Inutile. A Poem by Noni Benegas. Translated from Spanish by Noël Valis

Excerpt from Fragments of an Unknown Diary

Inutile                                                                                   Inútil

insolent                                                                                 insolente

insociable                                                                              insociable

insecure filthy                                                                       insegura sucia

cupriferous carbona soaked                                                  cuprífera carbona rehogada

lens lamina                                                                            lente lámina

leavened                                                                                levadiza

villain                                                                                    villana

vultiferous jerk                                                                      vultífera fregada

insomniac                                                                              insomne

maniac                                                                                   maníaca

criminoid désolée decisive                                                    criminante desolante decisiva

incisive                                                                                  incisiva

leeks mangled beef                                                               puerro ropa vieja

snitch                                                                                     soplona

salivating drooling dissolving                                               salivada babeante borrosa

brute                                                                                      bruta

brutally brute                                                                         abrutada brutal

 

malapertous                                                                          malabuena

malapropous                                                                         malhabida

beflavorous                                                                           saborida

borealeous                                                                             brisada

brumeous                                                                              brumosa

lunar rapide                                                                           lunar rápida

unmissed                                                                               mal ida

unwelcome                                                                            malvenida

seated seatless                                                                       ensillada sin silla

second sally                                                                          resalida

aligned                                                                                  ahilada

related                                                                                   recontada

recuperated                                                                           recuperada

cured                                                                                     curtida

cooked                                                                                  cociente

crunched                                                                               crujiente

stitched                                                                                 cosida

chosen                                                                                  elegida

papa loved                                                                           papá amada

papa pretty                                                                          papá linda

papa talk                                                                              papá diálogo

papa love                                                                             papá amor

papa always                                                                         papá siempre

 

broken bashed bent                                                            rota estrujada revertida

exonerated                                                                          exonerada

extracted                                                                             extraída

launched                                                                              lanzada

mama suppressed                                                               mamá elidida

mama scolded                                                                     mamá reñida

mama twisted                                                                      mamá torcida

mama out                                                                            mamá fuera

mama far                                                                             mamá lejos

mama hurry                                                                         mamá prisas

mama hollow                                                                       mamá hueco

mama never                                                                         mamá nunca

mama old                                                                             mamá vieja

mama death                                                                         mamá muerte

mama space                                                                         mamá espacio

mama freedom                                                                     mamá libertad

mama voice                                                                          mamá voz

mama laughing                                                                    mamá riente

mama suffering                                                                    mamá doliente

mama pardon                                                                       mamá perdón

mama please                                                                        mamá porfavor

mama plea                                                                            mamá ruego

mama purchase                                                                    mamá compra

mama vigilant                                                                       mamá avizora

mama idea                                                                            mamá idea

mama recuperate                                                                 mamá recupera

mama leftover                                                                      mamá sobras

mama rags                                                                           mamá guiñapo

mama mummy                                                                    mamá momia

mama whine                                                                        mamá queja

mama fate                                                                           mamá sino

mama loving                                                                       mamá amante

mama late                                                                           mamá tarde

 

garden gone                                                                        jardín ido

gathered                                                                              recogido

garden rigged                                                                      jardín jarcias

never-ever                                                                            jamases

garden grasped                                                                    jardín asido

threads                                                                                 hilo

garden moon                                                                        jardín luna

gleams                                                                                  riela

carp play                                                                               lúdica carpa

sounds                                                                                  suena

pool star                                                                               charco estrella

garden plot                                                                           jardín tramo

peril                                                                                       trance

 

Works by Noni Benegas

Poetry

Argonáutica. Prologue José María Valverde. Barcelona: Laertes, 1984. (Platero Prize)

La balsa de la Medusa. Alicante: Caja de Ahorros Provincial de Alicante, 1987.

(Miguel Hernández National Prize for Poetry)

Cartografía ardiente: Madrid: Verbum, 1995.

Las entretelas sedosas: Montilla: Aula Poética Casa del Inca, 2002.

Fragmentos de un diario desconocido. Ferrol: Esquío, 2004. (Esquío de Poesía Prize)

De ese roce vivo: Madrid, Huerga&Fierro, 2009

Animales Sagrados: Barcelona, Igitur, 2012 ( Vila de Martorell Prize)

Lugar Vertical: Barcelona, Igitur, 2012 ( Ciutat de Palma, Rubén Darío Prize)

El ángel de lo súbito: A selection of poetry, whit an introduction by Benito del Pliego, Madrid, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2013

Fragmentos de un diario desconocido. Reedition, Madrid, eMe, escritura de Mujeres en español, Ed. La Palma, 2017

Poetry in translation

Burning Cartography: A bilingüal selection spanish-english, introduced and translated by Noël Valis. Austin, TX, Host, 2007. Second edition with added poems in 2011

Animaux sacrés et autres poémes: A bilingüal selection spanish-french translated by Annie Salager, Sète, Al Manar, 2013  (Voix Vives, de Méditerranée en Méditerranée)

Criticism

Ellas tienen la palabra. Dos décadas de poesía española. (with Jesús Munárriz). Introduction by Noni Benegas. Madrid: Hiperión, 1997. 4th ed., 2008.

