Day 16 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2013

Day 16 of National Poetry Month. Rather than say anything cool and hip about the number 16, I'd just like to talk for a moment about the bombing at the Boston marathon yesterday. My heart goes out to the injured and to the families of those who were killed. I am sorry for your pain and for your loss. Too bad that such a normally joyous occasion has been marred by this awful act. From Poetic Asides we have Robert Lee Brewer's "Two-for-Tuesday" prompt: "a possible poem" and/or "an impossible poem." In the NaPoWriMo site, we have Maureen Thorson's suggestion "to write a 'translation' of a poem in a language you don’t actually know. . . . use the sound and shape of the [original poem's] words and lines to guide you, without worrying too much about whether your translation makes sense. . . . Once you have your rough 'translation,' you could leave it at that, or continue to shape the poem." I have heard the products of such naive "translation" called translitic poetry. To write a translitic, I chose the Afrikaans poem "Toemaar Die Donker Man" by Ingrid Jonker (1963) from Poetry International. In my Poetry Workshop today, we played with this text to produce translitics. Here's what I ended up with, on the right below. Kinda fun, playful. I considered titling it "Impossible Poem" to get Robert's prompt in there, but I thought that might be in bad faith. So we're all Maureen today. Toemaar Die Donker Man vir Simone Op die groen voetpad van die horison ver om die aarde skat, stap 'n ou man wat 'n oop maan dra in sy hare Nagtegaal in sy hart jasmyn gepluk vir sy oop knoopsgat en 'n rug gebuk aan sy jare. Wat maak hy, mammie? Hy roep die kriekies Hy roep die swart stilte wat sing soos die biesies, my hart en die sterre wat klop tok-tok liefling, soos die klein toktokkies in hul fyn-ver kring. Wat is sy naam, mammie? Sy naam is Sjuut Sy naam is Slaap Meneer Vergeet uit die land van Vaak Sy naam is toe maar hy heet, my lam Toe maar, die donker man Mammie . . . Toe maar, die donker man by Ingrid Jonker (1963)                 Tamara, the Thank-You Mom for Simone Over the green boat pad, when the horizon’s pure and the hardy skate, stepping under the moon, white. Knife-men drive in ice shared, entangled in ice heart, Just men, gay plucked, for ice in knife-gate and rage bikes against ice jewels. What makes you high, Mommy? “Hey, rap the crikeys. Hey, rap the sweet style with song.” says she, buzzing, my heart in the staring white clipped tick-tock leaf-fling, says the clean tick-tockeys in whole finery, crooning. What is thy name, Mommy? Thy name is Shoot. Thy name is Sleep. My near fire gate, out the line, vain Vox. Thy name is Tamara. My heat, my lamb. Tamara, the Thank-You Mom. Mommy . . . Tamara, the Thank-You Mom. Naive "Translation" or Translitic by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Here is Ingrid Jonker's poem again with the real published English translation, once more from Poetry International. It's interesting to compare the actual translation with my translitic and how I got lucky with some words and was way off on others. It's all for fun, though, right? Ingrid Jonker, apologies for messing about with your poem. I hope, wherever you are, if you should happen to see this, that you'll agree it's all in good fun. Thanks for your lovely poem. Toemaar Die Donker Man vir Simone Op die groen voetpad van die horison ver om die aarde skat, stap 'n ou man wat 'n oop maan dra in sy hare Nagtegaal in sy hart jasmyn gepluk vir sy oop knoopsgat en 'n rug gebuk aan sy jare. Wat maak hy, mammie? Hy roep die kriekies Hy roep die swart stilte wat sing soos die biesies, my hart en die sterre wat klop tok-tok liefling, soos die klein toktokkies in hul fyn-ver kring. Wat is sy naam, mammie? Sy naam is Sjuut Sy naam is Slaap Meneer Vergeet uit die land van Vaak Sy naam is toe maar hy heet, my lam Toe maar, die donker man Mammie . . . Toe maar, die donker man by Ingrid Jonker (1963)                 Hush Now, The Darkling Man for Simone On the green footpath of the horizon far around the earth little one, an old man trudges who wears an open moon in his hair Nightingale in his heart jasmin plucked for his buttonhole and a back bowed down by his years. What’s he doing, mummy? He calls the crickets He calls the black silence that sings like the rushes, my sweet and the stars which throb knock-knock my love, like the tiny little beetles in their thin far ring. What’s his name, mummy? His name is Hush His name is Sleep Mister Forget from the Land of Dream His name is hush he’s called, my sweet Hush now, the darkling man Mummy. . . Hush now, the darkling man Translation by Antjie Krog & André Brink (2007) That's all for today, everyone. I hope you'll comment below, please. Look for a blue link that says "Post a comment"; if you don't see that, look in the red line that says "Posted by" and click on the word "comments." Ingat, friends.   ;-) POEM-A-DAY 2013 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30