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George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard from, “The Return of the Exile.” [ID in alt text]

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The headline here at Poetry Northwest is misleading. I think “On the Juniculum, January 7, 2012” is original work by Kirchway. He writes that his sonnet about Rome is an “indirect” translation of one by Wordsworth about London.

“and what is left, on a winter afternoon, / is a feeling of joy so closely followed by grief / you might almost miss / the moment of tenderness in which both resolve, / as if toward something vulnerable.”

— Giovanni Giudici, tr. by Karl Kirchwey, from “On The Juniculum,” (via metrosouthern)

#Karl kirchwey #on the juniculm January 7 2012

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George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard from, “The Return of the Exile.” [ID in alt text]

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“But to say what you want to say you must create another language and nourish it for years & years with what you have loved, with what you have lost, and with what you will never find again.”

— George Sefaris 

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“One of the most solid pieces of writing advice I know is in fact intended for dancers – you can find it in the choreographer Martha Graham’s biography. But it relaxes me in front of my laptop the same way I imagine it might induce a young dancer to breathe deeply and wiggle their fingers and toes. Graham writes: ‘There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.’”

— Zadie Smith (via campaignagainstcliche)

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rain

page from a collection of fables ("cyrillusfabeln") by ulrich von pottenstein, vienna (?), c. 1457

source: Munich, BSB, Cgm 340, fol. 97v

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'Hachinohe-Same' (1933) by Kawase Hasui (Japanese, 1883–1957).

Published by Watanabe Shôzaburô.

Woodblock print.

Image and text information courtesy MFA Boston.

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Kate Tempest. ‘Running Upon The Wires’.

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#Youtube

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Mrs Schofield’s GCSE

The Poem Carol Ann Duffy penned in response to her work being removed from a GCSE curriculum.

You must prepare your bosom for his knife, 

said Portia to Antonio in which

of Shakespeare’s Comedies?  Who killed his wife,

insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch

knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said

Is this a dagger which I see?  Which Tragedy?

Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt’s death?

To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark – do you

know what this means?  Explain how poetry 

pursues the human like the smitten moon

above the weeping, laughing earth; how we

make prayers of it.  Nothing will come of nothing;

speak again.  Said by which King?  You may begin.

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Bertha Ridley Bell

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Poetry Foundation

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Today’s poetry month poem is by the great poet Anne Carson, from her first book SHORT TALKS, from @brick.books

Carson has done monumental work since — I love her translation of Sappho — but I have a spot in my heart for her earliest, most accessible book, 40-odd strange, diamond clear prose lectures. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-nkLP8AOUW/?igshid=13215eish32br

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Since all your steps were taken, and you’d set off for death, with your hobnails on Ben Narnain walking the kyleside shingle; since you knew since you were little that you’d return to this young life in death – to the ship’s cradles, the Greenock hills, the high tenement, your mother’s voice, your father singing, Alastair’s homing memory – you came calmly, puffing light on the page, to speak for the other side (like an Airlie or a Reid) fine-tuning your small self, the one you grieved all your life. Clydeside clad, you stepped with ease, not minding yourself on the way, a steady pace, then stopped – out of the flood – to speak to us, first from the tall tenement of poetry, then off on a ship down the upper Clyde, and onto a steamer on the Firth of Forth, you carried us, Makar W.S. – your light lit, your heart light – all the way down to the love-signed sea, still William Sydney who married Agnes Nessie, then you stood stock still to listen to your father singing the Bonny Earl o’ Moray; a boy once more who learnt the lessons early – that those who hurt you most, you love most dearly.

Jackie Kay

Copyright © Jackie Kay, 2018. All rights reserved.

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Click for sound.  She’s lovely.

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–Edna St. Vincent Millay