Ellas tienen la palabra. Las mujeres y la escritura. Collects the introduction to the anthology of the same name, a new prologue, articles, interviews and an epilogue. Madrid,Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2017

Ellas resisten. Mujeres poetas y artistas. Textos 1994-2019: Madrid, Huerga&Fierro, 2019

 

Bio: Translator. Noël Valis (born 24 December 1945) is a writer, scholar and translator. She is a Professor of Spanish at Yale University.  She received her B.A. from Douglass College and earned a Ph.D. in Spanish and French at Bryn Mawr College. An Hon. Woodrow Wilson Fellow, she is a recipient of fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Valis is a Full Member of the Academia Norteamericana de la Lengua Española (an affiliate of the Real Academia Española) and a Corresponding Member of the Real Academia Española. In 2017 she won the Victoria Urbano Academic Achievement Prize (Premio Victoria Urbano de Reconocimiento Académico), given by the International Association of Hispanic Women’s Literature and Culture (Asociación Internacional de Literatura y Cultura Femenina Hispánica), for her work in Hispanic women’s and gender studies. Her translation of Noni Benegas’s poetry, Burning Cartography, was awarded the New England Council of Latin American Studies’ Best Book Translation Prize.

 

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Homage to Francisca Aguirre – The Lullaby Poems (Translated from Spanish)

Francisca Aguirre, Premio Nacional de las Letras 2018 El jurado la ha elegido 
“por estar su poesía (la más machadiana de la generación del medio siglo)
entre la desolación y la clarividencia, la lucidez y el dolor"

Francisca Aguirre, National Literature Prize 2018
The jury chose it "because its poetry is (the most Machadian* of the generation 
of the half century) between desolation and clairvoyance, lucidity and pain"

* In the tradition of Antonio Machado

https://elpais.com/cultura/2018/11/13

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.



From "NANAS PARA DORMIR DESPERDICIOS" 

LULLABIES TO LULL THROWN AWAYS

by FRANCISCA AGUIRRE

Translated by Amparo Arrospíde & Robin Ouzman Hislop ***

NANA DE LAS SOBRAS                                                                             A Esperanza y Manuel Rico Vaya

canción la de las sobras, eso sí
                      que era una nana para dormir el hambre.
Vaya canción aquella
                      que cantaba mi abuela con aquella voz
que era la voz de la misericordia
disfrazada de voz angelical.
                             Porque la voz de mi abuela
nos cantaba la canción de las sobras.
                             Y nosotras, que no conocíamos el pan,
cantábamos con ella que
                             las sobras de pan eran sagradas,
las sobras de pan nunca se tiran.

Siempre recordaré su hermosa voz
cantando aquella nana mientras el hambre nos dormía.
                                         **
LULLABY FOR LEFTOVERS                                                          To  Esperanza and Manuel Rico

Well, a leftovers song,
                    that truly was a lullaby to lull hunger to sleep.
Wow, that song 
                    my grandmother sang with a voice
that was the voice of mercy
disguised as the voice of an angel.
                              Because my grandmother´s voice
sang for us the leftovers song.
                              And we, who did not know bread,
sang together with her that
                              bread leftovers were holy,
bread leftovers shall never be thrown away.

I will always remember her beautiful voice
singing that lullaby while hunger lulled us to sleep.

                                                                                                       **

NANA DE LAS HOJAS CAÍDAS                                                                       
                                                                                                                       A Marián Hierro
Casi todo lo que se pierde tiene música,
                                                             una música oculta, inolvidable.
Pero las hojas, esas criaturas parlanchinas
que son la voz de nuestros árboles,
                    tienen, como la luz, el agua y las libélulas
una nana secreta y soñadora.
                    Lo que se pierde, siempre nos deja
                       un rastro misterioso y cantarín.

Las hojas verdes o doradas
              cantan su desamparo mientras juegan al corro.
Cantan mientras los árboles las llaman
como llaman las madres a sus hijos
sabiendo que es inútil, que han crecido
                     y que se han ido a recorrer el mundo.

                                                                                                      ****

LULLABY FOR FALLEN LEAVES
                                                                                                                     To Marián Hierro

Almost everything which is lost has a music,
                                                                     a hidden, unforgettable music.
But leaves, those chattering creatures
who are the voices of our trees
                       have -- like light, water and dragonflies --
a secret dreamy lullaby.
                                   That which is lost to us, always leaves
                                           the mysterious trace of its song.
Green or golden leaves
                        sing of their neglect as they dance their ring a ring of roses.
They sing while trees call to them
as mothers do calling their children
knowing it is futile, as they have grown up
                                     and left to travel the world over.
                                                                                          
                                                                                                                               **

NANA DE LAS CARTAS VIEJAS

Tienen el olor desvalido del abandono
y el tono macilento del silencio.
Son desperdicios de la memoria, residuos de dolor, 
                                                   y hay que cantarles muy bajito
para que no despierten de su letargo.
En ocasiones las manos se tropiezan con ellas
                                                  y el pulso se acelera
porque notamos que las palabras	
                                                 como si fueran mariposas
quieren bailar delante de nosotros
y volver a contarnos el secreto
                                                 que duerme entre sus páginas.
Son las abandonadas,
                                 los residuos de un tiempo de desdicha,
relatan pormenores de un combate
                                 y al rozarlas oímos el tristísimo andar
de los presos en los penales.

                                                                                                         **

LULLABY FOR OLD LETTERS

They give off the helpless smell of neglectfulness
and the emaciated tone of silence.
They are memory´s cast offs, residues of pain
                                                   and should be sung to in a low croon
so as not to awaken them from their lethargy.
Sometimes your hands chance upon them
                                                   and your pulse races
because we realize that words
                                                   wish to dance before us
as if they were butterflies
and tell us again the secret
                                                  sleeping inside their pages.
They are the neglected,
                                                  the remnants of unhappy times,
recounting the details of a struggle
                                                  and as we brush them we hear the saddest steps
of prisoners in jails.

