The Dunce
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
He says no with the head
But he says yes with the heart
He says yes to what he loves
He says no to the professor
He stands
We question him
And all the problems are posed
Suddenly laughter takes him
And he erases everything
The digits and the words
The dates and the names
The sentences and the traps
And despite the teacher’s warnings
Under the boos of child prodigies
With multicolored chalk
On the black chalkboard of unhappiness
He draws the face of happiness.
12 April, 2011
NaPoMo 2011 Day 7 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
Poem for my friend
They say you are the mosquito, friend,
wings beaten and heart small
all proboscis and no bite.
Little fly, they want to know
why you think you are a crane.
Let them bait you, friend, with the pulse
of white heat beneath their skin. They crave
the tickle of your mouthparts
working their skin. They wish
to become dragonflies, wish to hunt
and smear you.
Friend, you are the bike. Pedal driven and human
powered. Your frame the center of gravity, rotating
on a piercing axle. If you must support this load, friend,
you must find someone to clean your chain, your spokes,
your sprockets. Someone to keep you suspended, keep you
from rusting.
Friend, they say you are the pagoda, attracting
lightning because you were made too high. What
do they know of your structure? What do they
know of the charge that pulls you up, up, up?
You are the lotus, friend, that the pagoda
represents. Not the flower but the plant. Men
disagree about where your family should belong.
Why must they refuse to let you live this terrestrial
life, friend, just because you choose to sit on the surface?
NaPoMo Day 7-11 Translations
Catching up now. Translations here. Poems to come.
Day 7
Immense and Red
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
Immense and red
Beneath the Grand Palais
The winter sun appears
And disappears
Like it my heart will disappear
And all my blood will go
Go to look for you
My love
My beauty
And find you
There where you are.
Day 8
The garden
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
Thousands and thousands of years
Will not be enough
To explain
The little eternal second
When you kissed me
When I kissed you
One morning under the winter light
At Montsouris Park in Paris
In Paris
On the earth
The earth which is a star.
Day 9
(took some definite liberties with this one)
Song
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
What day are we
We are all the days
My friend
We are all our lives
My love
We love each other and we live
We live and we love each other
And we don’t know what is but life
And we don’t know what is but the day
And we don’t know what is but love.
Day 10
Breakfast
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
He put the coffee
In the cup
He put the milk
In the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
In the coffee with milk
With the teaspoon
He turned
He drank the coffee with milk
And he put down the cup
Without talking to me
He lit
A cigarette
He had a discussion
With the smoke
He put the ashes
In the ashtray
Without talking to me
Without looking at me
He got up
He put
His hat on his head
He put on
His raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
Under the rain
Without one word
Without looking at me
And me, I took
My head in my hand
And I cried.
Day 11
You are going to see what you are going to see
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
A nude girl swims in the sea
A bearded man walks on water
Where is the wonder of wonders
The miracle announced most loudly?
Day 7
Immense and Red
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
Immense and red
Beneath the Grand Palais
The winter sun appears
And disappears
Like it my heart will disappear
And all my blood will go
Go to look for you
My love
My beauty
And find you
There where you are.
Day 8
The garden
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
Thousands and thousands of years
Will not be enough
To explain
The little eternal second
When you kissed me
When I kissed you
One morning under the winter light
At Montsouris Park in Paris
In Paris
On the earth
The earth which is a star.
Day 9
(took some definite liberties with this one)
Song
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
What day are we
We are all the days
My friend
We are all our lives
My love
We love each other and we live
We live and we love each other
And we don’t know what is but life
And we don’t know what is but the day
And we don’t know what is but love.
Day 10
Breakfast
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
He put the coffee
In the cup
He put the milk
In the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
In the coffee with milk
With the teaspoon
He turned
He drank the coffee with milk
And he put down the cup
Without talking to me
He lit
A cigarette
He had a discussion
With the smoke
He put the ashes
In the ashtray
Without talking to me
Without looking at me
He got up
He put
His hat on his head
He put on
His raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
Under the rain
Without one word
Without looking at me
And me, I took
My head in my hand
And I cried.
Day 11
You are going to see what you are going to see
Jacques Prévert
from Paroles
French version here
A nude girl swims in the sea
A bearded man walks on water
Where is the wonder of wonders
The miracle announced most loudly?
