Prometheus Bound.Frederick.L.Light.Translation.Audio.Jack Nolan.

Prometheus image

Prometheus Bound Aeschylus Translation by F L Light Rapid Traffic Press New York. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book. Prometheus Bound: Translated by F L Light ISBN-13: 978-1477684016 ISBN-10: 1477684018 All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2012 Frederick Lazarus Light, lightforth@gmail.com

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After Zeus has learned that Prometheus stole his sovereign property, fire, and conveyed it to mankind, he orders Hephaistos, under the direction of Power and Force, to bind his adversary to an arduous crag of most difficult remoteness on the earth. As the Titan responds to this punishment, the reader is inspired with the fire of individual affirmation, devoted indomitably to life and liberty

Prometheus Bound Audio Jack Nolan 15 minutes

*
Persons
Power and Force
Hephaistos
Prometheus
Daughters of Ocean
Ocean
Io
Hermes
*
1
Enter Power and Force, leading Prometheus in chains.
Hephaistos comes with them.
*
Power: Upon the northernmost finalities
Of earth, in Scythia intraversable,
By men untraced, of no man’s realm a tract,
On this sequestered precipice recessed
Alone, we’ve mounted, where, Hephaistos, be
This duty yours, by dictates laid upon
You by the Father: here his shackled lich set fast!
This vaulting overreacher in revolt
With fettered punishment now fasten here
In this immense removedness on high,
Leaving him with adamantine tautness
Reclusely manacled to rock. Your flower,
In every art effectual, lucent fire,
He reaved and to the mortals gave. This fact
Therefore by forfeit to the gods he must
Avow, in shackles schooled to suffer Zeus
And learn in painful awe what lordship is,
Philanthropy disowning in effect.
*
Hephaistos: Force and Power, in the behest of Zeus
You’ve done your part, no longer stayed. But I
Lack mettle, truly loath that ligatures
Upon a kindred deity must be laid
With muscled rigor in this brumal rift
Where winter reigns. But for all that I must
Begin, emboldened by necessity,
By absolute exigencies; for who
May lightly heed the word of Zeus without
Reward? You, of ascendant prospects, son
Of right-proposing Themis, now I pierce,
Against your will and mine, with bronze constraints
Of indissoluble abuse, annealed the best,
Your members to this far recess, reserved
From men, where voice nor form shall human be.
But under Helios, desiccated scathe
2
Beneath his arid glance you’ll bear and lose
The bloom of youth. When Night behind her vestment of
The stars shall veil this blaze, you’ll savor peace,
And when the sun on dawn-frost comes, the thaw
May grateful prove. But everforth abide
In vitiated weariness, effete at length,
For not yet born your liberator is.
Such mede you profit in, philanthropy
Maintaining. Not of Heaven terrified,
Olympian odium never daunted you,
A god among the gods. But honors out
Of measure to the mortal sort you sped.
So this sore ledge you’ll suffer like a ward,
Where insultation is insomnolent
Forever, as you stand in sleepless rue,
Not left to bend your legs. With sacred cries,
Your liefest prayers, lamenting pain, will not
Be heeded. For the head of Zeus in zeal
Is hateful, hardest to his foes. And those
Empowered lately fulsome power inflict.
*
Power: Why tarry here, affecting sympathy
In vain? A god in basest odium deemed
No friend, whom gods detest, wherefore not hate?
Since mortals gracing, mordant grief to you
He meant, your prize betraying, all for men.
*
Heph: Kinship is numinous in creatures, like
Devout companionship not lightly deaded.
*
Power: Indeed. Yet to play deaf impossible
No doubt when Zeus imposes on your will.
*
Heph: The hardiest cruelty never palls on you.
*
Power: No good will come, this god lamenting. Leave
This vanity where nothing you’ll achieve.
*
Heph: How loathsome seems my liefest skill.
*
Power: Why loathe it? Lightly sure, these latest sores
Are not imputed to your sacred forge!
*
Heph: Yet for another would the work had been!
3
*
Power: Unless to rule the gods no labor is
All grace, and none has liberty save Zeus.
*
Heph: I must avow it, in this work enforced.
*
Power: With shackles hasten or be stung by Zeus,
Who will observe you lagging in abuse.
*
Heph: The cuffs are here about me, for him bent.
*
Power: Cast pressure in the chain about his hands.
With hammered concentration maul them in,
Compressive rivets bringing home in rocks.
*
Heph: The work proceeds, not missing in dispatch.
*
Power: Your starkest, sorest stroke! To fasten be
Your stress! Leave nothing loose by limb. He is
Prodigious, legerly deliverance
Seeking, howbeit fixed in boulders fast.
*
Heph: This arm is bound, intractable in bonds.
*
Power: And stitch the other, tack it sure. He’ll learn,
Though for mechanic prudence most renowned,
What little prescience lights his brain compared to Zeus.
*
Heph: In censure of my crafty junctions, none
But he due reprehension might impress.
*
Power: Now put this wedge’s pointed jaw within
His breast, amain to breach it with a blow.
*
Heph: Remorse, Prometheus, I avow for thee.
*
Power: Again condolences aloud in dole!
Again you dote on the Olympian’s foe.
Erelong, you might, bethink you, mourn yourself.
*
Heph: The sight you mark upon your eyes should smart.
*
Power: I see him patient, duly pained, with dole
Proportioned. Now his loins with girdles lap.
*
Heph: It must be done, but instantly your charge
Is overhard, on duty to enlarge.
*