                                                                                                          **

NANA DEL HUMO

La nana del humo tiene muchos detractores,
casi nadie quiere cantarla.
                                            Muchos dicen que el humo los ahoga,
otros piensan que eso de dormir al humo
                                            no les da buena espina,
que tiene algo de gafe.
                                   El humo no resulta de fiar:
en cuanto asoma su perfil oscuro
todo son malas conjeturas:
                                             se nos está quemando el bosque,
aquella casa debe de estar ardiendo.
El humo es un extraño desperdicio,
                                             tiene muy mala prensa.
Es un abandonado,
                                   es un incomprendido;
casi nadie recuerda que el humo es un vocero,
un triste avisador de lo que se nos avecina.
Y por eso, cuando lo escucho vocear con impotencia
yo le canto la nana del silencio
                                   para que no se sienta solo.
                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                       **

LULLABY FOR SMOKE

The lullaby for smoke doesn´t get many supporters,
almost nobody wants to sing its song.
                                               Many say smoke stifles them,
others think to lull smoke to sleep
                                               makes them queasy, 
that it´s a bit of a jinx.
                                  Smoke is not trustworthy:
as soon as it rears its dark head
it conjures up conjectures
                                                        -- a forest fire,
a house burning down.
Smoke is a weird remain,
                                             it´s got bad reports.
It´s a reject,
                                  it´s a misunderstood thing;
almost nobody remembers smoke is a herald,
a sad forwarner of what looms over us.
That´s why, when I hear it calling out helplessly,
I sing to it the lullaby for silence
                                             so that it doesn´t feel so lonely.


                                                                                                     ***
Translators:

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published 
seven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos 
poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, 
Hormigas en Diáspora and Jaccuzzi, as well as poems, short stories and articles on 
literary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines. 
She has received numerous awards. 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include 
All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist 
the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande 
and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. 
See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) and his latest 
Collected Poems Volume at  Next-Arrivals 

3 Poems by Alisa Velaj, Limit, His Widow & He, Translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj

LIMIT
 
The woman watching the see is blind. For her, the sea waves are the soul waves.
From now on, the chopped light of the immense water container is what she will see
running deeper and deeper inside herself.
 
The blind woman and the ship that could never sail are of the same age.
The ship and her last lover have the same farsightedness.
 
Her last lover was a sailor and a fool. He heard only the melody
coming from the beating stick, turning a deaf to ear to all the island’s playing drums.
 
The blind woman and her last lover loved the flute sounds at dusk.
 
He never told her that the sea light had the shape of his destroying love for her.
However, she would willingly pretend that she had understood him.
She feared that he might also go blind if she told him the truth.
 
 
HIS WIDOW
 
His widow will continue to live her earthly years under the shadow of the emperor’s courtyard.
 
He, the most wonderful tree, left her soul empty with the crowds still conquered by him.
 
The crowds always look at his widow as a mantel of leaves.
 
When the blossoms wither, the mantel ceases to exist. At this moment even the crowds stop thinking.
 
In spring the mantel rejuvenates again. His widow gladdens because of the freshened memory of the citizens who never knew the dictator.
 
His widow loved the crowd and the leaf.
 
They both have short memory.
 
 
HE
 
He will not be able walk out of the house where he and the Eagle stay imprisoned.
 
He is there, and the guitar sounds coming from beyond the window, though tempting,
fail to encourage him.
 
He and the Eagle love and hate each other infinitely.
 
She will not pluck his eyes out, for he has given up watching since his childhood.
To both of them, light particles are as strange as colors.
 
She will not blind him, and he will cry one day, he will cry a lot because of her farewell.
 
At that moment he will be a child conscious of his loss, while the fir-trees will throw
thick shadows over the sadness of the undiscovered oases.
 
 

 
 
Alisa Velaj has been shortlisted for the annual international Erbacce-Press Poetry Award in UK in June 2014. Her works have appeared in more than eighty print and online international magazines, including: FourW twentyfive Anthology (Australia), The Journal (UK), The Dallas Review (USA), The Linnet’s Wings (UK) The Seventh Quarry (UK), Envoi Magazine (UK) etc etc. Velaj’s digital chapbook “The Wind Foundations” translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj is published by Zany Zygote Review (USA). Her poems are also translated in Hebrew, Swedish, Romanian, French and Portuguese. Alisa Velaj’s poetry book “With No Sweat At All” (trans by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj) will be published by Cervena Barva Press in 2019.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

On the razor’s edge, Iceland. A Poem by Anna Maria Dall’Olio



Islanda sul filo del rasoio
Sospiro.                                         Spuma sgorga.
Ghiacciaio fulminato
frana fiume fluente.
							Astronomico il debito statale.
                                                        Soverchi tassi d'interesse.
                                                        Basso livello medio salariale.

Vasti strazi nell'infero profondo.
Campi di lava.			O grano.
Fili d'erba sul filo del rasoio.
("Latte & Limoni", 2014)
On the razor’s edge, Iceland
Something sighed					    
a flowing river is falling 
foam flows out.

                                                                       Too high is the national debt
                                                                        too high are interest rates
                                                                        too low are median incomes.

The toxic torture in the deepest depths.
Either lava or corn fields.
On the razor’s edge, blades of grass.





Anna Maria Dall’Olio

She has been teaching English in Italian high schools since 1987. She devoted herself to fiction, poetry and playwriting. In 2005 she was ranked second in “Hanojo – via Rendevuo, a Vietnamese cultural competition for the millennial celebration of Hanoj (1010-2010). Moreover, she was ranked first/second/third in lots of literary competitions for her Italian poems (2006-2018).She published a short novel, “Segreti” (“Secrets”, 2018). Besides, she published 5 collections of poems:”Sì shabby chic” (“So shabby chic”, 2018), “L’acqua opprime” (“Water oppresses”, 2016), “Fruttorto sperimentale” (“Experimental Food Forest”, 2016), “Latte & Limoni” (“Milk & Lemons”, 2014), “L’angoscia del pane” (“Bread is anguish”, 2010). Finally, She wrote “Tabelo” (“Table”, 2006), a play in Esperanto dealing with mobbing as a supreme artistic form.

