Sunday, October 25, 2009

Salon Customer Thank You Letters

Reimenator


Reimenator

Sun kann ich es am besten sagen....
--

Ist ein Thema im TV, Radio,
Zeitung oder gar Broschüren,
die zum berichten gar verführen,
sehr interessant, oder gar grell,
wenn’s für mich erscheint, aktuell,
will ich gern davon berichten,
ganz schnell, in kleinen Versen
und Gedichten. So kann ich es
am besten hier euch „sagen“ und
manch ein Thema, ist sogar dann
viel, viel besser so zu ertragen.
©
khvhh
--
Mit netten Grüßen, kuddel_hh. ~~))))))" °>
===============================
REIMENATOR
****************

Responsible according to § 10 paragraph 3 content:
khvhh Disclaimer:
over, despite careful checking, I do not

liability for the content of external links.
This applies to all of my BLOG!
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solely responsible

Friday, October 2, 2009

Jon Cryer Salary Per Episode 2009



It is a great privilege to have a poem given such close and thoughtful reading: thank you. I am especially pleased that you chose 'Prefabs': I think the sounds and rhythms of the translated versions convey the mood of the poem really effectively. It was a pleasure to be in email contact with Julie concerning a particularly compressed phrase in the poem. Although not fluent myself, I find the similarities and differences between the three translations fascinating, and look forward to discussing them with German speaking friends.


Thanks and best wishes to all the translators
Emily

Saturday, September 26, 2009

White Line Above Eyebrows From Waxing



My German is fairly basic, & I can't tell all the nuances where the translators have chosen different words for the same thing. But it's so interesting to see how the translations differ, and what the issues are for any translation. I'm very honoured to have had you all paying such close attention to the poem (and pleased that you chose Powerpoint, which I'm very fond of). And I hope we can get an event going next year.
Ruth Valentine

Monday, September 21, 2009

Shingles And Hair Dye



I'm fascinated by this work. In particular I congratulate the translators; my poem, with its "litany" of names which have a mystery and a romance even to English readers, must I imagine, have been a curious challenge! It is an honour for me to have my work so carefully considered, and I hope the process has been useful from the students' point of view.
.
Seán Street

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Dr.. Suess Thing 2 Sweatshirt




Emily Wills wuchs in Cornwall auf, arbeitete in Malawi und lebt nun in Gloucestershire, wo sie Teilzeit als Ärztin arbeitet. Ihre erste Gedichtsammlung, Diverting the Sea , wurde 2000, ihre zweite, Developing the Negative , 2008 von Rialto veröffentlicht. Ihre Gedichte erschienen unter anderem in Zeitschriften wie Anon, Iota, The Frogmore Papers, Magma, Seam, Smiths Knoll, Other Poetry, Quattrocento sowie in den Anthologien Reactions 2 und 3 (Published by the University of East Anglia). Emily Wills' Something Almost Being Said was praised in the Troubadour Poetry Competition 2008 very much. She is also an experienced lecturer and poetry workshops supported poet since 2002. keep

Julia Offermann




prefabricated houses built for twenty years,
such as peace, they thought?
such as marriage?
fighters and bombs were fused
for roof and walls. Patiently
dragging several years, pinkumrandete
wallpaper, carpets, trellises, lawn
. All night shelling
their furrowed breastfeeding by
the blackout protective rain.

fifty years and privet thick
such as cottage walls. The shed blossoms in dark
more sticks of tobacco tins,
his treasure, his smell. She loves
the cucumber flowers to pollinate,
those pale summer messengers
gently with a soft brush,
.

limited time, as you stay
their sudden departure. You look back,
see through masks of wire
and spines, machine, smoke, sirens
. You have all seen
, rigid load loose
windows, torn pink paper,
exposed to the rain, scattered crushed poppies
on uncut grass.

return is permanent. Something new;
red brick, thatched roof, built to keep peace as

such as marriage.
with beautiful garden and a shed without
they sit, they sleep,
destroyed by such isolated
guarantees, such awareness to fitted kitchen,
such a quiet, peaceful rain.

Translated by Miriam Bross




prefabricated houses built to hold twenty years
such a peace, they thought -
like a marriage -
warplanes and bombs were fused
for roofs and walls. Resistant, they breed
Multi-year, nelkengesäumte
Tapeten, Teppiche, Spaliere,
Grünflächen. Jede Nacht bombardiert
der Schwärze schützende Regen
ihr geharktes Schweigen.

Fünfzig Jahre, und Liguster dick
wie Häuserwände. Der Schuppen blüht vor
dunklen Türmen von Tabakdosen,
seinem Vorrat, seinem Geruch. Sie liebt es,
die Gurkenblüten zu befruchten,
die blaß den Sommer einläuten,
mit einer weichen Bürste,
liebevoll.

Vorübergehend wie ihr Aufenthalt
ihr plötzlicher Aufbruch. Zurückblickend
sehen sie durch Drahtmasken
und Stacheldraht, Maschinen, Rauch,
Sirenen. Sie haben anything ever seen
, unstirred, lidless
windows, torn pink paper
to give the rain, trampled poppy
scattered in the uncut grass.

The success is permanent. Something new: to maintain
red brick, tiled roof built like a peace

like a marriage.
fitted into the landscape and without crate
they sit, to sleep,
destroyed by such isolated by
guarantees, such Einbauküchelei,
such a quiet, gentle rain.

Translated by Julia Offermann


prefabricated houses

keep built by twenty years,
such as peace, they thought
-like marriage-
fighters and bombs were fused
for roof and walls. Neutral
pull it several years, pink edged
wallpaper, carpets, trellises, lawn
. All night
protects the darkening rain pelting their corrugated
breastfeeding.

Fifty years and privet close
such as cottage walls. The cultivation of flowers
dark buildings of tobacco tins,
his treasure, his smell. She loves
the cucumber flowers to pollinate,
those pale summer starts,
gently with a soft brush,
.

temporarily as their existence
their sudden Departure. Looking back
they observe by masks made of wire and barbed
, machine, smoke, sirens
. They have everything you ever seen
, bare vigilant
window, pink wallpaper torn from the rain, trampled
poppies scattered on
uncut grass.

The return continues. Something new,
red brick, tiled roof, built to last

such as peace, such as marriage.
landscape design and without scales
they are, they sleep,
destroyed by such isolated
collateral, such built-in kitchen unit
such a quiet, peaceful rain.

Translated by Julie Winter

What Do They Measure On Thyroid Ultrasound




Emily Wills grew up in Cornwall, worked in Malawi, and now lives in Gloucestershire, where she works part time as a GP. Her first collection, Diverting the Sea , was published in 2000 by Rialto, her second, Developing the Negative , was published in November 2008, also by Rialto. Her poems have appeared in magazines including Anon, Iota, The Frogmore Papers, Magma, Seam, Smiths Knoll, Other Poetry, Quattrocento and also in the anthologies Reactions 2 and 3 , published by UEA; 'Something Almost Being Said' was commended in the 2008 Troubadour Poetry Competition. Additionally, Emily Wills is an experienced poetry tutor and enjoys facilitating group workshops since 2002.