Power: Behests be heard. I’ll bid you harder. Goads
Should bite. Now bending down, encompassment
About his legs begin, with links intent.
*
Heph: In present see the bronze is wrought, in fine
Perfected, without much mechanic pain.
4
*
Power: But with your sorest strength these rivets strike.
Our critic in this work is rigorous.
*
Heph: Your leer and tongue alike are loathable.
*
Power: Be then regardlessly not tough, but leave
Tendentious constancy to me nor grudge
What moody dourness may be mine in Power.
*
Heph: Let’s go. The wrap about his limbs is wrought.
Exit Hephaistos.
*
Power: Go profligate yourself forever here,
To men, as evanescent as ephemeral,
The prizes meant for gods conveying. Will
Your muscled dolors fall away by mortal hands?
You were, Prometheus, by the gods misnamed,
For now a true promethean you require
To set you from this fabrication free.
(Fxeunt Power and Force.)
*
Prometheus:
O aerial mercy all for life on earth,
O swiftest taking wing, you sudden winds,
O mobile rivers melted from the hills;
O roundge of Ocean risible in scope to rise
Like cacchination on a shore; 0 Earth
Omnimaternal, and thou god in ken
Of all, by sight to compass land and sea,
Lord Helios; thus I cry you, crucified
By gods, observe the torture I abide.
Behold, embodied with indignities
To bear this teen, millenia timed, a doom
Allotted, eldritch hourly whilst I howl.
Such is the bondage, abject sacredly,
That this new master of Olympians has
For me discovered. Pheu, pheu, everforth
To pine as now in pain, and thus I moan,
No term foretelling of the dire at length
Ordained, in full extended to the fine.
5
What’s this I say? All that shall be, I’ve known
Betimes correctly, never to abye
A sudden daunt. So with the lightest grace
Of patience left to me, this fated dole
I must support, aware a sacred force,
Necessity, will not be checked. I can
Neither bear silence nor unsilenced truth
Sustain about my lot. This falls by me
Because I granted fiery guerdons to
Mankind; this yoked affliction, over me
Enforced, ensues therefore. By Zeus unseen,
My trace was furtive to the source of fire.
A fennel stalk I filled therewith. For men
Didactic light then blazed, all daily arts
Evoking, and a mighty furtherance
To them it proved. For such a peccant fact
I’ve earned this pain, here overborne, constrained
Under the pervious skies with perceant nails.
Eala, ea, ea!
What sound by wing, what scent would come about
Me, not perceived by form? Is it divine
Or human or a cross of both? Upon this rock,
Peripheral afar, what advent might
Ascend in search of pain to see me peak?
Or what in meaning might proceed? Alas,
In gyves behold me girt, a god benign,
My fate abusive, to the Father Zeus
A foe, by all in loathing held that haunt
The sovereign’s hall, for having charity
Too much on men conferred, with love confirmed!
Pheu, pheu, the whirring hither, once again
I hear it, likely of a flock. Upon
Their flicker, lightly vibrant, now the air
Reverbs. But fear ensues, whatever comes.
*
The daughters of Oceanus on a winged car come forth.
Chorus:
6
No dread avow. Our advent, drawn
By love, this ledge surmounted. Leagued
In flight, a winged agon we maintain.
Our father’s leave uneathe we have.
With all traversing speed, at length
In Zephyr’s hand, ascent continued.
In depths recessed beneath our dome of caves
The clang of ferric clatter could
Be heard. Our deepest pudor, verecund
In Ocean, was effaced, affrighted thence
Thereby. And thus unshod, ascending
On this car, we shot to you.
*
Prometheus:
Aiai, aiai,
Of breeder Tethus, of prolific geneses
In broods of goddesses, you all are born,
Of Father Ocean, whose insomnolent
Domain of currents the circumference
Of earth completes, conducive to all tides.
Observe me, by these fetters see
How on the uppermost abyss of earth
I am held fast, the bleakest watch enduring.
*
Chorus:
I see, Prometheus; and upon mine eyes,
In spread suffusion like a mist, now tears come
forth,
Since under this embodied adamant
You’re bound to waste on these chasmatic rocks,
In caitiff insultation cadent seen.
For on Olympos the new helmsmen lead,
Where Zeus, with novel laws, would reign
Perforce awry; and what held good
Before in prime has been dissolved like death.
*
Prometheus:
If he precipitated into depths
Below terrestrial bournes myself in bonds
7
As low as Hades, loathly hosteler
Of liches in the earth, where Tartarus
Unpierced incarceration keeps, then no
God in malignant gloating or none else
Would at these wretched throes look down on me.
But now a hapless bauble for the winds I am
And grieve as much as Zeus rejoices at my grief.
*
Chorus: Gruffest in exultation, hardest grown,
Which god is pleased to see it? Who would not
Condole your subject dolor, who but Zeus?
A god too wreakful to surcease revenge.
By toughest constance the Titanic kind
He’d quell. Surcease before satiety
This god allows not till another’s hand
May his unseizable domain command.
*
Prometheus:
The time ensues, assure you soon or late,
Though here in twist the bonds are tied,
For torture binding with each turn,
When He, that marshal of the blessed,
Shall suffer need, myself in prayer
Seeking about the latest plot,
How it would shift him from the throne
And sceptre. Then his sweetest spell
Of sugared cant will savor ill,
Not win me over. Shall I then
Before his menace quail or at
Monitions tell? These violent gyves
Must be dissolved, and guerdons, just
In godly recompense, he must
Be willing to convey before
He learn the secrets of my lore.
***