07 April, 2011
NaPoMo Day 6 Translation
Turns out, translating is hard. It was easy to figure out I wanted to try to translate a song. It was hard to choose a song I felt I could translate. I have to say, though, as overwhelming as this is, I'm having a blast. I know I'm taking liberties with some of these translations. Playing with tone, with what tone I have interpreted. I am learning that a good translation is rarely literal. I just hope I'm not mucking up the original work too badly.
Toi + Moi
Grégoire
from Toi + Moi
Have a listen here
You plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go, let’s be reckless
Close to a thousand, I know we can do it
Everything is possible everything is doable
We can run much higher than our dreams
We can go much farther than the strike
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
With desire, power and courage
The cold, the fear are nothing but mirages
Let unhappiness fall for once
Come on let’s go, re-find yourself with me
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go and be reckless
I know it’s true my song is naïve
Even a little stupid, but not offensive
And even if it doesn’t change the world
It invites you to get into the discussion
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
Hope enthusiasm make everything we need
My arms my heart my shoulders and my back
I want to see the stars in your eyes
I want to see us smiling and happy
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go and be reckless
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Toi + Moi
Grégoire
from Toi + Moi
Have a listen here
You plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go, let’s be reckless
Close to a thousand, I know we can do it
Everything is possible everything is doable
We can run much higher than our dreams
We can go much farther than the strike
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
With desire, power and courage
The cold, the fear are nothing but mirages
Let unhappiness fall for once
Come on let’s go, re-find yourself with me
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go and be reckless
I know it’s true my song is naïve
Even a little stupid, but not offensive
And even if it doesn’t change the world
It invites you to get into the discussion
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
Hope enthusiasm make everything we need
My arms my heart my shoulders and my back
I want to see the stars in your eyes
I want to see us smiling and happy
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her and all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go and be reckless
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on let’s go it’s our lucky day
Oh you plus me plus them plus all of those who want it
Plus him plus her plus all who are alone
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
Come on, let’s go and get into the dance
06 April, 2011
NaPoMo 2011 Day 6 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
Prompt: Think of 10 interesting cosmic questions that the chicken can ask the girl. The poem is not the questions. The poem is you answering the questions.
Young girl responds to the questions of a chicken on house arrest as she smokes a cigarette
The meaning of life? You are not meant to know. The meaning is
not in the sauce, or on the table. You won’t know until you can see
past the fire. True love? It’s waiting for you, beneath a briefcase
in a terminal in Chicago. It’s been flattened into garlic skin. Press
it against your chest. Love is an iron-on transfer. You want to know
if the sun and moon are in love, who is in the sky. The answer is old
light.
You or the egg? Toss a coin.
You ask if you will be able
to conceive. In the future
you will pull the corners
of your child and zoom in.
You will sell this technology
to every dentist in the country.
Of course Colbert is a better lay.
I don’t know much about good health,
but I saw a special on extreme coupon
clippers once.
You can still be a good parent, all juke
and no bite. Your kids will cleave
the world.
NaPoMo 2011 Day 5 Translation
Paris at Night
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
Three matches one by one illuminated in the night
The first to see your face in its entirety
The second to see your eyes
The last to see your mouth
And the darkness all around to remind me of all of these
While holding you in my arms
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
Three matches one by one illuminated in the night
The first to see your face in its entirety
The second to see your eyes
The last to see your mouth
And the darkness all around to remind me of all of these
While holding you in my arms
NaPoMo 2011 Day 5 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
Prompt: Write a poem in triolet form
Accouchement
How proud they were to show the stained mattress
the day I wasn’t born; they had to support each other
with straps and breath. To pose the cradle on mother’s back –
how proud they were! To show the stained mattress,
five women, ready to sanitize, ready for striking matches,
held tightly to each other, wanting to tell my mother
how proud they were. To show the stained mattress,
the day I wasn’t born, they had to support each other.
NaPoMo 2011 Day 4 Translation
Writing Page
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
Two and two four
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen
Repeat! says the teacher
Two and two four
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen.
But there is the lyrebird
who passes in the sky
the child sees him
the child hears him
the child calls him
Save me
play with me
bird!
So the bird descends
and plays with the child
two and two four
Repeat! says the teacher
and the child plays
the bird plays with him
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen
and sixteen and sixteen what do they make?