Web site: www.annamariadallolio.it

 Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

Close to Me. BLIKSOM. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački. Translated from Serbian by Danijela Milosavljević

 

 
SAVRŠENSTVO PERFECTION 完璧さ
New book Tatjana Debeljački タチアナ デベリャスキー
Serbian English and Japanese

Translation by Mariko Sumikura
Artwork: Janoš Mesaroš
 
 
CLOSE TO ME
 
 
Togetherness disappears.
We are lost while leaving ourselves.
It’s too late for finding symbols.
The expression is a form of research
at the entrance of voice ventricles.
We sacrifice slow reasons to the quick words.
Parting is a chronicler with no chronicles.
Interpretations are hinted in the meanings of values ​​.
Let’s not torture the lions with the inner space of the sky.
We have lost the gemstone.
The search is wasted effort.
We nurture the faith of case circumstances.
Cheek shows the traces of palms.
For too long we dream the threats of responsibility.
Ironic solution of doubting we have left for the end.
We demise traces for the orphans.
God was praised, unfortunately.
From the scriptures we take out when needed.
We did not realize that all is prone to cease.
And a deep gap between the kisses,
We did not admit.
 
 
The 25th contest for the best love song, traditionally held by the
Cultural centre in Ivanjica. The contest director is poet Miljan Despotovic
 
 
BLISKOM
 
 
Nestaje zajedništvo.
Gubimo se napuštajući sebe.
Kasno je za otkrivanje simbola.
Izraz je oblik istraživanja.
na ulazu govornih komora.
Razloge spore žrtvujemo brzim rečima.
Rastanak je hroničar bez hronike.
Tumačenja naslućujemo po značenjima vrednosti.
Ne mučimo tigrove unutrašnošću neba.
Dragi kamen smo izgubili.
Potraga je uzaludan trud.
Gajimo veru okolnosti slučaja.
Obraz pokazuje tragove dlanova.
Predugo sanjamo pretnje odgovornosti.
Ironično razrešenje sumnje ostavljamo za kraj.
Tragove zaveštavamo siročićima.
Bog je bio slavljen..
Iz zapisa izvlačimo po potrebi.
Nismo uvideli da sve je prolaznosti sklono.
I duboki jaz između poljubaca,
Nepriznavasmo.
 
 
25. Konkursa za najlepšu ljubavnu pesmu, koji tradicionalno organizuje Dom kulture iz Ivanjice.Selektor konkursa, pesnik Milijan Despotović
 
 
Excerpt from:
Critic/ 講評
LIFE IN CREATION
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’

 
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’, Cultural Centre, Ivanjicа, 2018.With her poem ‘Closeness’, Tatjana won the first prize at the love poem literary contest ‘Ripples of the Moravica’ in Ivanjica, 2017. In the explanation (as a member of the competition jury) I wrote: From the poetic letter “The Close One” in which everything speaks of love without ever mentioning this word directly, we open up thoughts, a series of special lessons and wisdom, with a message that loving others means loving oneself and “losing oneself from leaving oneself”. The poem consists of twenty thoughts, classic aphorisms, each of which could be a motto of a new poem. Love is here in a dilemma over what “is prone to transience”, it is what is needed to overcome the “gap between kisses”. Tatjana Debeljacki (Titovo Uzice, 19..) writes contemporary and haiku poetry and prose. She has published nine books. She lives in Uzice. Pozega, 6th February, 2018
 


 
 
Tatjana Debeljački, born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. Member of Association of Writers of Serbia – UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, member of Croatian Writers’ Association- HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society ‘Antun Ivanošić’ Osijek since 2011, and a member of “World Haiku Association“ – 2011, Japan. Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin Belgrade. Member of Writers’ Club “Miroslav – Mika Antić” – Inđija 2013, Writers’ Association “Branko Miljković“ – Niš 2014, and a member of Japan Universal Poets Association (JUNPA). 2013. “Poetic Bridge: AMA-HASHI (天橋) Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008. ”HIŠA IZ STEKLA” was translated into Slovenian and published by Banatski kulturni centar – Malo Miloševo, in 2013 and also into English, “A House Made of Glass” published by »Hammer & Anvil Books» – American, in2013. Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

Golden Giant Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

Golden Giant
Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan
Translated by Yuanbing zhang

 
Who is sitting in the heaven and staring at me?
Who is sitting in the golden palace of tomorrow?
Who is smilling?
The golden staff in his hand
 
Flashing the dazzling light
Ah, the flashes of lightning
Interweaved over my head
I walked into a crystal corridor of the time
 
I want to open
The doors of gold
Lines of words in the sun
Singing to me in the sky
 
I want to find
The volumes of gold poems
On the shores of the new century
To build the city of gold
 
Laozi with rosy cheek and white hair
Smiling at me in the clouds
A phoenix danced trippingly
And carried in a book of gold
 
Lines of mysterious words
Made my eyes drunken
Countless giant figures
Came towards me from the clouds
 
The times of seventy million years
Emerged leisurely before my eyes
The cities of gold
Surrounded with the crystals garden
 
The sky of sapphire
Sent out the colorful miraculous brightness
On the green hills of jasper
Dragons and phoenixes were flying
 
Exquisite pagoda
Majestical palace of gold
The airy pavilions and pagodas
Standing in the purple-red clouds
 
The laughing girls
Riding the colorful husbands and wifes
The propitious clouds
Sprinkling the colorful flowers
 
I opened the door to a golden palace
Saw the rows of scrolls of the gold
A giant with the haloes all over his body
There were a golden sun over his head
 
