Yet what fascinates here are precisely the differences between previous poetic versions and this translation. Unfortunately for us, Heaney could not cheat death so we might settle instead for his typically unassuming vision of Charon, the ferryman who, in the original Latin meaning of translation, carries us all across:. Latin poetic tradition had it that he died young at the age of 30, and so his birth is often backdated to around 84BCE.
But even this is a matter of debate. She also proves an expert guide through Roman political manoeuvring, unravelling the machinations of Caesar, Cicero, Crassus, Pompey and a whole host of minor characters, which might swivel the head of even the most experienced Westminster analyst. Here are sound, traditional versions, perfect for the student or general reader looking for accuracy and precision. At the same time, Dunn is not afraid to call a spade a spade or, in the case of poem 80, a blow job, a blow job.
That said, Catullus is a notoriously tricky subject for any translator. And The Poems of Catullus provides a fine foundation for the future. Takes me along the perimeter fencing To where I want my ashes wind-scattered. You are like Helen Thomas. Take my hand. Such poems, in turn, usher in another recurring Longley trope, his always outstanding use of ancient epic to underscore the universal horror of total war. Above all, though, Longley is a poet not just of war and death but grief.
We were combatants from the start. Our dad Bought us boxing gloves when we were ten — Champions like Euryalus, say, or Epeius Of wooden-horse fame…. Siamese twins, joined below the waist, One grasping the reins for dear life, The other whipping the horses to win, Two souls, one well-balanced charioteer Taking the trophy and this epitaph.
Poetry Reviews by Josephine Balmer
The day of your funeral In October sunshine Milly, not the friendliest Tabby, came back home. For in the middle of death, it seems, we are always in life. For like Yeats, whom Longley considers the greatest poet of the English language bar Shakespeare, Longley has become the supreme poet of old age, growing in stature as he contemplates the ever-renewing cycles of decay and rebirth, moving forward into the inevitable shadow of death.
As such, Longley becomes not just a poet of old age but of any age, all ages — the best poet currently writing in the English language, bar none. Yet here is one of the thorniest dilemmas for translators: should classic works of Western literature be accompanied by detailed notes to clarify obscurities? Or should readers be left to approach them on their own terms?
But those without a background in medieval political history might still be left groping for the wider context. And even if scholarship is perceived to have no place in poetry, there might still be poetry to be found in scholarship, as the work of Canadian poet and classicist Anne Carson exemplifies. As James concurs, such a strict rhyming scheme can sound forced or archaic in non-inflected Anglo-Saxon. More importantly, perhaps, it is also a form in which he himself feels at ease as a poet by contrast, in his excellent version of Inferno , Steve Ellis eschews rhyme because, as he confesses, he found it difficult in his own poetry.
Once more I set out on the open sea, With just one ship, crewed by my loyal men, The stalwart who had not deserted me. As far as Spain I saw both shores, and then Morocco…. From now on, every day feels like your last Forever. Let that be your greatest fear. Your future now is to regret the past. Forget your hopes. They were what brought you here. And if the lack of scholarly apparatus can, on occasion, prove more face-furrowing than page-turning, the poetry is certainly here, spurring the reader to learn more. As his life was, and is. There is also the complex issue of authorial voice, the mirrors within mirrors of the male poet voicing female protagonists, who themselves exist only in the literary imaginations of other men; how far do the women speak as themselves or for their revisionist male recreator?
In many ways Pollard, a wunderkind who wrote her first poetry collection while still at school, is a good match for the equally precocious Ovid. Her research pays off. Throughout the collection, Laird debates whether identity derives from birthplace, such as his native Ulster, or whether it is accumulated by a passage through the wider world. What if you felt nothing more walking down the streets of Cookstown than you ever felt walking in New York or Rome or London.
Yet the more deeply personal their subjects, the more engagingly universal the poems become. Go Giants considers how to establish — and maintain — a sense of self in a shifting world, whether as husband, father, lover, friend or compatriot. For Laird, whose New York alarm is apparently still tuned to Radio Ulster, this is a wryly complex business. The relationship between creativity and research is never easy.
I can tell from his stillness, and the chill and stiffness of his fingers, he has been dead for a good time already.
The full terror here, Motion suggests, is not only that the humdrum lies amongst the horror but that, in reverse, a never-ending cycle of bloodshed and destruction becomes mundane, as the lessons of the past are never learnt. The Customs House leads us through this blighted landscape with a non-flinching, yet always compassionate, precision. How far are the images meant to correlate with the written text?
Should they be viewed as potential stage backdrops? Or do they present a second meta-text, a commentary running alongside the translation? Carson, who worked as a commercial artist while completing her classical studies, understands the power of the non-literal.
Yet as well as her trademark intertexuality Brecht, Hegel and Virginia Woolf all flit through Antigonick and deliberately jarring modernisms, Carson is also a powerful interpreter of the lost and mysterious archaic world. For example, the black block capitals and lack of punctuation Carson employs in Antigonick echo the appearance of Greek text on papyrus. Above all, Antigonick questions what it means to translate Greek drama, an art form so mysterious, so primordial, that it can seem more like sacrificial rite than literary text.