They don’t make anything sixteen and sixteen
and above all not thirty-two
anyway
they leave
And the child has hidden the bird
in his desk
and all the children
hear his song
and all the children
hear the music
and eight and eight leave when it’s their turn
and four and four and two and two
get out of there when it’s their turn
and one and one make neither one nor two
one and one leave equally
And the lyrebird plays
and the child sings
and the teacher yells:
When you have finished clowning
But all the other children
listen to the music
and the walls of the class
crumble quietly
and the windows turn back into sand
the ink turns back into water
the desks turn back into trees
the chalk turns back into cliff
the feather pen turns back into bird
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
Two and two four
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen
Repeat! says the teacher
Two and two four
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen.
But there is the lyrebird
who passes in the sky
the child sees him
the child hears him
the child calls him
Save me
play with me
bird!
So the bird descends
and plays with the child
two and two four
Repeat! says the teacher
and the child plays
the bird plays with him
four and four eight
eight and eight make sixteen
and sixteen and sixteen what do they make?
They don’t make anything sixteen and sixteen
and above all not thirty-two
anyway
they leave
And the child has hidden the bird
in his desk
and all the children
hear his song
and all the children
hear the music
and eight and eight leave when it’s their turn
and four and four and two and two
get out of there when it’s their turn
and one and one make neither one nor two
one and one leave equally
And the lyrebird plays
and the child sings
and the teacher yells:
When you have finished clowning
But all the other children
listen to the music
and the walls of the class
crumble quietly
and the windows turn back into sand
the ink turns back into water
the desks turn back into trees
the chalk turns back into cliff
the feather pen turns back into bird
NaPoMo 2011 Day 4 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
They would follow you anywhere
Penguins.
sixteen of them. They shuffled down the city
sidewalk with you every day on your way to
school, wings tucked, beaks facing cement. The
penguins never made a sound.
Some questioned where they came from, others
wondered why you. Was it the lilac in your hair?
Your black and white Mary Janes? When you got
to school, they waited at the curb. They never
whined, never pitched. Just sat in silence, staring
at your window, until they heard that bell.
They found a home in you, and then you grew.
Turned into a creased woman who wore her hair
like a helmet. Now you wear your skin like a tux.
This is what they taught you, before they turned back
into water. Their beaks into stone.
NaPoMo 2011 Day 3 Translation
Alicante
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
An orange on the table
Your dress on the carpet
And you in my bed
Soft present of the present
Freshness of the night
Warmth of my life
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
An orange on the table
Your dress on the carpet
And you in my bed
Soft present of the present
Freshness of the night
Warmth of my life
NaPoMo 2011 Day 3 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
Mirror Cinquain
Love puts
down her gloves. Time
for a new sport. Careful
with the neck, she folds a crane, crafts
haiku.
Monday
she will lift the veil. Make a wish
on one thousand pretty,
curling sheets of
paper.
NaPoMo 2011 Day 2 Translation
For you, my love
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
I went to the bird market
And I bought birds
For you
My love
I went to the flower market
And I bought flowers
For you
My love
I went to the iron market
And I bought chains
Heavy chains
For you
My love
And I went to the slave market
And I searched for you
But I did not find you
My love
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
I went to the bird market
And I bought birds
For you
My love
I went to the flower market
And I bought flowers
For you
My love
I went to the iron market
And I bought chains
Heavy chains
For you
My love
And I went to the slave market
And I searched for you
But I did not find you
My love
NaPoMo 2011 Day 2 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
And when you die, the sky will be bright blue
Not gray, like you’d imagined, but the kind
of blue that could make you pull over
and angle your self over the dash
to have a look. You don’t know it’s coming.
No one knows it’s coming. Your ’02 Taurus mangling
a fresh water lake, the lace of your just-washed cami hooked
over a rotting branch, the dirt they will push over your coffin.
These are the things that do not fit. The sky is the most
surprising, though, that blue. It will hit you, the way a kid
smoking a cigarette would, all stubby fingers and too-adult
face. They say the nails are the first to go. Just fingers, just
toes.
NaPoMo 2011 Day 1 Translation
To paint the portrait of a bird
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
First, paint a cage
with an open door
next paint
something nice
something simple
something beautiful
something useful
for the bird
next place the canvas next to a tree
in a garden
in the woods
or in a forest
hide behind the tree
without saying anything
without moving…
Sometimes the bird comes quick
but he can very well also take long
years
before he decides.