Prefabs

Built to last twenty years,
like peace, they thought—
like marriage—fighter planes
and bombs were melted down
for roof and walls. Enduring,
they grow perennials, pink-bordered
wallpaper, carpets, trellis,
lawns. All night the blackout
sheltering rain gunfires
their corrugated silences.

Fifty years, and privet thick
as cottage walls. The lean-to blooms
dark multistories of tobacco tins,
his hoard, his smell. She loves
to pollinate the cucumber flowers,
those pale, summer openings,
with a soft brush,
tenderly.

Temporary as their stay,
their sudden leaving. Looking back,
they watch through masks of wire
and barb, machines, smoke,
sirens. They’ve seen it all
before, unblinking lidless
windows, rosy paper torn
open to rain, trodden poppies
littering unmown grass.

Return is permanent. Something new;
red brick, roof tiled, built to last
like peace
like marriage.
Landscaped and without a shed
they sit, they sleep,
demolished by such insulated
guarantees, such fitted kitchenness
such silent, silent rain.

in collection Diverting the Sea , 2000,
Rialto,

What Trade Symbol To Use When Buying Oil




Ruth Valentine has a separate collection, The Tide Table (Slow Dancer, 1998) and published three works. The last one is The Announced (Sylph Editions, 2009) Ellipsis in I, a book in three parts with Flash Fiction by Frances Gapper and short stories by Bethan Stevens. Their next release will On the Salt Marsh (Editions la Serre) type with woodcuts by Garry Kennard. She lives in Tottenham, north London.

Christoph Hueber



Powerpoint

I have circled the planet.
to the golden land of my forefathers,
the Ark on their holy mountain,
I saw the inside of a cloth bag
put over my head, on my hands and ankles
a steel concert, blood, the refusal of the limbs.
Oh, my grandfather in the palaces of the Emperor!

I was between the continents
like roses shipped from Colombia, half-frozen packaged
hidden layers above the clouds.
Calculate the weight of my soul in transport miles, air fields, stars.

Where I was unloaded, it was the Same
in tropical heat or cold, in haubengedimmten light
whitewashed walls, in airport lounges,
the guards, trained
by the same pin-striped men, in seminar rooms
I'm trying to picture; Power Point images,
role play, perhaps, with laughter, or
demonstration of a doll, sewn in India or Taiwan.
your Jutehaut my complexion, my scars.

Translated by Chris Hueber

Powerpoint

I orbited the Earth
above the sand-colored land of my ancestors,
the Ark on their holy mountain, I saw
das Innere eines Baumwollsacks
über meinen Kopf gezerrt; an meinen Handgelenken und Fußknöcheln
Erschütterungen von Stahl, Blut, und die Verweigerung meiner Glieder.
Ach, mein Großvater in den Palästen des Kaisers!

Ich wurde verfrachtet von Kontinent zu Kontinent
ähnlich kolumbianischer Rosen, halbgefroren verpackt,
verborgen über den Wolkenschichten. Errechne
das Gewicht meiner Seele in Food Miles, Flugplätzen, Sternen.

Wo immer ich entladen wurde, es war das Gleiche
in tropischer Hitze oder im Frost, im verdeckverzerrtem Licht
gespiegelt von gekalkten Wänden, in Hangars;
die Wärter trainiert
von den gleichen Nadelstreifenmännern, in Hörsälen,
die ich mir vorzustellen versuche: Powerpoint Bilder,
Rollenspiele womöglich, mit Gelächter, oder Simulation
an einem Mannequin genäht in Indien oder Taiwan,
dessen Haut aus Rupfen meine Farbe, meine Narben.

Übersetzt von Maria Luise Schlay



Powerpoint

Ich habe den Planet umrundet
Über dem goldbraunen Land meiner Ahnen,
die Bundeslade auf dem heiligen Berg,
ich habe das Innere eines Baumwollsacks gesehen
über den Kopf gestülpt; an den Handgelenken und Knöcheln
den Aufschlag vom Stahl und Blut gespürt, Bindungsversagen
Oh my grandfather in the emperor's palaces.

I was transported between continents
originating from Colombia as roses, packaged semi-frozen, over
secretly cloud cover. Calculate
the burden of my soul in Esswaren-mile, airports, stars.

Wherever I also I was unloaded, always the same
in tropical heat or frost, in the distorted light
whitewashed domes, in hangars;
the guards trained
by the same pin-stripe-bearing men, in auditoriums
I try to imagine Power Point images,
RPG perhaps laughter, or simulation
on a sewn in India or Taiwan Mannequin,
sein Gewebe aus Jute, meine Farbe, meine Narben.

Übersetzt von Aprilia Zank

Pattern Knitting Baby Papoose




Ruth Valentine has published one full-length collection, The Tide Table (Slow Dancer, 1998) and three pamphlets. The latest is The Announced (Sylph Editions, 2009) in Ellipsis 1, a book in three parts, with flash fiction from Frances Gapper and short stories by Bethan Stevens. Ruth’s next publication will be On the Saltmarsh (Editions la Serre) with woodcuts by Garry Kennard. She lives in Tottenham, North London.

Christoph Hueber


Powerpoint

I have circled the planet.
Above the tawny land of my ancestors,
the Arc of the Covenant on its holy mountain,
I saw the inside of a cotton bag
yanked down over my head; at my wrists and ankles
percussion of steel, blood, and the links’ negation.
Oh my grandfather in the Emperor’s palaces!

I have been freighted between the continents
like roses from Colombia, packed half-frozen,
secret above the cloud-layer. Calculate
the weight of my soul in food-miles, airfields, stars.

Wherever I was unloaded, it was the same
in tropical heat or frost, in the hood-blurred light
off whitewashed walls, in hangars; skin Power Point images,
role-play perhaps, with laughter, or simulation
on a mannequin sewn in India or Taiwan,
hessian its:
the Warder trained
by the same chalk-stripe men, in lecture rooms
I try to imagine my coloring, my scars.

Commended, National Poetry Competition, 2007 and published on
www.poetrysociety.co.uk;
from Announced The , Sylph Editions spring, 2009

Golf Tournaments Flyer




Siriol Troup modern languages \u200b\u200bstudied at St. Hugh's College where she later returned as a French teacher. Now she lives in Twickenham, is married und hat vier Kinder. Ihre Gedichte gewannen erste Preise in zahlreichen Wettbewerben. Mit ihrer ersten Veröffentlichung Moss , einem Pamphlet, gewann sie 2002 den Poetry Monthly Open Booklet Wettbewerb. 2004 erschien ihr erster Gedichtband Drowning up the Blue End bei Bluechrome. Daraus stammt auch Camus and the Spiders, das 2004 in der Pitshanger Poets Competition den ersten Preis erzielte.