F L Light in three categories of poetry has produced most of his work:

In epic his original works are Fighter Herakles Perforce, Shakespeare Undiminished, The Woman of Venereal Furies, A Book of Girds for Bob Giroux, and Cleopatra’s Kingdom of Idolatry. These are all in sonnets written. His translated epics are The Iliad in 1823 sonnets, and the Argonautica, about seven hundred sonnets.

In drama, he has written twenty eight dramas, all in his own form of Greek tragedy. Twenty four of them comprise the Gouldium, a series about Jay Gould and his enemies.

Light has also translated six Greek tragedies, four of which have been produced for Audible.

Light has published about thirty five books of couplets, most of them on economics. Shakespeare Versus Keynes is now in production for Audible.

Buckle &, Lucid Rhythms, Raintree Review, International Poetry Review, Cowboy Poetry Press, Mobius, Hrafno, and Troglodyte are some of the magazines he has appeared in.

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robin@artvilla.com
editor@artvilla.com

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Francisca Aguirre Nana del desperdicio de la tristeza Lullaby for Sadness Amparo Arrospide Robin Ouzman Hislop Translated Poem

Francisca Agirre

 

Nana del desperdicio de la tristeza

 

 Al abrigo de la arboleda de Soto del Real

   y cerca de María Fernanda y Emilio Barrachina

 

Tengo delante de los ojos

el asombro de la arboleda

que me abraza.