Don’t be discouraged
wait
wait, if you must, for years
the speed or the slowness of the bird’s
arrival
doesn’t have anything to do
with the success of the picture
When the bird arrives
if he arrives
observe the most profound silence
wait for the bird to enter the cage
and when he is inside
lightly close the door with the brush
then
erase one by one all the bars
being careful not to touch any
of the bird’s feathers
Do the painting of the tree next
leaving the best of its branches
for the bird
paint also the green foliage and the
freshness of air
the dust of the sun
and the sound of bugs in the grass in the
heat of summer
and then wait to see if the bird decides to
sing
if the bird doesn’t sing
it’s a bad sign
a sign that the painting is bad
but if he sings it’s a good sign
a sign that you can sign it
so very gently tear off
one of the bird’s feathers
and sign your name in a corner of the painting
Jacques Prevert
from Paroles
French version here
First, paint a cage
with an open door
next paint
something nice
something simple
something beautiful
something useful
for the bird
next place the canvas next to a tree
in a garden
in the woods
or in a forest
hide behind the tree
without saying anything
without moving…
Sometimes the bird comes quick
but he can very well also take long
years
before he decides.
Don’t be discouraged
wait
wait, if you must, for years
the speed or the slowness of the bird’s
arrival
doesn’t have anything to do
with the success of the picture
When the bird arrives
if he arrives
observe the most profound silence
wait for the bird to enter the cage
and when he is inside
lightly close the door with the brush
then
erase one by one all the bars
being careful not to touch any
of the bird’s feathers
Do the painting of the tree next
leaving the best of its branches
for the bird
paint also the green foliage and the
freshness of air
the dust of the sun
and the sound of bugs in the grass in the
heat of summer
and then wait to see if the bird decides to
sing
if the bird doesn’t sing
it’s a bad sign
a sign that the painting is bad
but if he sings it’s a good sign
a sign that you can sign it
so very gently tear off
one of the bird’s feathers
and sign your name in a corner of the painting
NaPoMo 2011 Day 1 Poem
Photo from Black & WTF Photos:
How to trap a porcelain pig
Start with an umbrella,
open it inside.
When piggy banks still looked like pigs
(not the rounded, perked-ear, pastel
ones we have today), you almost couldn’t tell
what was porcelain, what apricot flesh.
Spread three letters beneath the umbrella.
They must be red stamp sealed, or the pig
will not give.
If a younger sibling marries before
the older, the older must dance
in a trough for luck. Some keep the pig
trough stockings. Some never get past
the omen.
Put on your best Sunday hat. Remember, lean
pigs come quick for smiles and stockinged
legs. Hold fast to two of the umbrella’s ribs,
pull out, then up. The pig is there, moving
with your breath. Exhale, and the umbrella’s
folds bury him. But on the inhale, he is yours.
NaPoMo 2011
Hey! It's National Poetry Month, which means I'll be writing a poem a day!
Last year I fell off track right around day 26, when I tried to write a poem about a sensitive carpenter.
This year, to get me through to day 30, I have a plan. The first part of this plan: keep track of my efforts on this blog. I might not get to post every day, but I hope to post all 30 by the end of April.
The second element of this plan is inspiration. I didn't have a muse last year, and I struggled with topics. This year, I've got a crapload of black & wtf photos to keep me going. I chose my favorite 30 from the batch. Each day, a new photo, a new poem. I might stick to the thirty I chose, or I might branch out. Who knows? Black and wtf photos has a new one up every day.
Oh, I almost forgot. I'll also be translating a poem a day from French to English. So far, I've only translated Jacques Prevert. His language is simple, and his poetry is beautiful. It's a good fit for me. Still, holla if you want me to attempt a translation of your favorite French poem, and I'll do my best.
I leave you with two of my new favorite poems, from incredibly talented poets who I saw read at Drew University:
"For Estefani Lora, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card" by Aracelis Girmay
"Who Says the Eye Loves Symmetry" by Pat Rosal
Last year I fell off track right around day 26, when I tried to write a poem about a sensitive carpenter.
This year, to get me through to day 30, I have a plan. The first part of this plan: keep track of my efforts on this blog. I might not get to post every day, but I hope to post all 30 by the end of April.
The second element of this plan is inspiration. I didn't have a muse last year, and I struggled with topics. This year, I've got a crapload of black & wtf photos to keep me going. I chose my favorite 30 from the batch. Each day, a new photo, a new poem. I might stick to the thirty I chose, or I might branch out. Who knows? Black and wtf photos has a new one up every day.