Sabine Stiglmayr



Camus und die Spinnen

Ihre Beharrlichkeit ist es, die mich fesselt?
all die flinke Sturheit.
Vier gepanzerte Rücken an meinem Fenster, eine häkelnde
Miniaturbiene, die Arbeiter
ambitious as Daedalus, no signs of arthritis or trigger finger
as they cast their lines.
you have a plan and they stick
mind: you dream houses, castles in Spain, folies de grandeur
to Ludwig's competition.
Without a safety net and crampons:
watch them hang by a thread, free
case in slow motion through thin air
, spanning the void can be a number of
rope tricks, the Tarzan look pale.


How easy it looks when you view the world
just believe! Be sure they show Rose bushes and tornadoes
the cold shoulder,
start over, again and again and again.
them, no one has said that even the most intricate embroidery
go
lost in the mail? That the window cleaners
will come tomorrow? Tout le malheur that
des hommes vient de l'espérance
?

Translated by Miriam Bross


Camus and the spiders

It is their tenacity that attracts me - this nimble
stubbornness.
four chitin in front of my window, a Häkelkränzchen
in miniature, the workers as ambitious as
Daedalus, no trace of arthritis
or trigger-finger when they cast their nets.
you have a plan and They hold firmly
: dream homes, castles in Spain, folies de grandeur
who steal which Louis the favor.
No need for safety nets and crampons:
see how they hang by a thread, free
case in slow motion into the
emptiness, the abyss bridging can be a consequence of
rope tricks, the Tarzan look old.


How easy it seems to trust the world to
! You can count on, show
rose bushes and hurricanes, the teeth, they start again from scratch
, again and again and again.
them because no one has said that even the most elaborate needlework

lost in the mail? That the window cleaners
will compete tomorrow? Tout le malheur that
des hommes vient de l'espérance
?

Translated by Anna stroke


Camus and the spiders

your strength is to me captures the swift-
bigotry.
four armored abdomen at my window,
Häkelwettbewerb a nutshell, the participants
ambitious as Daedalus, no signs of arthritis or bounding
fingers when they cast their lines.
you have a plan and stick firmly
: dream villas, castles in the air, folies de grandeur
, denen Ludwigs ebenbürtig.
Kein Bedarf an Sicherheitsnetzen und Steigeisen:
Schau sie dir an, wie sie am Faden hängen, freier
Fall in Zeitlupe durch berückend dünne
Luft, die Leere grätschend mit einer Reihe
von Seilkunststücken, die Tarzan alt aussehen lassen.


Wie einfach es aussieht, sich auf die Welt
zu verlassen! Verlass dich darauf, sie schwingen ihr Bein
von Rosenbüschen und Wirbelstürmen unbeeindruckt, fangen
von vorne an, wieder und wieder und wieder.
Hat ihnen denn niemand gesagt, dass selbst
die aufwändigsten Stickereien
bei der Post verloren gehen? Dass die Fensterputzer
morgen vorbeikommen? Dass tout
le malheur des hommes vient de l’espérance
?

Übersetzt von Sabine Stiglmayr

Volleyball Quotes/slogans




Siriol Troup read Modern Languages at St. Hugh’s College, Oxford, later returning to teach French there. She now lives in Twickenham and is married with four children. Her poems have won top prizes in several competitions. Her first poetry publication was a pamphlet, Moss , winner of the Poetry Monthly Open Booklet competition in 2002, and her first full collection, Drowning up the Blue End , came out with bluechrome in 2004. Camus and the Spiders, which is part of this collection, won First Prize in the Pitshanger Poets Competition in 2004.

Quelle: poetry p f/ Sabine Stiglmayr



Camus and the Spiders

It’s their tenacity that draws me in—
all that nimble bloody-mindedness.
Four shell-backs at my window, a miniature
crocheting bee, the workers ambitious
as Daedalus, not a hint of arthritis
or trigger-finger as they cast their lines.
They have a plan and they stick
to it: dream homes, castles in Spain,
folies de grandeur to rival Ludwig’s.
No need for safety nets or crampons:
watch them hang by a thread, free-
fall in slow-motion through
thin air, straddling the void With A sequence of
rope-tricks That Tarzan leave standing.


How easy it looks, Taking the world
we trust! Trust 'em to shake a leg at
pink bushes and tornadoes, to
start from scratch, again and again and again. Has not anyone
Told Them That Even The Most Complicated
embroideries
get lost in the Post? Thats the window-cleaners
calling Will Be Tomorrow? That all
the misfortune of men just hope?


first prize, Pitshanger Poets Competition 2004
first published in Poetry Ealing 13
in collection Drowning up the Blue End , bluechrome, 2004

Ap Bio Lab 8 Hardy Weinberg Problems Answers 1




Davide Trame is an English teacher from Italy. He was born in Venice, where he still lives. He wrote his first poem in English to the school where he teaches today to celebrate a successful student strike that was in 1993. His poems have been published since 1999 in some 200 literary magazines in England, the United States and other countries and he appreciates the support of publishers such as Carole Baldock (Orbis) and Sarah Maclennan (In the Red) misconduct. His poems have appeared recently in Poetry New Zealand, New Contrast (South Africa), Nimrod (USA), and in the Prague Literary Review.

Mara Tues Domenica


abundance

He's back, the fiery stripes on your table,
it is higher now, in the morning out on the opposite chimney
he gives your shoulders through the window,
a taste the illuminating time is coming.
Despite the promise of a scorching heat,
you say it welcome unconditionally
You praise still the bright unframed face
and you can not feel you near
Hindu Moeche sitting cross-legged,
in a row on the beach, the reds and yellows of their
Westen und Gesichter voll leuchtend
im ausgedehnten grozügigem Licht,
während sie die Gebetsperlen vor der See berühren,
ihre Mantras wispernd, nicht wiedergeboren zu sein,
und Rinnsale von Sand strömen weg im Wind.
Nein, du kannst sie überhaupt nicht verstehen
dein Herz ist “geschnürt an ein sterbendes Tier”, kein Zweifel,
aber du fühlst dich gesund mit Verlangen,
sitzend an deinem warmen erleuchteten Tisch,
deine Arme abgelegt auf die geschmeidigen sonnenbeschienen Ritzen aus Kirsch-Holz
mit zeitlich erneuerter, zurückkehrender Hautfarbe.