Miro los fresnos susurrantes,

 los callados abetos,

los sauces melancólicos

 y no sé bien qué hacer

con el desperdicio intangible

 que llamamos tristeza.

 La tristeza es quizás

 el mejor animal de compañía,

 

la fiera más doméstica,

 pero también la más hambrienta.

 

La tristeza es un hueco que nos sigue

y que al menor descuido nos alcanza,

se sitúa delante de nosotros

y nos canta su nana de desdichas,

su lamento de fiera abandonada,

su machacona relación de oprobios,

su quejido de bicho que se empeña

en pegarse a nosotros

 y decirnos

que no la abandonemos

 a su suerte,

que nuestra obligación es adoptarla.

El viejo desperdicio de la pena,

tan opaco y radiante a un mismo tiempo,

nos va reconociendo con su hocico

y nos lame las manos con su lengua

y se acurruca manso a nuestro lado:

conoce palmo a palmo

 el territorio.

Sus lágrimas nos lavan con modestia,

mientras el animal nos sigue terco,

 con la amable seguridad

que da el abismo.

 

***

 

LULLABY FOR SADNESS

 

 Sheltered by the Soto del Real grove

 and close to María Fernanda y Emilio Barrachina

 

Before my eyes stands

the sheltering grove´s amazement

 which embraces me.

I look at the whispering ash trees,

 the still firs,

the melancholic willows

 and am at a loss

with the intangible remains

 we call sadness.

Sadness is perhaps

 the best pet to keep you company,

 

the most domestic beast,

 but also the most ravenous.

Sadness is a vacuum that pursues us

that leaps out on us unawares

to confront us

to lull us with its lullaby of wretchedness,

its lament of a forsaken beast,

and its monotonous list of injuries,

its plaintive creature´s groan insisting

in attaching itself to us

 and imploring us

not to abandon it

 to its fate,

that it is our duty to adopt it.

The old remnant of sorrow,

so opaque and bright at the same time

that starts by recognition through nose

then the licking of hands with tongue

tamely curling up at our side:

bit by bit it takes hold

 of the land.

Meekly its tears wash us

whilst the beast pursues us stubbornly,

 with that gentle assurance

offered to us by the abyss.

***

Translated by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide

***

 

Francisca Aguirre was born in 1930 in Alicante, Spain, and fled with her family to France at the end of the Spanish Civil War, where they lived in political exile.  When the Germans invaded Paris in 1942, her family was forced to return to Spain, where her father, painter Lorenzo Aguirre, was subsequently murdered by Francisco Franco’s regime.  Aguirre published Ítaca (1972), currently available in English (Ithaca [2004]), when she was 42 years old. Her work has garnered much critical success, winning the Leopoldo Panero, Premio Ciudad de Irún, and Premio Galliana, among other literary prizes.  Aguirre is married to the poet Félix Grande and is the mother of poet Guadalupe Grande.

 

 
Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK) Co-editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry_Life_and_Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at http://www.thepoeticbond.com and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: http://bit.ly/1lIL0jF. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.robin@artvilla.com and you can also visit Face Book site at www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 
WIN_20140415_213447
 

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

 

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EL ANGEL PROMETIDO. THE PROMISED ANGEL (Extract)Poem.Javier Diaz Gil.Translated Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide

 

(i)

Creyó que era un ángel.

Tuvo suerte.

 

Resulté

ser un fantasma.

****

He believed I was an angel.

He was lucky.

 

I happened

to be a ghost.

****

(ii)

Terminarás aprendiendo

 –yo te enseñaré–:

 

Lo más difícil

de todo

 

es desaparecer.

****

You will end up learning

 — I will teach you–:

 

Most difficult

of all

 

is to vanish.

****

(iii)

A plena luz

los fantasmas

son más visibles.

 

Sólo los ángeles

buscan la noche.

****

In broad daylight

ghosts

are most visible.