With smiles, he picked up the books of gold
Recited the sacred verses
I was intoxicated with miraculous wonderful words
Surrounded with the purple-gold flames all over his body
 
A golden lotus
Bloomed beneath my feet
Lifted up my body
Wafted up from the golden palace
 
The red clouds
Drifting by my side
Outside of the sky I saw
Another golden paradise
 
The leisurely bells
Calling to me
The countless giants
Roaming in a golden garden
 
The sky of the ruby
The rounds of sun
Like the golden lotus
Blooming in the sky
 
The intoxicating fragrance of flowers
Like the sweet good wine
The golden trees
Were laden with the dazzling diamonds
 
The wonderful flowers
Bloomed for the housands of years
The land of gold
Inlaid with the gems
 
The pavilions of gold
Strewn at random and overlapped
Someone was playing chess
Someone was chatting
 
Quaint clothes
Colossal statures
Miraculous eyes
Happy and comfortable
 
The white cranes
Flying in the sky
The husbands and wifes
Crowing leisurely
 
Beside the old man I came
As if he was waiting for me
On the golden pavilion
He opened an ancient sword casket
 
A glittering ancient sword
Engraved some abstruse words and expressions
Which were clear and transparent like a lightning
Dimly glowed purplish-red patterns
 
He told me a metaphysical epic
The sword came from nine billions years ago
Which, was made from hundreds of millions of suns
It was a sacred sword of the sun
 
It could pierce the rocks of time
Open the layer after layer skies
Let the sacred fire smelt the heaven and the earth
Into the golden paradises
 
The old man’s eyes were deep, archaic and abstruse
Dimly shone the joyful flames
He let me take this sword
To fly towards a new golden paradise
 
The huge golden lotus floated leisurely
I flew over the sky thousands of miles away
The huge pyramids
Loomed impressively in front of my eyes
 
The mountainous figure of giants
Walked about in front of the pyramid
The huge pyramids of gold
Were much taller than the mountains
 
The giant trees of gold
Like a forest
Stood in the sky
Laden with the stars
 
The multicoloured propitious clouds
Was a huge bird
In the silvery sky
Crowing joyfully
 
I came to the front of a pyramid
A door was opening wide to me
A group of blond giants
Sitting with smiles in the grand palace
 
A holy great old man
Reciting the singular language in his mouth
The temple was painted with the magical symbols
And the giant pictures of Gods
 
The palace was full of silvery white light
Blooming th huge wonderful flowers
A peal of wonderful mellifluous bells
Made the person suddenly forget all of the time
 
I heard an immemorial verse
Tt was written hundreds of millions of years ago
Related countless eras of giants
Created the holy kingdoms of heaven
 
Their wisdom was sacred and great
Knew completely the past and the future of the universe
They flew freely in the sky
Landed on the millions of planets in the universe
 
They made the time change as your pleasure
Which could reach another spaces
Make a stone turn into a gold
Make the gold bloom flowers
 
They were like the rounds sun
Which could erupt the sacred flames
Let all things blaze in raging flames
Turn into their imagination works
 
They landed on the planets
Established the golden paradises
With their magic abstruse wisdom
Builted the platinum cities
 
I saw the gorgeous words
Flashing in the volume of gold
And the magical wonderful halos
Rotating like the colored lightning in the sky
 
I came to another wonderful heaven and earth
And saw a huge edifice of platinum
The whole city was like a piece of work
Sending out quietly the brilliant white light
 
A huge round square
Enchased some unearthly works
The giants of great stature
Came and went leisurely in the street
 
They wore singular clothes
Shone all over their bodies
With smiles on their face
Both men and women looked beautiful
 
They spoke the wonderful language
Which was as intriguing and pleasant as the music
Some of them run by spaceship
Flying around silently in the sky
 
I walked into a huge edifice of platinum
Saw a magnificent hall
Platinum wall was inlaid with gems
And there were also a row of unusual instruments
 
Their eyes were like bright springs
Wore the multicoloured clothes
Some of them were operating struments there
Some of them were talking with each other softly there
 
I saw a magical picture
Drew the giant planets
Stood the cities on those planets
And there were aslo the crystal gardens
 
I opened a crystal door
Saw a group of happy men and women
They were singing softly
The blinking books of gold were in their hands
 
Both the clusters of flower and the glasses of golden wine
Were on the huge round table
The golden walls were sparkling
Carved with all kinds of wonderful pictures
 
I saw a demure girl
The golden halo was sparkling on her head
She dressed a purple-gold longuette
Which was as peerless as a sculpture
 
The pages were marked with whimsical words
Like lines of ancient magic symbols
Each book was made of gold
And it was also like a golden crystal
 
I understood their euphonious songs
They were singing the sacred love
They were singing great ancestors
They were recounting the civilization of the universe
 
Their city was garden everywhere
Surrounded with the sweet rivers
The whole earth was a piece of jade
And the clay was a layer of transparent sand of the gold
 
I saw some white-bright huge balls
Suspended high above the city
The giant balls were sending out dazzling light
Shone the heaven and the earth as bright as the crystal
 
The towering great buildings stood in great numbers
As if they were carved by a whole piece of platinum
Both the doves and some colorful birds
Were flying in the sky
 
I saw a singular train
Flying swiftly forward in the sky
The streets were white and bright
And any moving vehicle could not been seen
 
Their bodies were unusually strong
Playing a wonderful game
They piled up the pieces of great stones 
Into some grotesque works
 
Both like some giant eyes
And some ancient totems
There were also some strange birds
Covered with lightning feathers all over their bodies
 
I saw a couple of tall lovers
They aviated a spaceship
Their eyes were quiet and bright
Shone colorful halo around their bodies
 