Übersetzt von Anna Barbara Braun


Überfluss

Er ist zurück, der feurige Streifen auf deinen Tisch,
er steht nun höher, frühzeitig draußen über den gegenüberliegenden Dach,
er gibt deinen Schultern, durch die Fensterscheibe,
einen Vorgeschmack auf die leuchtende Zeit, die ansteht.
Trotz des Versprechens einer stechenden Hitze
wirst du ihn willkommen heißen, ohne Zurückhaltung.
Lautlos preist du den ungerahmten glänzenden Gesichtsausdruck
und doch kannst du dich nicht den Hindu Mönche
verbunden fühlen, die mit gekreuzten Beinen
in einer Reihe am Strand sitzen, das Rot und Gelb
ihrer Gewänder und ihre Gesichter voll erhellt
im ausgedehnten, großzügigen Light, while
slide the prayer beads in the face of the sea through her fingers and her mantra
whisper to be born again
and fractions of sand in the wind blow over.
No, you can not understand,
your heart is "a dying animal attached", no doubt,
but with desire you feel healthy
by you sitting on your warm-lit table,
your arms rest on the smooth , sunlit cherry wood strips to the renewed
time, returning skin color.

Translated by Mara Tues Domenica


lavishly

It is back the glowing strips on your table,
now it is higher early in the morning on the opposite roof,
and enter your shoulders through the window
a foretaste of the coming brilliant time.
Despite the promise of a scorching heat
welcoming you there, unconditionally.
praise Still you the unframed glossy face
And can not you close feel
the Hindu monks who succession
sit cross-legged on the beach,
the red and yellow of their robes and glowing faces
in broad soft light,
while touch the coral from the sea, whispering
born again, not their mantra to be
and sand grains continued to flow in the wind.
No, you understand they can not even
Your heart is one, dying animal 'is fixed, no doubt
you feel but healthy with life urge
as you sit in your warm lighted table,
your arms on the sun- irradiated fine cherry wood lines
refreshed on a homecoming complexion of the times.

Translated by Valentina Codevilla

M Jak Milosc Online Pl




Davide Trame is an Italian teacher of English. He was born in Venice, Italy, where he still lives. He wrote his first poem in English to celebrate a successful students' strike in the school where he still teaches; it was in 1993. His poems have been published in about two hundred literary magazines since 1999, in the U.K, U.S. and elsewhere, and he is very appreciative of the support offered by magazine publishers such as Carole Baldock (Orbis) and Sarah Maclennan (In The Red). He has most recently been published in Poetry New Zealand , New Contrast (South Africa), Nimrod (U.S.), and the Prague Literary Review.

Quelle: poetry p f

Prodigal

It’s back, the fiery stripe on your table,
it’s higher now, out early above the opposite roof,
it gives your shoulders, through the window pane,
a foretaste of the luminous time to come.
Despite the promise of a clawing heat
you welcome it, without reserve.
You silently praise the unframed radiant countenance
and can’t feel close
to the Hindu monks who sit cross-legged
in a row on the beach, the reds and yellows
of their vests and faces full bright
in the broad bountiful light,
while they finger the coral beads in front of the sea
whispering their mantras not to be reborn
and trickles of sand stream away in the wind.
No, you can’t understand them at all,
your heart is “fastened to a dying animal”, no doubt,
but you feel healthy with desire
sitting illuminated at your table warm, settled
your arms on the sunlit smooth cherry-wood lines,
's renewed on time, homecoming complexion. Davide Trame


first published in Urthona Magazine, 22, 2005

My Boston Terrier Keeps Having Accidents




Seán Street is Professor of Broadcasting and Director of the Center for the study of the history of broadcasting at the Media School at Bournemouth University. He was 38 years as a broadcast specialist, to the current work includes The Trial of Ezra Pound . He has published six collections of poetry - the latest is titled Radio and Other Poems (Rockingham Press, 1999). His prose include The Wreck of the Germany (Souvenir Press, 1992) and The Dymock Poets (Seren, 1993, 1998). Currently, Seán Street is concerned with research for a new book about the relationship between poetry and sound. His plays are frequently performed; Honest John won the Central Television Award for new drama. His latest work for the stage is Beyond Paradise - the Wild Life of a Gentleman , a one-man play about Charles Darwin.

Aprilia Zank


shipping forecast
Donegal


Den Spätoktober teilten sie sich noch
doch Salzstein und die Trümmer eines Baumes
die blätternde Farbe des Rettungsbootschuppens
klingen im Akkord mit Orten wo das Quecksilber fällt,
Hauptquellen, ausgesetzt den baren Behauptungen der Nacht.

Allenthalben schiebt der Winter sich heran
Die Zeit: es ist jetzt zehn vor sechs.

Schwerelosigkeit und Schwere, das Potential des Äthers,
in Worte gezwängt, miteinbezogen.
Hier – an jeder Küste – verzückt verdichtet sich gespanntes Lauschen.

Fair Isle, Färöer, Südost-Island,
Nord-Utsira, Süd-Utsira
Fisher, German Bay, Tyne, Dogger ...
This grid of names on the sea
- it listens not, the weather Index - paves the water.

Beyond the music, singing
of sounds - such hawks litany
limited to indispensable,
is reporting cold poetry.

The Gurdies pushes closer:
Lundy, Fastnet, Irish Sea ...
All routine routine.
guess But always his eyes out
on the peninsula, while she sleeps well, no word is said.

He stretches the right to take it,
sampled, where the radio is - and now
the weather report from the coastal stations

and then: Malin Head - so much so that she looks up routine
little, but listen: now falling .

Translated by Isabella Wiegand



Seewettervorhersage
Donegal


divided Any late October,
but salty stones and a broken tree,
ring the chipped paint on the lifeboat house
with places where the weather glass falls ,
elementary sources who meet the bare statements of the night.

Winter pushes into it anywhere,
Und jetzt ist die Zeit zehn Minuten vor sechs...

Leichtigkeit und Schwere, Möglichkeiten der Luft
werden in Wörter, Andeutung gestalten;
hier—an allen Küsten—wird das Zuhören leidenschaftlich gespannt.

Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,
North Utsire, South Utsire,
Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger…
Dieses Muster von Namen auf dem Meer—
die Geographie vom gleichgültigen Wetter – bedeckt das Wasser.

Jenseits der Musik, das Singen
von Tönen—der minimale Gesang,
dieses Ritual, bis auf die Haut entblößt
wird die kalte Poetry of the information.

The litany urges closer -
Lundy, Fastnet, Irish Sea and ... Everyday
enough, all containing commonplace.
His eyes are constantly looking beyond
the Cape, she sleeps, perhaps, not spoken a word.

He stretched forward, in order to grasp it,
sits on his radio space and now
the weather forecasts of posts on the coasts
and then: Malin Head
-so common
that she looks up hard, but listen now falls .

Translated by Julie Winter



Seewettervorhersage
Donegal


you are new to late October, split
but salt stones, a forked tree,
the detaching color of the emergency department
accordance find places where the weather glass falls,
source in contact with the bare statements of the night.

Throughout the winter is,
And the time is now s ten to six ...

ease and load, the sizes of the air
framed in words that effect;
here - on all coasts - will be listening painfully exciting.

Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,
North Utsire, South Utsire,
Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger ...
This grid of names on the lake - the weather
deaf Geography - wets the water.

Beyond the music, the singing of the sounds
- scarce psalmody, the
placed on the essence of ritual is
the cold poetry of the message.

