue the first time you wrote more than a few lines. Made my eyes opened despite without to want wanting. Outside again the fog lifted midwinter heat wave again. Old wellstructured architectural hairstyle aunts of our fifties wander in the trailer park of pecans. ¿Viniste de quién sabe dónde para estar aquí? Me too. Illegal radio blares as Juanita's flashes by Doña Vicki's light turns as railroad tracks again. Dan said it's Christmas and the investigation took six months. What's six months and two days? The little girl and her sign, but it's not her birthday, es Navidad. The Flores, the new place, La Dinner Bell light changes and through to the tan orange brick. On to mingling awkward a ways away from winning make the time pass macaroni con verguenza, squash casserole with a side of damn never told you chilangolandía was next door to the mystery farm, huh? Now you no. Anyway, in the wood panels on the floor tiny shards around a small woman's screaming image, but nothing to do to rescue her. Laziness incapacity unknowing. Coral reefs bright orange red yellow steel flowers to break car windows policelady does nothing merging eyeballs and dissappearing shadows projected through wispy white doily cloth hanging blue cushions scare off resters. Am I part of the art? Let me out. I-59 north then to I-10 east made all the sense of exits and run down wood gray wood house stuck beauty tragic lustfully between feeder road and that bald head's BMW. Your mofongo made my heart sing, cachai? Your motorcycles dreamed of you before you could see. So safe there with your little wooden love book. Do you know the town you came from? Me neither.
U know yr a nerd when...
as soon as you finish classes (and after a little too tired partying) (and before a little too tired partying), you run off to the library to get the list you've been making all semester of books you really want to read:
My Life - Lyn Hejinian
Lost in the City - Edward P. Jones
Señas de identidad - Juan Goytisolo
A Journey Through Texas - Frederick Law Olmsted
If This Be Treason: Translation and its Discontents - Gregory Rabassa
Telling Tales - Ed. Nadine Gordimer
Gringos in Mexico - Ed. Edward Simmen
The Last Known Residence of Mickey Acuña - Dagoberto Gilb
Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits - Laila Lalami
U know yr a nerd when you look down and think dreamily, That's me in a slice of time. That's me.
My Life - Lyn Hejinian
Lost in the City - Edward P. Jones
Señas de identidad - Juan Goytisolo
A Journey Through Texas - Frederick Law Olmsted
If This Be Treason: Translation and its Discontents - Gregory Rabassa
Telling Tales - Ed. Nadine Gordimer
Gringos in Mexico - Ed. Edward Simmen
The Last Known Residence of Mickey Acuña - Dagoberto Gilb
Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits - Laila Lalami
U know yr a nerd when you look down and think dreamily, That's me in a slice of time. That's me.
Si'po, ¡se murió el viejo! ¡Feliz día weón!
Fue un desgraciado, ¿cachai? Hay que celebrar aunque muera sin haber sido castigado...
Las celebraciones en Santiago.
Las celebraciones en Santiago.Turn off your cell phones!
Cell phones can also be used to spy on you. The FBI appears to have begun using a novel form of electronic surveillance in criminal investigations: remotely activating a mobile phone's microphone and using it to eavesdrop on nearby conversations.
The technique is called a "roving bug," and was approved by top U.S. Department of Justice officials for use against members of a New York organized crime family who were wary of conventional surveillance techniques such as tailing a suspect or wiretapping him.
Nextel cell phones owned by two alleged mobsters, John Ardito and his attorney, Peter Peluso, were used by the FBI to listen in on nearby conversations. The surveillance technique came to light in an opinion published this week by U.S. District Judge Lewis Kaplan. He ruled that the "roving bug" was legal because federal wiretapping law is broad enough to permit eavesdropping even on conversations that take place near a suspect's cell phone.
- From NY Times
A cambiar
Parece que voy a tener que usar exclusivamente el español en este pinche blog, porque mi familia lo ha encontrado y ahora me quieren hablar del blog todo el tiempo. Así que mejor el español, pero lo más feo es que creo que pueden leer en español lo suficiente para entender lo que escribo. Qué lastima. Tendré que aprender otro idioma, algo menos ententible para el anglo-hablante. No sé, a ver si Blogger funciona en ruso o arabe o algo así. Y a ver si lo aprendo rapidito para que ya no me lean tanto. Qué verguenza.
Save Ourselves
Sometimes I tell myself that it takes a disaster, maybe even a military defeat, to wake up America and allow us to save ourselves or what remains of us.
- William Faulkner in a letter to a friend, June 12, 1955
- William Faulkner in a letter to a friend, June 12, 1955
Tis the Season
Estoy un poco en contra de todos, pero la belleza viva que pulsan mis manos me conforta de todos los sinsaberes. Y teniendo conflictos de sentimientos muy graves y estando transido de amor, de suciedad, de cosas feas, tengo y sigo mi norma de alegría a toda costa. No quiero que me venzan.
- Federico García Lorca en una carta del otoño de 1928 a Jorge Zalamea (unos meses antes de su partida a Estados Unidos)
- Federico García Lorca en una carta del otoño de 1928 a Jorge Zalamea (unos meses antes de su partida a Estados Unidos)
Colors
What you made is light green flowers blue gray stones white tipped purple black striped feathers yellow broccoli chartreuse pine cones. Hunting around abandoned houses as the first Northern wind blew through wood covers windows eucalyptus plants too overgrown to unearth and stuff in the trunk. Found oxblood bulbs poking out for fall. Stole them and planted them ready for oversummering and next fall explosions. You made colors for the first time like universe taking mercy on colorblind dreamers.
En la biblioteca
Scanning for PQ6578 or GT7001, leaned over to see the lowest rung of the shelves, searching for that last book on my list for the evening. Bent over with my back, sprung back up, fast in a great arc and momentarily saw a Book on the shelves:
Eyes flip frantically across spines. Where did that cross my vision? Lost by now. The Book already gone, disappeared.
The Present Will Last a Very Long Time
Eyes flip frantically across spines. Where did that cross my vision? Lost by now. The Book already gone, disappeared.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)