The wonderful space was gyrating leisurely
Like a huge, resplendent crystal
I said goodbye to the unusual city
Towards a space of golden light
 
The cities flashed in the sky
I flew over the layers of the sky again
And I saw a newfangled world
The multicoloured city of crystal
 
The high towers were exquisitely carved
Shone the multicoloured pearls
The layers of eave were painted with dragon and phoenix
Hung the singing golden bells
 
The earth was a crystal garden
The palaces were limpid and crystal
Huge mountains were like a transparent gem
Lined with the golden trees
 
I saw the tall giants
Wore the purple clothes
There were a round sun on their heads
The body also shone a layer of halo
 
They sat up in the main halls
Singing a mellifluous song
Some were roaming leisurely in the garden
Some were summoning the birds in the sky
 
The crystalline airy pavilions and pagodas
Were beset with jewels and agates
A huge jewel on the spir
Shining the golden lights
 
I saw a holy giant
Sitting in the middle of a main hall
The purple-gold flame were flashed around his body
And filled with the whole majestic main hall
 
Full-bodied fragrance filled the hall
Like a cup of refreshing wine
Solemn expression was merciful and joyful
A huge book was on his hand
 
The hall was full of mens and womens
Listening quietly to the psalms of the saints
The lotuses were floating in the sky
Where the smiling giants sat
 
The golden light were poured down from the sky
Bathed in the whole crystal kingdom
Those jewels above the giant towers
Were just the golden suns
 
The golden walls of a golden tower
Were carved with lines of flashing words I saw
Flying around the dragons and phoenixes
As if they were intonating the inspiring poems
 
The smiling giants in the sky
A huge halo were aslo flashing around their bodies
Each of them was both dignified and tranquil
Floating in the golden transparent sky
 
I flew over the crystal kingdom
And saw the vast golden mountain in the distance
Sending out the brilliant lights in the sky
Where the propitious clouds were blossoming
 
That was a golden giant
Sitting in the golden transparent sky
His body was composed of thousands of millions of constellations
The golden sun was rotating on his forehead
 
He lit up the whole marvellous universe
The kingdoms of heaven shone in the sky
Here there was no the sky and the earth
The up-down four-direction were the lights of pure gold
 
The smiling giants were sitting
On the gold-engraved pavilions
The pavilions levitated in the transparent sky
Shining the layers of purple-gold light
 
The multicoloured transparent mountains
As if the propitious clouds were floating in the sky
The large wonderful flowers were blooming in the mountain peaks
And there were also trees of light
 
A river flowed from the sky
And the river bottom reflected a layer of golden sand
Some strange and beautiful birds and the beasts
Also were like some aerial phantoms
 
This was a world of light
Everything was made of light
The divine light formed all things
And the golden paradises
 
The golden giant I saw
Shining the kingdoms of heaven in his body
I saw the cities of gold
Which were brilliant and fascinating in his bones
 
I saw lines of extremely large words
Arranged into a huge book in the sky
It seemed as if they were the bright stars
Constituted a wonderful drawing
 
There was a golden pavilion in the sky
Flying around with huge dragons and phoenixes
An old man with the whisk
Waved to me and smiled in the pavilion
 
I seem to be attracted by magical attraction
Leisurely came to his side
He told me the golden giant
Was namely my great ancestor
 
This was an eternal palace
There’s noso-called time
Holy light was exactly the God
What I saw was better than the heaven
 
He pointed to the huge book in the sky
And told me that was the mystery of the universe
The book contained magical wisdom
Created the countless worlds of gold
 
He pointed to a pagoda in the sky
Told me that was the temple of words
The light turned into the sacred words
And the words created the time of gold
 
He held up a very large pearl
In which flashed the pictures
He told me that it was the future time
That was all of the wonderful worlds
 
He told me that it was another universe
I still want to go to the paradises
He gave me the magical pearl
Let it be my future guide
 
I said goodbye to the holy old man
I set foot on a new road of the heaven again
I sat in a golden pavilion
Lightly flew to the distant outer space
 

 

2.9.1998
Bio:Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, The City of Gold , Golden Paradise , Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been more widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.
  
A Bit AboutYuanbing Zhang,
 
Yuanbing Zhang,born in China in 1974, is a poet and translator, works in a middle school, interested particularly in researching and translating the works of Mr.Hongri Yuan. His poetry translations has been widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.

 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

Sur Mama and other Poems by Luz Pichel Translated from Castellano and Gallego

Editor’s Note: although we include the originals in this text, to introduce the poems of Luz Pichel, she is a Galician poet, a region in Spain with its own language (Gallego) which although bears similarities to Spanish (Castellano) is strikingly different. Luz Pichel mixes both languages in her work, but we as translators, have translated both into English, (apart from the little French ditty On The Bridge of Avignon in the first poem) hence the footnotes will often indicate the original Gallego scripts in the texts.