The litany is approaching -
Lundy, Fastnet and Irish Sea ...
routine everywhere, all just routine. Always his eyes peering

beyond the point, they may sleep, are no words.

He reaches forward to hold it,
takes his place radio - and now
the Wettervorhersage der Küstenstationen

und dann: Malin Head – so sehr Routine
dass sie kaum hinaufschaut, hört dennoch jetzt fallend .

Übersetzt von Aprilia Zank

Vba Pokemon Emerald Mod Shop




Seán Street is Professor of Radio and Director of the Centre for Broadcasting History Research in the Media School, Bournemouth University. He has also worked as a radio practitioner for 38 years, and recent work has included The Trial of Ezra Pound . He has published six collections of poetry, the most recent being Radio and Other Poems (Rockingham Press, 1999). He is currently working on a new collection which will appear in Autumn 2009. His prose includes The Wreck of the Deutschland (Souvenir Press, 1992) and The Dymock Poets (Seren, 1993, reprinted 1998). Seán is currently researching for a new book on the relationship between poetry and sound. His plays have been widely performed; Honest John won the Central Television Award for new drama. His most recent work for the stage is Beyond Paradise – the Wildlife of a Gentleman , a one-man play about Charles Darwin.

Quelle: poetry p f


Shipping Forecast
Donegal


They have shared still late October,
but salt stones and a broken tree,
the peeled paint on the lifeboat house
chime with places where the glass falls,
prime sources encountering night’s bald predications.

Everywhere winter edges in,
And now the time is ten to six…

Lightness and weight, air’s potentials
pressed into words, implication;
here —on all coasts —listening grows passionately tense.

Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,
North Utsire, South Utsire,
Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger…
This pattern of names on the sea —
weather’s unlistening geography —paves water.

Beyond the music, the singing
of sounds —this minimal chanting,
this ritual pared to the bone
becomes the cold poetry of information.

The litany edges closer —
Lundy, Fastnet and Irish Sea…
Routine enough, all just routine.
Always his eyes guessing beyond
the headland, she perhaps sleeping, no words spoken.

He stretches forward to grasp it,
claims his radio place — and now
the weather reports from coastal stations
and then: Malin Head
—such routine
that she barely glances up, but hears now falling.

in collection Radio and Other Poems , 1999, Rockingham Press

Why Do Toothaches Make Ears Hurt?




Under the following labels you will find the 14th issue of our translations (poetry tREnD # 14) and some information about the authors.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Complaints Vein Clinics




Todd Swift was born in 1966 in Montreal, Canada. He currently lives with his wife in London and works as a reviewer, editor and principal supervisor of "The Poetry School. Since 2002 he has been poetry editor of award-winning online magazine and in www.nthposition.com since 2004 Oxfam GB Poet Residence. After studying creative writing at the University of East Anglia, he worked as a writer for television and is the Author of three books of poetry. He is the editor of several anthologies of poetry and his poems were published in international poetry collections and magazines worldwide and on the radio. He won the Young Quebecer of the Year Award and was nominated twice for The Irving Layton Poetry Prize. Twice he rrepräsentierte Quebec in The League of Canadian Poets.

Theresa Neumeier



My violinist

fill their shelves in neat folds
auseinader their chrome music stand in the night,
ordered rows of air tickets,

for the same goal
only them to casually three weeks later
to cancel. You can keep order at home, retreat,

and play with it. Musing about things from
whatever reason hoards
passion, lets them fall again.

Married Have patience and duller,
elegance and whimsical dance-hall music,
is never wrong, until the last act

Turns law to theater, drama to
discipline with a long violin bow.
Cures bare nerves with ice and spring.

My violin player is more than talk.
your real talent is not the lawyer's existence.
Two houses blocks away from Baker Street

they solve small mysteries
of marriage in suspenders from Paris, held her
instrument in two purple-colored gloves.

Translated by Anna Barbara Brown



My violinist

her closet out thoroughly revealed
their chrome music stand at night;
ordered plane tickets in heaps,

for the same destination, only to cancel then
incidentally, three
weeks later. They ordered rest home

and plays with her. Thinks about things
for some hidden reason. Hortet
passion, then they can die.

Have Married with mindless Patience, grace
with wild dancehall songs.
is never wrong, right up to the last act Converts

law to theater, drama
punishment with a long violin bow.
Cures nerves with ice and feathers.

My violin player is more than talk.
your true calling is not Lawyer.
Two blocks from the Baker Street

it solves the secrets of marriage in
suspenders from Paris, her
tools in two purple gloves holding.

Translated by Chris anti Moukrioti



My violinist

capability resulting from their closets well
spreads her every night chrome Music stand out;
ordered tickets in quantities

to the same destination, zustornieren
umsie only three weeks later in passing.
invites you to order his house

and plays with her. Studying things
pious, for some reason. Hoarded
passion and lets them perish.

Married Have patience and sluggish,
grace and insane dancehall songs.
has until the last act never wrong.

power law to the theater, drama to
discipline, with a long violin bow.
Heals nerve with ice and feathers.

My violin player is more than just talk.
your true calling is not Avocatin.
Zwei Blocks von der Baker Street entfernt

löst sie die winzigen Rätsel
der Ehe in Strumpfbändern aus Paris, ihr
Instrument mit zwei violetten Handschuhen haltend.

Übersetzt von Theresa Neumeier



Meine Geigerin

lagert ihren Kasten gut, entfaltet
ihren Metallnotenständer jede Nacht
bestellt Flugtickets in Mengen,

zum selben Ort, nur um sie
zu stornieren etwa drei Wochen
später. Sie bestellt Aufträge nach hause

und spielt damit. Studiert Dinge
zu einem heimlichen Zweck. Hortet
Leidenschaft, dann läßt sie sie fahren ins Nichts.

Coupled parts with dull patience,
elegance with mad dance music. Plays
never wrong, until the last act

united law and theater, drama and
discipline on a bow.
Heals nerve with ice and feathers.

My violinist beyond my words.
your true calling is not a lawyer. Two blocks further
replaced by Baker Street

them the little mysteries of marriage
in garters from Paris, her instrument
holds a pair of purple gloves.

Translated by Julia Offermann

I Think I Might Be In Love With You Quote




Todd Swift was born in Montreal, Canada in 1966. He now lives in London with his wife, where he works as a reviewer, university lecturer and Core Tutor for The Poetry School. He has been poetry editor of the award-winning online magazine www.nthposition.com since 2002, and Oxfam GB Poet In Residence since 2004. Having received a Creative Writing MA from the University of East Anglia, he has worked as a TV writer and is the author of three poetry collections. Being himself editor of several poetry anthologies, his own poems have been anthologized, have appeared in international poetry magazines and have been broadcast around the world. He is a winner of a Young Quebecer of the Year Award, and has been short-listed for The Irving Layton Poetry Prize. He has twice been the Quebec representative for The League of Canadian Poets.