Should such versions be approached as a work of theatre or as lines on the page? Is it possible to add the dynamic of performance on to a static text? Certainly every once in a while, a translation of a perhaps previously less known foreign language poet appears in English which not only becomes a modern classic in its own right, but also changes the face of English poetry.
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This exemplifies his debt to his Greek poetic heritage alongside his connections to a wider European literary tradition. The multicoloured paper masks you donned and year in, year out, changed afresh each day, had wrinkles, ironed their evidence away, saved you from scorn within your demi-monde. Such informed — and delicate — textual layers require a very deft hand in their translation. Here Vayenas is wonderfully served by the many distinguished translators whose work is included in the volume, such as David Ricks, Kimon Friar and Roderick Beaton, as well as its editors Richard Berengarten and Paschalis Nikolaou.
It will surely not be long before British poets, inspired by this exemplary edition, are returning the compliment. I have taken the leap from myself to dawn. I have left my body beside the light and have sung the sadness of what is born. The poem I do not say, the one I do not deserve. Fear of being two the way of a mirror: someone asleep inside me eats me and drinks me. Here are the words a figure in a Paula Rego painting might speak, the poems they might write; beautiful, disturbing, compelling, the view from the other side of the looking glass:.
You make the silence of lilacs which shake in the tragedy of the wind of my heart. At first glance may appear to have been a conventional, if not conservative, year in poetry. The T.
Radical transformations indeed. In Sappho and early lyric they are the bitter sting that comes after the honey sweetness of love and, in later epigram, they become poets themselves, more precisely woman poets, bringing home their honeyed words. Such images are woven through the volume like the delicate illustrations of illuminated manuscripts.
But there is also much here that previous readers will find familiar. In Water , a tender elegy for her mother, Duffy captures the heart-eroding role reversal of caring for a terminally ill parent; the terrible loss of a mother for a daughter — and the cycle that will be repeated by the next generation:. A good last word.
The Lug of Days to Come: New and Selected Poems and Translations - Daniel Haberman - Google книги
What a mother brings through darkness still to her parched daughter. As well as being deeply personal, much of the poetry in The Bees also has or has derived from a public function. Davenport taught at Kentucky until he received a MacArthur Fellowship , which prompted his retirement, at the end of Davenport was married briefly in the early s. Cox became Trustee for the Guy Davenport Estate. In one of his essays, Davenport claimed to "live almost exclusively off fried baloney, Campbell's soup, and Snickers bars.
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He died of lung cancer on January 4, , in Lexington, Kentucky. Davenport began publishing fiction in with "The Aeroplanes at Brescia ," which is based on Kafka 's visit to an air show in September His fiction uses three general modes of exposition: the fictionalizing of historical events and figures; the foregrounding of formal narrative experiments, especially with the use of collage ; and the depicting of a Fourierist utopia , where small groups of men, women, and children have eliminated the separation between mind and body.
The first of more than four hundred Davenport essays, articles, introductions, and book reviews appeared while he was still an undergraduate; the last, just weeks before his death. His essays range from literary to social topics, from brief book reviews to lectures such as the title piece in his first collection of essays, The Geography of the Imagination.
Although he wrote on many topics, Davenport, who never had a driver's license, was especially passionate about the destruction of American cities by the automobile. Davenport published a handful of poems. The longest are the book-length Flowers and Leaves , an intricate meditation on art and America, and "The Resurrection in Cookham Churchyard" borrowing the title from a painting by Stanley Spencer. A selection of his poems and translations was published as Thasos and Ohio.
Davenport translated ancient Greek texts, particularly from the archaic period. These were published in periodicals, then small volumes, and finally collected in 7 Greeks. He also translated the occasional other piece, including a few poems of Rilke 's, some ancient Egyptian texts [after Boris de Rachewiltz ], and, with Benjamin Urrutia , the sayings of Jesus, published as The Logia of Yeshua.
With his childhood newspaper, Davenport launched both his literary and artistic vocations. The former remained dormant or sporadic for some time while the latter, "making drawings, watercolors, and gouaches , [continued] throughout school, the army, and his early years as a teacher. From college forward, Davenport supplied cover art and decorations to literary periodicals. As a visual artist and childhood newspaper magnate who also wrote, Davenport had a lifelong interest in printing and book design. His poems and fictions were often first published in limited editions by small press craftsmen.
In Davenport and Laurence Scott prepared and printed Pound's Canto CX in an edition of copies, 80 of which they presented to Pound for his 80th birthday. The previous year they had produced Ezra's Bowmen of Shu on the same press, a double broadside that published for the first time, with a brief introductory essay by Davenport, a drawing by sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska and a letter of Gaudier's from the trenches of World War I that cites Pound's poem translated from one in the Shi Jing "The Song of the Bowmen of Shu".
Many of Davenport's earlier stories are combinations of pictures and text, especially Tatlin! I continued this method right through Apples and Pears I took this as final defeat, and haven't tried to combine drawing and writing in any later work of fiction. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. American writer and painter. The cover of Apples and Pears by Guy Davenport. Poetry Foundation.
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