(1.)

the south mama maría

i did not take you to the south     nor to the southern station      so you could see     floor 0
floor 1    floor 2      the general view 1       prices maps tickets tours
southern pages      news      the such a pretty cross

I have to go one summer with you to the heavens to see the southern
cross mama
the south in all the languages of the world      your name
mother in all the stars      in all
the ways of milk
in our lovely rude tongue mother 2
south in french listen well        sur la table 3

a girl opened on the sacrificial table 4

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse         l’on y danse

sur-face
what do they make?
who makes the south?
who builds the south?
who profits from the south?
who profits?
5

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

(bang bang bang
a piggy gesture)
sur le sable     the cobra of fear crawled
on the sand he left engraved his     SS

the general view mama        these will be the plots of memory
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
a homicide     a child)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

the building of the south mama patricia mare mâe 7
our south their south les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

the south mama eva mamá álvaro rafa         guadalupe        francisca
rosalía     alfonsina     federico   emily  luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
where your migrant shins       grew
skinny on the sacrificial table
8

one day we will go all together there to the south mamai
they still have to see us dance on the cobra’s SS
e puis encore 9    dance
we’re all going to be prima ballerinas mama
noelina

the musicians will do like this like this like this
and still again if it is the case like this another time / comme ça
10

**
vista xeral 1
na nosa lingua ruin bonita nai 2
on the table 3
sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela 4
que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita? 5
on the sand 6
mother mama 7
onde medraron as túas canelas migratorias
fracas na tabla do sacrificio 8
and then again 9
e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça 10

(1.)

el sur     mamá maría

al sur no te he llevado     ni a la estación del sur      para que vieras     planta 0
planta 1         planta 2     vista xeral      los precios los mapas los tickets los recorridos las
páginas      del sur         las noticias         la cruz  tan guapa

he de ir un verano contigo al cielo a ver la cruz del sur mam
el sur en todas las linguas do mundo         tu nombre
de madre     en todas las estrellas     en todas
las vias de la leche     para que veas
na nosa lingua ruín bonita nai
sur en francés escucha bien         sur la table

sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse         l’on y danse

sur–face
que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita?

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

(bang bang bang
un gesto guarro)
sur le sable se arrastraba la cobra del miedo
sobre la arena dejaba grabadas     sus eses

vista general mama           estas serán las eras de la memoria
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
un homicidio     un niño)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

construcción del sur mamá patricia mare mâe
el nuestro el de ellas les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

o sur mamá eva mamá álvaro rafa         guadalupe        francisca
rosalía     alfonsina     federico   emily  luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
onde medraron as túas canelas          migratorias
fracas na  tabla do sacrificio

un día vamos a ir todas juntas allá hasta el sur   mamai   para que sepas
aún nos han de ver danzar sobre la ese de la cobra e puis encore danzar
vamos a ser todas unas bailarinas de primera mamá noelina

e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça

(2.)

I give you a herb
you said
inside a letter

take this leaf grandma I found it
it has dust
her name is luz  1

a tiny green thread an oval drawing
and the moon rolling down a rock
smell of orange blossom

this is called orange he said it is something to eat
I bought it at the cattle fair for you

a chick being hatched is not easy either
if there is no ear of wheat
if there is no waiting
if there is no space

some when they are hatched their roost is spoiled
they go

luz      but the leaf       has nerves covered
in dust but
do not then get confused      but blow

the woman picked up an ear of wheat from the ground
an ear of wheat has little flour but
it will make sense

orange falls the moment you passed by
it rolls       smells

I wanted to make a simple thing to give you
to give them
to give you
to make an old age
a death even
a thing like the spiral peel of an orange
unspoiled
(unlike the pedros´ baby girl
who came badly)
sometimes the peel is torn

take      luz       an orange look I found it in the air
and luz is not luz either
neither is a leaf that falls
– hayu hayuná hayunaí there! (someone celebrates something)

a woman on the door step gazes out
to far far away
her name was orange         she peeled well        she came out unspoiled
she had been learning simply to fall
in a spiral       on herself

1. Light.

(2.)

te regalo una hierba
dijiste
dentro de una carta

toma esta hoja abuela la encontré
tiene polvo
se llama luz

un hilito verde un dibujo ovalado
y la luna rodando por una roca
olor a azahar

esto se llama naranja dijo es cosa de comer
en la feria la compré para ti

un pollito naciendo tampoco es fácil
si no hay espiga
si no hay espera
si no hay espacio

algunos cuando nacen se les rompe la casa
se van

luz pero      la hoja tiene los nervios       cubiertos
de polvo entonces
pero no confundirse           pero soplar

la mujer recogía del suelo una espiga de trigo
una espiga de trigo poquita harina tiene pero
tendrá sentido

naranja cae en el momento en que tú pasabas por allí
rueda          huele

yo quería hacer una cosa sencilla para darte
para darles
paro daros
hacer una vejez
una muerte incluso
una cosa así como la piel en espiral de una naranja
cuando se logra entera
(la niña de los de pedro no se logró tampoco
venía mal)
a veces se desgarra la piel

toma luz una naranja mira la encontré en el aire
y luz tampoco es luz
tampoco es una hoja que cae
— ¡hayú hayuná hayunaí allá! (alguien celebra algo)

una mujer en el umbral se asoma al otro lado
mira desde muy muy lejos
se llamaba naranja         pelaba bien          salía entera
había ido aprendiendo a caer sencillamente
en espiral           sobre sí misma

(3.)

Babe       take flowers to Chekhov´s grave
take        a little branch
if you go to russia one day       do that
you go and take flowers        but there
when you grow up
a seagull         at a beach       give her flight
so when you go to russia you ask
do you know where´s          Chekhov´s grave
it must have a painted         sea bird

he went cold

she was the apple of his        eye
she closed his eyes
wide open           like
portals of a house                 without people
like a hot cross bun she crossed his eyelids
and she said to herself        said      told herself
I´ll go dad      I´ll go             leave
in peace
I ´ll go
even if it rains

then        the little one put four
slices
of bread inside a bag
a small bottle of water        only four of bread only
´cos it would get hard         inside a bag
she started walking            into the hill
without anyone seeing her
´cos it was not proper         to wait to grow up
to go and put some flowers                over a
grave in russia

(3.)