 

Only angels

seek the night.

****

(iv)

¡Aprovéchate!

 

Los fantasmas

tenemos

 

sexo.

****

Be cool!

 

As yes,

we ghosts

have

 

sex.

****

(v)

Te asustarás

si ves un fantasma.

 

Pero preocúpate

si es

un ángel

lo que ves.

****

You’ll be scared

should you see a ghost.

 

But you should worry

if it´s

an angel

you see.

****

(vi)

En caso de duda

levanta la sábana

del fantasma.

 

A veces debajo

se esconde

 

un ángel.

****

In case of doubt

lift the sheet

from the ghost.

 

At times beneath

hides

 

an angel.

****

(vii)

Los ángeles

siempre

regresan

al

lugar

 

 

del

crimen.

****

Angels

always

return

to

the scene

 

of

the crime.

****

Febrero 2012 Javier Diez Gil

Javier Díaz Gil, Madrid, 1964. A Bachelor in Geography & History, with a diploma in General Education Teaching. Until 2006, co-founder and director of the literary magazine Rascamán. For over ten years he has supervised Creative Literature Workshops. Director and moderator of the cycles Escritores en la Biblioteca (“María Moliner” Library). He has published the poetry books Humo, granted the Humberto Tenedor award, Abarán, 2000; Hallazgo de la visión, granted the Nicolás del Hierro award, Piedrabuena, 2000. In 2006 at Santiago de Chile he took part in the Latin American poetry meeting “Poquita Fe” and in 2007 at São Paulo (Brazil) in the “Festival de Tordesilhas”. His poems have been published in literary anthologies and magazines such as Poeta de ©abra (Madrid), Luces y sombras (Tafalla), sèrieAlfa (Valencia), Cuadernos del Matemático (Madrid) o Celuzlose (São Paulo). He was selected at the “Diputación de Badajoz” 2008 Experimental Poetry Award, nominated for the 2010 Addison de Witt Poetry Award and awarded the 2013 “Manzanares el Real” Poetry Award. His poems have been translated into English, Portuguese and Catalan. A member of the Society of Spanish Writers & Artists, since 2006 he chairs the weekly literary gathering Rascamán held at the Café Ruiz in Madrid. His blog can be found at  http://javierdiazgil.blogspot.com

***
WIN_20140415_213447

Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK) Co-editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry_Life_and_Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at http://www.thepoeticbond.com and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: http://bit.ly/1lIL0jF. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.robin@artvilla.com and you can also visit Face Book site at www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 
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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Princeps Tenebrarum.Poem.Amparo Arróspide.Translated Robin Ouzman Hislop.

 

Princeps Tenebrarum*

 

 

Lamerán sus tobillos las sombras de la noche

cuando termine el baile, e hipnótico te mire:

le pides que te rasgue con la carne de un beso

y anhelarás su cuerpo, su cuerpo que no está.…

 

 

como serpiente al tronco ciñéndose, centauro,

mientras tú te despiertas del trance más profundo,

pasajera en su jungla, en su abrazo mortal.

Y desearás morirte, brillantes las pupilas,

 

 

y lucharás a muerte contra la muerte lenta

que quiere emponzoñarte y era sólo el desliz,

el deslizarse lento de su lengua en tu boca,

 

 

que muda la rehúye, aterida y reptil,

el arrastrarse sabio de la marea alta,

desangrándose en semen, tiempo, y poco más.

 

 *Latín= Príncipe de las tinieblas

 

 

 Princeps Tenebrarum *

 

 

The shadows of the night will be caressing his ankles

when the dance ends and he stares at you hypnotically

and you ask him to tear you open with a carnal kiss,

whilst longing for his body, a body no longer there…

 

 

but entangled like a serpent on a trunk, a Centaur,

and there you had been awoken from the profoundest trance

to travel in his jungle caught in his lethal embrace,

and where you will want to die in the brilliance of your eyes.

 

 

And there you will struggle against death, against a slow death

that wants to poison you, and it was only that, that slip

that slidingly slipped slowly its tongue down into your mouth,

 

 

coldly reptilian, which shunning you mutely refused,

as in the wisdom of high tide receding from the shore,

departs, leaving only bleeding, semen and little else.