Quelle: poetry p f



My Violin Player

stocks her cupboard well, unfolds
her chrome music stand nightly;
orders airline tickets in multiples,

for the same destination, only to
cancel them casually three weeks
later. She invites order home,

and plays with it. Studies things
for some quiet sake. Hoards
passion, then lets it go to waste.

Marries haste to duller patience,
elegance to mad dancehall songs.
Is never wrong, until the last act.

Turns law to theatre, drama to
discipline with a long violin bow.
Cures nerves with ice and feathers.
My
violinist is more than talk. Her real vocation
's lawyer not.
Two blocks from Baker Street

she solves the mysteries
of marriage in petite garters from Paris, her
instrument held in two purple gloves.

in collection Rue Du Regard , 2004,
DC Books, MontrealISBN 0-919688-11-X (pbk)

Boho Clothing Stores Logos




Amanda Sewell, born 1945, has already begun as a child to write. She continued her education at the universities of Birmingham and East Anglia and taught English in Paris, Sydney and Brighton. She is married and has one son. 2001 saw her first book of poems The Appropriate Country (Waterloo Press, Brighton), which was already published in various magazines such as London Magazine, The Listener, Twentieth Century Poetry Nineties, Quadrant and Eratica. The time of their work covers more than 30 years. Alan Ross, Stevie Smith, George MacBeth and encouraged them to write.

Valentina Codevilla


northern Alaska

Today the sky is white as snow.
The sun rises: red as Bac n 'Pieces
in the Arctic Coastal Trading Store on the corner of
Ankovah street where
frozen ocean, solid as Pompeii, as crème de menthe green
is:
shiver framework without end and limits.

Black as bullets, caricatured snow figures,
like Batman is this frozen Gotham,
in the tundra is snow-like ice sheet
as Johurt the polar bear with Johanesbeeraugen,
accumulate under the Gothic Arken of Bowhead
Wal-jaw-bone, from Hunger died, reigns everywhere
gigantic, more optimistic spirit unvermesslich; terrible.

Aurora weaves colorful
curtains in the sky. Browerville
's bracelet shines in the stars. Laikas in their dog-sled tours
barking all night - to calm drifts
down the road. Tipped over, a Chevy
rest rely in the snow:
taking upon himself the burden of the impacts of the Arctic wind.

Translated by Tatiana Cherezova



northern Alaska

Today the sky is white as snow
The sun is rising: red as Bac n 'Pieces
In the Arctic Coastal Trading Store on the corner of
Ankovah Street , where the frozen ocean
, such as Pompeii resistant
a painting of green crème de menthe is:
a frozen surface, repeated several times.

Black as bullets, imaginary snow machines,
Batman Gotham
outside those frozen in the wilderness, with its ice rink, as
buttermilchige and black-eyed polar bear
collection under the Gothic vaults of Bowhead: umgerahmt
jaw bones of starving whales,
huge, mythical ghosts: huge, immense.

bind the lights in the north
colored curtains in the sky. Browervilles bracelet
lighted up at the stars. Huskies bark in their kennels
subdued all night by Snowden-
on the road. upturned
lies in the snow an abandoned Chevy:
Fighting against the arctic wind.

Translated by Valentina Codevilla



northern Alaska

Today the sky is white as snow.
the Sun is rising: red as Bac green n 'Pieces
in Arcitica Coastal Trading Store
at the corner of Ankovah Street where
the frozen ocean, sound such as Pompeii,
a painting such as crème de menthe:
a still image, again and again repeated.

Black as bullets, cartoons Snowmobiles,
Batman out of this frozen Gotham,
up on the tundra, with its skating rink, ice cream,
like buttermilk-Polar Bears with currant eyes
gather under the Gothic arches of the Bowhead
Walkieferknochen: emaciated , framed,
gigantic mythical spirits: immense, inhuman.

The northern lights weave colorful curtains
in den Himmel. Brownerville ist ein
durch Sterne erleuchteter Armreif. Huskies in ihren Hundehütten
bellen die ganze Nacht – gedämpft durch Schneeverwehungen
die Strasse hinab, nach oben gewandt, liegt ein Chevy
verlassen im Schnee:
er schultert die Hiebe des arktischen Windes.

Übersetzt von Judith Königer



Nordalaska

Der Himmel ist heute weißer als Schnee.
Die Sonne geht auf: rot wie Schinkenstücke
im Laden für Waren der arktischen Küste.
An der Ecke der Ankovah Street, dort wo
die gefrorene See liegt, hart und ewig wie Pompeji,
ist ein Gemälde, grün wie Crème de menthe:
a still image, frozen in countless variety.

Black as a projectile, the gross subscribed snowmobile
Batman storms out of the frozen Schilda
on the tundra and ice,
while buttermilchige polar bears with brombeerigen eyes
under the Gothic arched jaw arches
gather the bowhead whale: starved framed
giant spirits of the myth, powerful, scary. It

weave the colorful Northern Lights
canopies in the sky. Browerville is a bracelet
radiated from the starlight. Huskies in the kennel
barking all night, muffled by snow drifts along
der Straße. Darunten liegt ein Chevy
verlassen im Schnee.
Auf sich nimmt er die Böen des arktischen Windes.

Übersetzt von Isabella Wiegand

Hot Mid Night Clothes




Amanda Sewell was born in 1945, and has been writing since childhood. She was educated at the Universities of Birmingham and East Anglia, and has taught English in Paris, Sydney and Brighton. She is married, with one son. Her first volume of poems The Appropriate Country was published in 2001, by Waterloo Press, Brighton. She had previously been published in magazines as diverse as London Magazine, The Listener, Twentieth Century, Nineties Poetry, Quadrant and Eratica. Her work spans more than three decades. The late poets Alan Ross, Stevie Smith and George MacBeth all encouraged her to write.

Quelle: poetry p f



North Alaska

Today the sky is whiter than snow.
The sun rises: red as Bac n’ Pieces
in the Arctic Coastal Trading Store
at the corner of Ankovah Street, where
the frozen ocean, solid as Pompeii,
is a tableau of crème de menthe green:
a freeze frame, repeated again and again.

Black as bullets, cartoonish snow-mobiles,
batman out of this frozen Gotham,
on to the tundra, with its skating-rink ice,
as buttermilk polar bears with curranty eyes,
gather under the gothic arches of Bowhead
whale jaw-bones: famished; framed,
gigantic, mythic ghosts: immense; immane.

The Northern Lights weave coloured
curtains in the sky. Browerville’s a bracelet
lit by stars. Huskies in their dog lots
bark all night – hushed by snow drifts
down the streets. Upturned, a Chevy
lies abandoned in the snow:
shouldering the blows of the Arctic wind.

published in collection " The Appropriate Country ",
Waterloo Press, 2001

Wrestling Nike Freeks Shoes 9.5




Jane Routh ist Dichterin und Photographin. Sie betreibt Forstwirtschaft und hält Gänse im Wald von Bowland, north of Lancashire, where she has lived for 30 years. On the books of American writer Charles Wright it always comes back and she would like to travel long distances to take into account to see exhibitions of photographers like Thomas Joshua Cooper and Olivia Parker can. As an experienced teacher, she taught at the Poetry Business Writing School. Her first collection
Circumnavigation (2002) won the Poetry Business Competition. Teach Yourself Mapmaking followed in 2006.

