酷我-北美枫

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Black and White Swan
for 七七

It is true,
you are a princess,
the one in the swan form.

What color do you choose for yourself-
white or black?
it does not matter,
they are all beautiful and elegant
with your hands.

In your poems and paintings,
I see all colors and all forms.
I envy your long legs
and curving neck -
From East to West
on the starry lake,
I fear to spin a wane and ask:
mirror, mirror,
who is the fairest?

What a beautiful life
for Charles

I know you through photos, music and poems
you have shared with me-
So kind and quiet,
you see, sometimes like snowflakes.

If I fail to notice
or say thank you
I hope you know
that I do see
what a beautiful life
you want to bring
and share with others

what do names tell?
For xxx

You told me
They blocked you
Now you could not see WeChat messages

We don’t know the reason as always
The moon’s dark side is never revealed
The attentive watcher is alerted
by pointed names in your posts
as if to fear the truth being shown

I once did mistake you for a male
I too took your name for granted
But what I made was such a tiny mistake
So tiny, almost forgettable

I Witness Your Keen Mind
for Linca

I met you three years ago
you carried a white cane, two kids beside you-
virtually blind but not your heart,
you said you enjoyed my poetry and workshop.

It was true, it was, it is…because soon after
I received your forwarded messages that
you sent to schools to recommend Poetry Alive.

It didn’t matter they ignored your kindness
and good wishes,
you invited me out of your own pocket instead-
A homage I must remember.

Time flies and we move on.
Last year, on WeChat I happened to find
the East West Learning club and you again,
well, a series of Poetry in Translation events
in no time we shaped and fashioned them.
What a success and what a joy.

But what most touched me was the stories
I found later-
how you became blind but not blind.
There were role models we have searched in our life,
but sometimes, we model ourselves.

So this poem is special for you,
for your eyes are always keen,
yet, the keenest is of heart and mind.

Yesterday joined Kate Marshall Flaherty’s sponemous writing workshop, this morning I practiced...here are three short poems for three friends:

River of Life
For 巴山夜雨

The old memories grow in you；
you carry them day after day-
a sad long river mourning her losses.
Let me to be here to listen.
Let me walk with you along the long bank.
They say-
One cannot enter the same river twice.
I hear you weep-
They are wrong, wrong again.

Book Lover
For Frank Wang

Your love for books is the light
sometimes comforting you
most times consoling us
Each day a few lines
yet they might take us our whole life

See the snow falls and melts
Each moment we resolve things
in accepting then letting go

Living Your Dream
For Iris He

In our interview, I see a mirrored self
We are not alone, not the dying one
In your hometown, wintersweets bloom
in the coldest time
you carry them in your heart

The further you travel,
the more bittersweet they blossom,
Each with a dream to rise,
each with wings to fly...

Thank WePoetry 【海外詩粹】for a special issue of poetry and translation for 《Mirrors and Windows/镜子与窗户》 ( 2021-01-17. USA)

https://wepoetry.com/mirrors-and-windows-translated-poems-by-anna-yin/

作家哈金曾经说过：對汉语寫作者而言用英文寫作是很難的。那就像蓋房子：別人蓋房子，就地取材就可以了，而你卻要連牆磚這些基件都要自己動手。
他甚至認為：如果你的慣有思維已經在一種語境中駕輕就熟，大可選擇更讓你遊刃有餘的語言去寫。他坦诚他尝试英文寫作完全是職業和生活双重压力所迫。
我不知道诗人安娜對此會不會有不同的感受。安娜的第一職業是IT工程師，她說：寫詩、詩譯、辦詩課堂完全是興趣使然。似乎並沒有“被逼迫”的成分在裡面，憑著一份對詩歌的單純的愛，她一次次去到大師中間汲取經驗並敢於用她略帶口音的英語大聲朗誦自己的詩。用字正腔圓的中文演繹他們的詩。安娜詩譯中精選出來的四位詩人有著各自不同的詩路詩風和彼此無法替代的語言特質：莫莉詩歌中格律有致的古體詩範，莫里茨詩歌中略帶哀傷的迷幻詩境，愛麗絲的個體至愛於宇宙星體間的微妙關係，喬治與先人的對望中，極富哲理性的思索。安娜的翻譯都將其中的詩眼一一細緻地勾勒了出來。
而在整個翻譯過程中，安娜不僅是一個忠實的讀者，也展現了她的詩人本質。因為唯有好的詩人才能將詩之聲韻氣息、重音低調把握得如此恰到好處。也唯有
好的讀者才能把自己藏身到原作者的語境中去思考，把原詩中的精魂邀了來，到譯本中作客讓兩個代表不同文化的靈魂成為朋友，還原和傳遞最本真的詩歌意涵，而這才是安娜以為的最有意義的事了。正如她在英文詩歌所寫道的：
「現在我看著葉子和果實，
石子和星辰，
每一個都是一首新詩。
我也咬到了它多汁的果實。」
就此而言，無論是“被迫”還是自投“詩歌”這張大網的，只要樂而為之，並把他們當成一門藝術，一門學問， 並且持之以恆地去做，都會結出好的果子來的。