 

* Latin = Prince of Darkness

 

Translated from Amparo Arróspide’s Princeps Tenebrarum

by Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of Poetry Life & Times

 
This sonnet together with its translation appeared in The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Exciting new sonnet anthology edited by Richard Vallance now available on Barnes & Noble: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes BN ID: 2940148833628 Publisher: FriesenPress Publication date: 11/20/2013 Sold by: Barnes & Noble
 
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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

 
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
robin@artvilla.com
PoetryLifeTimes
Poetry Life & Times

editor@artvilla.com
www.artvilla.com
Artvilla.com
 

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Conformal Mapping.Poem.Sonnet.Vera Rich(1936-2009)

 

 

I cannot come to you without a sleep,

And travelling through sleep, I cannot know

If through one firm continuum I go.

Night is an involution which may keep

 Strange secrets, map our plane from sphere to sphere,

 And though we travel post-stage, can we swear

 Nights in strange inns preserve invariant “there”

 And “thither”? One brief day embeds our “near”.

 So, meeting, can we claim a mundane path

 Maps me to you in spatial translation?

 Rise with the dawn – however swift we run,

 Time draws its radius around each hearth,

 And hence we meet, sped by night’s transformation

 Where children dream gold lands beyond the sun.

 

***

Vera Rich(1936-2009)

Educated at St Hilda’s College, Oxford and at Bedford College, London, Vera Rich, a respected science journalist and a tireless campaigner for human rights, was a fine poet. Her wits were quick, her memory prodigious and she had a wonderful sense of humour.

During the 1960’s she had three books of her own poems published, and founded the poetry magazine, Manifold. This ran with some success for 28 issues before publication was suspended in 1968, when Vera became Eastern European correspondent for the science magazine, Nature.

Once asked to translate some Ukrainian poems, she learned the language to do so. For the next three decades, she travelled extensively in eastern Europe, becoming the foremost translator of both Ukrainian and Belarusian poetry into English. She reported on the activities of dissident Soviet scientists, the Chernobyl disaster, psychiatric abuse and AIDS in the Soviet Union. Her anthology of Belarusian poetry, Like Water, Like Fire, published by UNESCO, was subsequently withdrawn under pressure from the Soviet Union.

Manifold, which she revived in 1998, regularly published foreign-language poetry with parallel text in Engtlish and, occasionally. foreign poetry untranslated. In 2006 Vera travelled to the Ukraine to receive the Ivan Franko Award for her 40 years service to the translation of Ukrainian poetry. While on a visit to the Ivan Franko Homestead she gave an emotional reading of Shevchenko’s poem “Testament”. On her next visit in 2007, she wore her medal, the Order of Princess Olha, which had been presented to her at the Ukrainian Embassy in London. Vera could fairly be described as a Ukrainian patriot, an unusual distinction for an Englishwoman.

In 2006 Vera underwent treatment for breast cancer. But she always insisted her illness was an inconvenient obstacle to her work. On 18 December 2009, her doctor advised her to go into hospital, but even then Vera gave priority to her translations. On 20 December, 2009, she died peacefully in her bed. She will be greatly missed, not least for her kindness and the support she gave to so many. Alan Flowers (UK)

 ***

This sonnet and bibliography is pre-published with the permission of the Editor-in-chief from:

Richard Vallance, editor-in-chief. The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire. Friesen Presse, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © 2013. approx. 240 pp. ISBN Hardcover: 978-1-4602-1700-9 Price: $28.00 Paperback: 978-1-4602-1701-6 Price: $18.00 e-Book: 978-1-4602-1702-3 Price: TBA

300 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian.

