Buoyantville

Fom “Conversation with a Tax Inspector about Poetry” - Vladimir Mayakovsky

aqss — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 17:58:46 GMT

Citizen tax collector,honestly, the poetspends a fortune on words…Supposeonly half a dozenunheard-of rhymes were left,in, say, Venezuela.And soI’m drawnto North and South.I rush aroundentangled in advances and loans.

Citizen!Consider my traveling expenses:Poetry –all of it –is a journey to the unknown.

(Trans. from Russian by Max Hayward, George Reavey)

The Wreck - Don Paterson

aqss — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 04:14:01 GMT

But what lovers we were, what lover,Even when it was all over -

the deadweight bull-black wines we swungtowards each other rang and rang

like bells of blood, our own great hearts.We slung the drunk boat out of port

and watched our unreal sober lifeunmoor, a continent of grief;

The candlelight strange on our faceslike the silent tiny blazes

And coruscations of its wars.We blew them out and took the stairs

Into the night for the night's work,stripped off in the timbered dark,

Gently hooked each other onlike aqualungs, and thundered down

To mine our lovely secret wreck.We surfaced later, breathless, back

To back, then made our way aloneup the mined beach of the dawn.

Corona - Paul Celan

aqss — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 16:07:57 GMT

Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:then time returns to the shell.

In the mirror it’s Sunday,in dream there is room for sleeping,our mouths speak the truth.

My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:we look at each other,we exchange dark words,we love each other like poppy and recollection,we sleep like wine in the conches,like the sea in the moon’s blood ray.

We stand by the window embracing, and peoplelook up from the street:it is time they knew!It is time the stone made an effort to flower,time unrest had a beating heart.It is time it were time.

It is time.

Translated from German by Michael Hamburger