Vivian雯 2021/01/10 於紐約[img][/img]

修改一下

泰然自得 trans by Anna Yin

就在今天
我得以见识
雏菊扮演
原本我自己。

闪着金光，
弯腰轻摇晃：
机敏大方，
自由且舒畅。

捧出绿叶，
像手儿一样
从不索要，
也不去叫嚷。

好生安静，
却并不害羞：
精彩缤纷
朵朵显灵秀。

如某些人
看我似杂草，
我梦也真——
花儿，我就是。

泰然自得 trans by Anna Yin

就在今天
我得以见识
雏菊扮演
本真的自己。

闪着金光，
弯腰轻摇晃：
机敏大方，
自由且舒畅。

捧出绿叶，
像手儿一样
从不索要，
也不去叫嚷。

好生安静，
却并不害羞：
精彩缤纷
朵朵显灵秀。

如某些眼
看我似杂草
我仍梦见：
我是花一朵。

George Elliott Clarke reading at Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice- at Aurora Public Library

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXuxT0OA_-k

Poetry Night | Readings with Canadian Poets Laureate

Q/A: Poets Laureate’s Role discussion among four poets laureate

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dX2uTSxiGjY&feature=emb_title

https://matthewrettino.com/2014/02/12/whylah-falls-by-george-elliott-clarke/

George's videos:

https://socialistproject.ca/leftstreamed-video/stir-it-up/

Exile
for Kwame Dawes

Your scuttled pays floats – fiery – in the ether;
Blazing, it vomits smudge-smoke. Your mind chars
Black because you yaw – moth-like – too near flames.
You douse your dream-scorched brain with slave-sweat rum –
The only gold you can own, corroding
Your liver. Your anthem plays to gunfire.
When you think about it (when you can breathe) –
After all the lies that frame nostalgia,
All the dead faces that occupy photographs,
All the slain lovers pitched into ditches,
Your eyes itch and ache with water, then dry –
Curling like dead leaves, starving for gold fire.

Self-Composed

It’s today
That I can see
Daisies play
At being me.

Beaming gold,
They bend and sway –
Limber, bold,
Anarchic, ..

Holding out
Their leaves like hands,
They don’t shout
Or make demands.

They’re quiet,
Quite, but not shy:
Their riot
Is their beauty.

If I seem
A weed to some
Eyes, I dream –
And flower I am.

Language fabricates intimates:
The very alphabet pledges incipient pleasantries –
to rollick in letters,
to kiss without kissing….

(Note the glib efficacy of the tongue
at lying;
or to indulge injurious prophesying;
or, wielding a battering-ram limerick,
to hurl a potentate off a pedestal.)

Keats, I come to you as a back-page spectre,
a wanton haunt,
my unidentifiable shadow
crossing over your lines,
to find in Thee –
beyond the grave’s beguiling caricature –
arborescent headstone –
Thy iconic Glamour
that cancels the grave’s purgatorial visibility.

Thou art never as marginal as a corpse,
but sprout poems like gilded lilies –
opaque ink jetting white sunlight –
la dolce vita of Liberty –
what flowers from your acreage –
as vast as the (Roman) alphabet…

[Roma (Italia) 15 février mmxiv]

Experience 1: 1-9 by George Elliott Clarke

History is nothing like what is reported.
(Hard to drain light from mud.)

Trumpets don’t usher in Heaven.

Truth blinds, but Deceit dazzles.

Flames that don’t gleam are smoke.

Manure gerrymanders gardens:
Eden flowers from shit.

Fine wine refines urine.

Politics is PREJUDICE.

Behind these black letters?
White bone, invisible breath.

Bread is eternal.
But your words?

– Zurich, Switzerland. 14 September, 2011.