30 sonnets in this anthology are to be pre-published by our permission in Poetry Life & Times (UK) which has exclusive sole rights prior to the publication of the anthology itself. Readers may also contact Richard Vallance, Editor-in-Chief, at: vallance22@gmx.com for further information.http://vallance22.hpage.com/

 

 

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W.S.Sonnet 53.French Translation Richard Vallance

Tiré de = from:The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: 
Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium 
= Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : 
Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire.
Victoria, British Columbia: Friesen Press, © 2013 / 

Chapitre 2 : sonnets en français

Sonnet 53

daprès le Sonnet LIII (53) de William Shakespeare

Alexandrin

Laquelle serait lessentielle à te définir,
Des ténèbres innombrables qui te poursuivent ?
Parmi ces pénombres qui veulent se réunir
À toi, à qui est la mine plus inexpressive ?
Décrire Adonis, et son image dans la glace
Veut te contrefaire aussi bien quil taffaiblit ;
Les beaux-arts, auraient-ils, Hélène, autant de grâce,
Que la frise hellénique, elle qui tembellit ?
Lon voit au beau printemps sépanouir lannée,
Dont la foison est trop exquise et un atout,
Mais elle a moins dabondance que ta Beauté ;
Te voilà donc bénie et reconnue partout.
   Quelle soit prévisible, la grâce tappartient,
   Et la constance imprévisible aussi bien.

Richard Vallance

Le Sonnet 53 de Richard Vallance a été publié dans le vol. 7, numéro 3, été 2007, page 18 de Sonnetto Poesia ISSN1705-4524= was previously published in Sonnetto Poesia ISSN 1705-4524.Vol. 7 No. 3 summer 2007, page 18

Dit-il : Cette nouvelle version du sonnet que jai composé en français ne constitue 
pas du tout une simple traduction.  Cest en effet ma création originale du sonnet 53 
de William Shakespeare (1564-1616).  My version of  William Shakespeare's Sonnet 
53 is simply not to be construed as a running translation of the original. It is in fact 
my own original creation.

Sonnet LIII 

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helens cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
   In all external grace you have some part,
   But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Commentaires sur la recréation du sonnet 53 de William Shakespeare par Richard Vallance = 

Comments on Richard Vallances recreation of William Shakespeares Sonnet 53 into French:

Ta recréation du sonnet de Shakespeare, fort réussie, me touche dautant plus que... 
passim...  [j]e viens de comparer dun peu plus près ton sonnet 53 avec loriginal...
 passim... et les traductions dHenri Thomas et Armel Guerne. Si tu téloignes parfois 
délibérément de la lettre, tu saisis lesprit des Sonnets de Shakespeare, en particulier 
la musicalité et les antithèses, dont celle de la chute. (Thierry Guinhut, France.) 
http://www.thierry-guinhut-litteratures.com/)

Translated: Your recreation of Shakespeares sonnet, a success in itself, affects me all 
the more when I compare it with the translations of Henri Thomas and Armel Guerne.  
If you occasionally stray from the letter, you never stray from the spirit of Shakespeares 
sonnets.  Your French faithfully reflects the  musicality, the play on antithesis and the 
surprising twist of his rhyming couplet.

Had Richard Vallance only carried the images of Sonnet 53 safely across the pond to lay 
them down in new  Alexandrine accommodations, his achievement would have been notable; 
but he has done something rarer... by reminding us of the Sonnet’s intentions.  He has given 
us a love poem: one that no Dark Lady would easily resist.  (Becca Menon, Becca Books, NYC)

I read your translation/adaptation of sonnet 53 and enjoyed it  a strange effect of translations 
is sometimes one understands an aspect of the original better in the translation; Shakespeares 
already moderately remote from us, that is our use of the English. So your translation brings 
several aspects of the original to light which are perhaps a bit opaque in the original.  
(Howard Giskin, Department of Modern and Classical Languages, University of  Connecticut, Storrs)

Vraiment la traduction du sonnet 53 de W.S. est excellent. Je peux te dire qu’en français ça coule avec une douceur infinie. C’est de toute beauté. Gilles Le Chasseur (Rimouski, Québec, Canada)

Translated: Your translation of W.S.'s Sonnet 53 is excellent.  I can honestly say
 that it flows with infinite grace in French. It is a thing of beauty.