Christoph Hueber



signal flag K: I want to talk to you
KILO

In the evening we sit on the cliffs above the bay
and watch the tides. When a beautiful sunset
announced, take your jacket and an apple.
A nod may mean that the buzzard back
is on the fence post, a small gesture
commented on the dark streak in the waves.
Neither of us has something to say
significant enough to break the silence.
I think I may prefer Ebben,
the bay an empty bowl,
missed the moment of change.

In the winter we will be putting the chairs
closer to the stove, all lights light
and read to us poems,
we do not understand.
The sound says most everything.
We can take turns, get tea and oranges.
Before spring comes not out of here.

When I'm alone again and used to the fear
at night when the sheep on the walls, crowd
I will remember to bars of the old tunes;
I will remember, to the singing in the bathroom.
be wrapped in white towels I
staring out through my reflection pass, on the dark sea.
on the red lights half a mile outside
find a dull deck lights with binoculars and watch the nightly
work of tiny figures.

Translated by Christopher Hueber



flag Winker K: I would like to contact you record
KILO

evening we sit on rocks overlooking the bay
and watch the tides. Are there signs
for a good sunset, you cross a jacket and an apple.
A nod may indicate that the buzzard back
is on the fence post, questioning an insignificant gesture
a dark streak in the waves.
None of us has something to say,
that would be significant enough to break the silence.
I think the low water spring are my favorite,
the bay an empty pool,
the elusive moment of change zwischen Ebbe und Flut.

Im Winter werden wir die Sessel
näher an den Ofen rücken, die Lichter entzünden
und uns einander Gedichte vorlesen,
die wir nicht verstehen,
für den Fall, dass Klang für sich spricht.
Wir können abwechselnd Tee und Orangen holen.
Niemand kommt hierher bis es Frühling wird.

Sobald ich wieder alleine lebe und Ängste gewohnt bin,
nachts wenn Schafe gegen die Wände reiben,
erinnere ich mich womöglich wieder Fetzen alter Melodien;
vielleicht erinnere ich mich daran, im Bad zu singen.
Eingehüllt in weiße Handtücher starre ich
durch meine Reflektion hinaus auf die dunkle See
removed after red lights half a mile,
find a weak light deck with binoculars and watch the night work
tiny figures.

Translated by Maria Louise Schlayer



signal flag K: I would like to contact you
KILO

In the evenings we sit on rocks overlooking the bay
and watch the tides. If it looks to a promising
sunset, grab a jacket and an apple.
A sign could read, the buzzard is back
on the fence post, a small gesture
could ask for a dark strip in the shafts.
None of us has something zu sagen,
das es wert wäre, die Stille zu unterbrechen.
Das Ablaufen der Ebbe bei Voll- und Neumond habe ich am liebsten,
die gesamte Bucht ein ausgelassenes Becken,
der Augenblick des Wechsels, den man nicht einfangen kann.

Im Winter werden wir die Polstersessel
näher an den Ofen schieben, alle Lampen
anmachen und einander Gedichte vorlesen,
die wir nicht verstehen,
sofern der Klang für sich selbst spricht.
Wir können einander Tee und Orangen holen.
Kein Mensch kommt vor dem Frühling hier raus.

Wenn ich wieder alleine lebe und an die nächtlichen Ängste
gewöhnt bin, wenn die Schafe an den Wänden wetzen,
I think perhaps scraps of old tunes;
I think maybe back to the singing in the bathroom.
be wrapped in white towels, I stare out
removed by my reflection on the dark sea of \u200b\u200bred lights
half a mile,
a weak light deck with binoculars and night make up look
plant tiny figures.

Translated by Sabine Stiglmayr



signal flag K: I will contact
KILO

evening, we sit on rocks above the bay
and watch the tides. When a rewarding
announces sunset, get a jacket and an apple.
Promised could believe the buzzard's back
on the fence post, a small gesture
explores a dark streak in the waves.
None of us has something to report so important
that it would be worthwhile to break the silence.

I think I like best the low waters
the bay emptied out of a pool,
the eternally fleeting moment of change.
In the winter we move the chairs of the oven
closer, the lights burn all
and other poems, we do not understand, read
, because of the sound.
Alternately, we will take tea and oranges.
It is hardly a get out of here before the spring.

Wenn ich wieder alleine lebe und mich an die Furcht gewöhne
nachts wenn die Schafe an die Wände reiben,
erinnere ich mich vielleicht an Fetzen alter Weisen;
erinnere ich mich vielleicht an das Singen im Bad.
Umhüllt in weisse Tüchern werde ich,
durch meine Spiegelung hindurch, Ausschau halten
nach roten Lichtern, Meilen entfernt, auf dem dunklen Meer,
werde mit meinem Fernglas ein blasses Licht entdecken
werde das Nachtschaffen winziger Silhouetten beobachten.

Übersetzt von Aprilia Zank

Favor Tags Wording For Wedding




Jane Routh is a poet and photographer who manages woodlands and a flock of geese in the Forest of Bowland, North Lancashire, where she’s lived for the last thirty years. Books she returns to most often are by the American poet Charles Wright, and she’d travel a long way to see exhibitions by the photographers Thomas Joshua Cooper or Olivia Parker. An experienced teacher, she was a tutor for the Poetry Business Writing School.
Her first collection Circumnavigation won the Poetry Business Competition. Teach Yourself Mapmaking followed in 2006.

Quelle: poetry p f


Signal Flag K: I wish to communicate with you
KILO

Evenings, we sit on rocks above the bay
and watch the tides. If there are signs
of a good sunset, take a jacket and an apple.
A nod might say the buzzard's back
on the fence post, a small gesture
question a dark streak in the waves.
Neither of us has anything to say
significant enough to break the silence.
I think I like low springs best,
the whole bay an emptied bowl,
the uncaught moment of the turn.

In the winter we shall drag the armchairs
nearer the stove, light all the lamps
and read each other
poems we do not understand
in case sound speaks for itself.
We can take turns to fetch tea and oranges.
No one comes out here till spring.

When I live alone again and am used to fears
at night when sheep rub up against the walls,
I might remember scraps of old tunes;
I might remember singing in the bath.
Wrapped in white towels I shall stare out
through my reflection at the dark sea
for red lights half a mile off,
find a faint deck-light with binoculars
and watch the night-work of tiny figures.