nena       llévale flores a la tumba de chejov
llévale      un ramito
si vas a rusia un día tú        lo haces
vas y le llevas flores            pero allá
cuando seas grande
una gaviota         en una playa         échala a volar
después vas a rusia            preguntas
usted sabrá dónde             la tumba de chejov
debe de tener pintado un                pájaro marino

se quedó

ella era la niña de los ojos               de él
le cerró los ojos
que los tenía                      así
portales de una casa                      sin gente
le hizo la cruz del pan                    sobre los párpados
y se dijo a sí misma          dijo       dijo para sí
he de ir papá                    he de ir                 marcha tranquilo
he de ir
aunque llueva

entonces                        la pequeña              cuatro rebanadas
de pan en una bolsa
botellita de agua           sólo cuatro de pan sólo
que se iba a poner duro                                 en una bolsa
echó a andar                 monte adentro
sin que la viera nadie
pues no era del caso                                      esperar a ser grande
para ir a poner unas flores                             encima de una
tumba en rusia

(4.)

harriet tubman was born araminta ross
maria was born agnieszka
norma was born conchita
fernán was born cecilia
pocahontas was born matoaka
álvaro was born álvar
raphaël was born rafita
hypatia of alexandria was born a martyr
annika was born anita
rachael was born raquel
andrzej naceu 1 andrés
christine was born george
carla was born carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley was born mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / she never left
the roslin institute

1. was born

(4.)

harriet tubman nació araminta ross
maría nació agnieszka
norma nació conchita
fernán nació cecilia
pocahontas nació matoaka
álvaro nació álvar
raphaël nació rafita
hypatia de alejandría nació mártir
annika nació anita
rachael nació raquel
andrzej naceu andrés
christine was born george
carla nació carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley nació mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / no salió nunca
del roslin institute

(5.)

harriet tubman       rests her head        lays it

on the train track       and sleeps      she leads ahead      because she knows languages ​​understands the signs     bears the beatings      knows the underground rail ways and sees what cannot be seen      and dreams what cannot be dreamt     next to harriet       all the others sleep      over the track     non return trips are long    forests are very scary bugs and smugglers are very scary    some countries are far too far they are so far away      some mornings never reach a train    station    never never arrive     they pass by    in the darkness things look like bundles      the ones who move carrying linen bags or with a little old lady on their  shoulders      they look like wolves     mist     on her palm a woman has written a verse in orange ink       the train track is not a cosy pillow       the cold doesn´t let you keep your ideas safe      sleep and dream      the message read      the deeper the dream     the farther it takes you     little foreigner

(5.)

descansa a cabeza harriet tubman póusaa

na vía do tren     e dorme     ela vai por diante     porque sabe linguas     entende os letreiros     aguanta os paus / los palos     coñece os camiños de ferro sub da terra     e ve o que non se ve   e soña o que non se soña     a caronciño / a la vera de harriet     as outras dormen todas     sobre da vía     as viaxes sen retorno fanse largas     as fragas / bosques meten moito medo meten medo os bichos e os estraperlistas     algúns países están lonxe de máis /  quedan tan tan lejos       algunhas mañás / mañanas non chegan nunca á estación dun tren /  no llegan nunca nunca   pasan na escuridade as cousas semellan vultos     os que se moven cargando con sacos de liño / lino ou cunha velliña ao lombo / una viejecita sobre los hombros       semellan lobos      néboa /  niebla        na man aberta ten escrito a muller un verso con tinta de cor laranxa      a vía do tren non é unha almofada xeitosa / una almohada agradable no es la vía de un tren      o frío non permite acomodar as ideas sen perigo / peligro      durme e soña  dicía a mensaxe      o soño canto máis fondo máis lonxe te leva / más lejos te transporta         extranxeiriña
 
 
Translations Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
 
Bio Photo. Luz Pichel & Amparo Arróspide. November 2017. Madrid.
 
 

 
 
Luz Pichel was born in 1947 in Alén (Lalín, Pontevedra), a tiny village in Galicia. Alén means “beyond” and also means “the beyond”. There she learned to speak in a language that could die but does not want to. Those who speak that language think that it is always others those who speak well.

She is the author of the poetry books El pájaro mudo (1990, City of Santa Cruz de la Palma Award), La marca de los potros (2004, XXIV Latin American poetry prize Juan Ramón Jiménez), Casa pechada (2006, Esquío Poetry Award ), El pájaro mudo y otros poemas (2004), Cativa en su lughar / Casa pechada (2013), Tra (n) shumancias (2015) and Co Co Co Ú (2017).
Part of her work Casa pechada was translated into English and Irish in the anthological book To the winds our sails: Irish writers translate Galician poetry, Salmonpoetry, 2010, ed. Mary O’Donnell & Manuela Palacios.

Neil Anderson translated into English Casa pechada. Several poems appeared in his blog (re) voltas; July, 2014.

Several poems from Casa pechada appeared in the American magazines SALAMANDER, No. 41, year 2015, and PLEIADES, vol. 36, Issue 2, p. 117, year 2016, in English translation by Neil Anderson.
 
 
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines, she has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. The latter is part of a trilogy together with Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora, which are in the course of being published. In 2010 she acted as a co-editor of webzine Poetry Life Times, where many of her translations of Spanish poems have appeared, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, Francisca Aguirre, Carmen Crespo, Javier Díaz Gil into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

 

Robin Hislop Reads at University of Leeds His Poetry and Translations. Video Performance.

This video recording was made at University of Leeds on October 10th. 2017, it was introduced and presented by  Antonio_Martínez_Arboleda Principal Teaching Fellow in Spanish and poet.

The initial image can be enlarged to full screen size. The texts and accompanying images can be easily toggled to place according to requirements.

Below the video also is a link that gives a report and interpretation of the performance by students who attended.

The report is live at http://www.leeds.ac.uk/arts/news/article/5108/2nd_cts_professionalisation_talk_2017-18_international_writers_at_leeds