We urge readers of these sonnets in Poetry Life & Times pre-published 
from The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendes. 
Victoria, B.C., Canada, Friesen Press, © June 2013  300 sonnets in English, 
French, German, Chinese & Farsi, http://vallance22.hpage.com/, to visit the
site. Readers may also contact Richard  Vallance, Editor-in-Chief, at:
vallance22@gmx.com for further information. 

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Doors. Sonnet.Poem. Ma Li. Translated Chinese Tang Yao. Howard Giskin

门与门

 

我一直注视着一个人,一个陌生人

我在楼梯口遇见过他,他打开了一道门

正是冬天,我正在浴盆中洗澡的时刻

这个人从某一个方向朝我走来,破门而入

这个人的眼睛在一开始的时候就装满了

关于门的故事,医院的门,公墓的门

这个人走遍了黑夜,站在一个小镇安静的门外

这个人左手藏着一把西班牙小牛角刀

右手握着一卷爱伦坡式的恐怖小说

身上有酒,还有心爱女人的照片

我与这个人匆匆一瞥,他招呼我开

我不慌不忙地去开门,门被推开了

但我醒了,门把我从现实推向幽蔽的梦境

门又把我从梦境扯回现实的一个角落

 

Doors

 

I have been watching a man, a stranger

I met him at the stair-head, he opened a door

In wintertime when I was in the tub

He came to me from somewhere entering

Eyes filled with doors; hospital doors, cemetery doors

Passing the night standing outside the

Quiet door of a small town, hiding a Spanish

Horn knife in his left hand, horror story in the right

Bottle of wine in his pocket and a photo of a beloved woman

I caught a glimpse of this man who asked

Me to open the door; in no hurry, door

Pushed open from reality I woke into

Dreamland confined when again a door pulled

Me from dreamland to a corner of reality.

 

***

Ma Li is a contemporary poet, painter and essayist. She is also the chief editor of the writing column of South Weekend, the most famous and widely issued weekly newspaper in China. She was born in the seaside town Zhanjiang in 1960. She began to write poems in the 1980’s, and essays in 1990’s. She is a member in the Chinese Writers Association. She has published several poetry collections, like “Ma Li Poetry Collection,” and “Ma Li’s Golden Sonnet,” the latter which won first prize in the “Chinese New Classic Poem Award” competition in 2007. In addition, she has published several essay collections and held her own art exhibition.

 

Tang Yao comes from Xuzhou, China. At present she lives in Nanjing. Her area of specialization is foreign and applied linguistics. She focuses on translation both from Chinese to English and from English to Chinese, and has co-translated two books from English to Chinese. She has also done research on the translation of ancient Chinese poems.

 

Howard Giskin has taught in the Department of English at Appalachian State University since 1989. He works mainly in the area of World Literature, with particular interest in Asian culture, literature and philosophy, as well as Latin American literature. He has co-edited An Introduction to Chinese Culture through the Family (SUNY Press, 2001), and has edited a volume of Chinese folktales (NTC / Contemporary, 1997), as well as written articles on Argentinean writer Jorge Luis Borges, and published poetry. His interests also include the intersection of the sciences and humanities. He has taught in Asia, Africa, Europe and Latin America, and lives with his wife Vicki in Millers Creek, North Carolina.

 
Phoenix  Book Image
 
Ma li’s Sonnet Doors in its original Chinese text together with its translation by Tang Yao and Howard Giskin appear in The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium= Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaireat Friesen Press. ISBN: Hardcover: 978-1-4602-1700-9 Paperback: 978-1-4602-1701-6 eBook: 978-1-4602-1702-3.
http://vallance22.hpage.com

 

 

 

 

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Griefs Home. Poem. Amparo Arrospide

 

Perhaps grief is a home
with a haughty ceiling and a bolted door
where you feel so comfortable, sometimes,
that you do not hear the steel s edge
slashing the tapestries,
suspended on the scented air:
it is heliotrope blended with brimstone,
seeking to settle in the corners;

only the window stands
between the limit and you.

Arduous walk, in silence you listen to the ancient voices,
firewood for this grief
always starved of you,
as demanding as a newborn child
whom you already love.

The door opens ajar and you close it:
There is nothing to be afraid of.

***

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***

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

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