Oh, I almost forgot. I'll also be translating a poem a day from French to English. So far, I've only translated Jacques Prevert. His language is simple, and his poetry is beautiful. It's a good fit for me. Still, holla if you want me to attempt a translation of your favorite French poem, and I'll do my best.
I leave you with two of my new favorite poems, from incredibly talented poets who I saw read at Drew University:
"For Estefani Lora, Third Grade, Who Made Me A Card" by Aracelis Girmay
"Who Says the Eye Loves Symmetry" by Pat Rosal
25 March, 2011
Poem for Lady Gaga, whose art inspires this little monster to create
Teeth
Take a bite of my bad girl meat,
you said, how were we to know the cost?
Show me your teeth.
I want to, but they are gone.
We shredded carrots,
radish, pickled
beets for garnish, lay your flesh
beside. Salted
the wound. Shared bites
of your bad girl meat.
The next morning they are gone.
I dreamt they fell from my mouth
like quarters from a porcelain pig.
My carpet’s speckled with enamel,
my tongue curious,
all those hollows.
I should have had more
calcium, prepared
for you, read the research
on bad girl meat. I’m lucky.
The others lost fingernails,
cartilage, entire bones.
Take a bite of my bad girl meat,
You, always ordering, knowing
We will listen. Show me your teeth.
I sleep with mouth open. Maybe they will return.
Take a bite of my bad girl meat,
you said, how were we to know the cost?
Show me your teeth.
I want to, but they are gone.
We shredded carrots,
radish, pickled
beets for garnish, lay your flesh
beside. Salted
the wound. Shared bites
of your bad girl meat.
The next morning they are gone.
I dreamt they fell from my mouth
like quarters from a porcelain pig.
My carpet’s speckled with enamel,
my tongue curious,
all those hollows.
I should have had more
calcium, prepared
for you, read the research
on bad girl meat. I’m lucky.
The others lost fingernails,
cartilage, entire bones.
Take a bite of my bad girl meat,
You, always ordering, knowing
We will listen. Show me your teeth.
I sleep with mouth open. Maybe they will return.
17 February, 2010
Sadness
Lucille Clifton, you will be missed. You were truly an amazing voice in American poetry, and you have had a great influence on me. I will always be grateful I had the chance to see you read. Maybe in another life I'll get to ask you about that fox.
12 February, 2010
On Cooking
I frickin love it. I've been pseudo-foodie lately, trying out every dish I can think of. My Thanksgiving dinner was out of this world. As I took a bite of my pumpkin pie (for which I didn't use a recipe, thank you very much), I proclaimed in a falsetto singsong voice, "I am a goddess!" My grandfather, a notoriously picky eater, told me it was the best pumpkin pie he's ever had. I mean, the man is my grandfather. He's had a lot of pumpkin pie.
Wednesday night I made my first homemade tomato sauce and wanted to make the same proclamation.
I float my own boat sometimes, but other times my culinary adventures end in disaster. The pumpkin pizza anyone? The attempt at pan-fried chickpeas? The reeses pieces brownies that turned out like sheetrock - which is apparently what happens when you scale the recipe down by 4 but spread the mixture in the same size baking sheet?
The point is, I've got some real talent, but I need lots of training.
Anyone know of a good vegetarian culinary training seminar? I'm looking for about a week, anywhere is fine. It won't do me much good to learn how to bone a duck if I'm never going to use that skill, you know?
Wednesday night I made my first homemade tomato sauce and wanted to make the same proclamation.
I float my own boat sometimes, but other times my culinary adventures end in disaster. The pumpkin pizza anyone? The attempt at pan-fried chickpeas? The reeses pieces brownies that turned out like sheetrock - which is apparently what happens when you scale the recipe down by 4 but spread the mixture in the same size baking sheet?
The point is, I've got some real talent, but I need lots of training.
Anyone know of a good vegetarian culinary training seminar? I'm looking for about a week, anywhere is fine. It won't do me much good to learn how to bone a duck if I'm never going to use that skill, you know?
27 January, 2010
Things that give me a happy, busy afternoon at work edition
the assaulting, scrumptious aroma of an orange after your thumbnail punctures its skin
and Olivia Ruiz singing "La Femme Chocolat":
and Olivia Ruiz singing "La Femme Chocolat":
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