Jane Routh
in collection Circumnavigation , 2002, Smith/Doorstop,
ISBN 1-902382-43-9
previously published in Signal Flags , 2001, Blue Nose Poetry

Wemon Playing Withthemselfs




Die Londonerin Jo Roach begann 1994 an Lyrikseminaren teilzunehmen und wurde insbesondere von Mimi Khalvati und anderen Mentoren an der Poetry School gefördert. Jo war ein Gründungsmitglied des Literaturkabaretts All mouth no trousers . Sie hat Poetry and Jazz im Poetry Café mit Hylda Sims mit vorbereitet und organisiert seit drei Jahren Poetry Street als Bestandteil des Stoke Newington Festivals. Ihre Gedichte wurden in zahlreichen Zeitschriften und Anthologien veröffentlicht, wie beispielsweise in Oxford Poets (hg.v. Bernard O’Donoghue und David Constantine, Oxford University Press und Carcanet, 2007). Ihre Broschüre Dancing at the Crossroads erschien bei Hearing Eye.

Miriam Bross



Gespenst in der Maschine

Jack Davis, in Overalls und Cap,
repaired after his full-time job as a bricklayer
used bikes to earn to
to pay the mortgage for the house he
green, white and yellow highlighted at the time of the ads
in shop windows: "room for rent, no blacks no Irishman. "
In the storage room of number four p.m.
spare wheels attached to six-inch nails, the floor of a gravel
nuts and bolts, the smell of 3-IN-ONE Oil
heavy as Kaki. With hands, rough steel wool, aluminum rims
he polished silver, away from the chain fits
links to them. His memory is full
sea, gentle tones in each wave
as she was the one that broke when he left a country in which it
no words for yes and no are.
Sue-Sue Lambert, for purchases in Dunlaoghaire
meets one of the Davis and asks:
"Is not Jack because just come home"

Translated by Miriam Bross



ghost in the machine

with Jack Davis a cap in his day job as a bricklayer and
repaired Overall
used bikes to deserve to
to him by the mortgage on the green, white and yellow
to pay whitewashed house, at the time of the kiosk store ads
to rent "rooms, no blacks, no Irishman. "
hanging in the store room number 16
spare tire is six inches of nails, the bottom is a boulder
of nuts and bolts, the smell of three-in-one oil
as hard as Kaki. With hands, wear of steel wool, aluminum rims
he tampered with silver, it fits
away parts of the chain until it. His memory is completely full of sea
, finely attuned to each wave
as if it would be those who break when he leaves a country
where there are no words for yes and no are.
When Sue-Sue Lambert shopping in Dunlaoghaire was
she meets one of the Davis and asks
"Jack is but recently home come, right? "

Translated by Mara Tues Domenica



ghost in the machine

Jack Davis in overalls and cap,
fulltime Maurer, repaired after work
used bikes, a bit dazuzuverdienen,
to pay off the mortgage for the house he
green, white and yellow line in the time of the ads
in mom and pop shops, "room for rent, no blacks, no Irishman.
In the storeroom of the number sixteen spare tire hanging
six-inch nails, the floor paved with
nuts and bolts, the smell of 3-in-1 Oil
schwer wie Khaki. Mit seinen von Stahlwolle rauhen Händen
poliert er Aluminiumfelgen silbern, löst
Glieder aus der Kette bis es passt. Seine Erinnerung,
so voller Meer, stimmt jede Welle so fein ab
als wäre es die, die brach als er ein Land verließ,
in dem es keine Worte für ja und nein gibt.
Sue-Sue Lambert trifft beim Einkaufen in Dunlaoghaire
einen der Davis‘ und fragt:
„Jack ist nach Hause gekommen, nicht wahr?“

Übersetzt von Anna Hubrich

Black Sightings Closed High Cervix




Jo Roach, a lifelong Londoner, started taking poetry classes in 1994 and has been particularly encouraged by Mimi Khalvati and other tutors at the Poetry School. Jo was a founder member of All mouth no trousers , a literary cabaret; co-organised Poetry and Jazz at the Poetry Café with Hylda Sims; and has organised Poetry Street as part of the Stoke Newington Festival for three years running. Her poems have appeared in many magazines and anthologies (including Oxford Poets, 2007, OUP and Carcanet, eds Bernard O'Donoghue and David Constantine) and her pamphlet, Dancing at the Crossroads , was published by Hearing Eye.

Quelle: poetry p f



Ghost in the Machine


Jack Davis in overalls, wearing a cap
after his day job as a brickie, repairs
secondhand bikes, to earn extra
to pay the mortgage on the house he painted
green, white and yellow, at the time of ads
in corner shops, ‘Rooms to let, no blacks no irish’.
In the box room of number sixteen, spare wheels
hang from six inch nails, the floor a shingle
of nuts and bolts, the smell of three-in-one oil
heavy as khaki. Hands fretted from wire wool
he polishes aluminium rims to silver, removes
links from the chain until it fits. His memory
full of the sea, fine tunes into each wave
as if it were the one that broke when he left
a country where there are no words for yes and no.
Sue-Sue Lambert shopping in Dunlaoghaire
meets one of the Davises and asks,
“ Is Jack not after coming home? ”


previously published in Poetry Wales
and Dancing at the Crossroads

How To Clean A Snowmobile Crankshaft



Under the following labels you will find the 13th issue of our translations (poetry tREnD #13) and some information about the authors.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Jetta Sportwagen License Plate



What a nice thing to happen on a wet Monday! I was delighted to read the translations of my poem, for several reasons. First of all, it's a lovely present, having one's own work translated. Thank you, Anna, Sabine, Chrissanti and Theresa. I read your versions with great enjoyment, and was deeply impressed by your ability to make the poem work on all levels – linguistic, stylistic, poetic – in German. And then, the poem that I thought I knew so well has suddenly become something new and different: four semi-strangers, with all sorts of neat and impressive ways of expressing themselves that sometimes seem to me to read better than the original. And then, the experience made me think about how some parts of a poem seem pretty inflexible – they all get translated in much the same way – while others send the translators off in all sorts of directions, rather like the parallel lines in my poem. I was particularly intrigued by the fact that four German women all have their own individual, personal and highly expressive ways of saying 'You bastards!'. What can this mean? This is another very rewarding episode in my long-standing love affair with the German language. I'm most grateful to all of you.
.
Michael Swan

Can I Get A Waiver For Eczema In The Army?



It is really fascinating to see my work in German, and I wish I was familiar enough with the language to appreciate the skill and nuances of the three translations. I can see straightaway however that no two lines have been translated in exactly the same way! - which brings up the familiar point: there is no such thing as a "correct" translation of a poem; each translation reflects the interpretation and "ear" of the particular translator, and is perfectly valid in its own way.
I did ask my husband, who has a reasonable knowledge of German, to look at the translations, and he made a few observations which might be of interest. He felt that all three versions were sympathetic, and intriguing in their own way: the first seemed to be a more precise, literal translation; the second seemed to capture particularly closely the rhythms and poetic diction of English; while the third felt more imaginative and interpretive, and sounded particularly fluid in German.
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Caroline Price