Approach. An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

approach	 approach	approach
alone in my heart
let the day sail away
i shall stay in exaltancy
the dust track leads 
nowhere	in twilight she disrobes
anywhere's a gradient		nowhere
dawn is like this stray dog
two years ago		crying somewhere
they had bulldozed		afraid	lost		
their way through this
the local alcalde believed
the dust track		it would improve the economy
little did he know elephants return to the wilderness
wilderness wilderness wilderness	leads nowhere		
			in exaltancy	
			at great heights
at twilight		
the grandeur of the boulders		she disrobes
hovering upon the hillside		alone in my heart
approach	approach	approach
will hurtle down to unfathomble
the day sails			depths
now extends their itness
as we approach	approach	approach

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

Dead Stars Flash Back. Poem Excerpt from Next Arrivals by Robin Ouzman Hislop

 	dead stars flashback         the rest must rise 
		to an unknown helplessness 
                    an earthbound memory 
                      savanna to tundra 
         each day                    a commanded homage 
		     to kao tao of fate 
		     to its fled ancestor 

      but i brimmed in apocalypse    under the welter of bones
	                yield to the inevitable 
	             in its charnel house brain  
          as panic stricken packs      sudden rain blaze 
                            an earthbound memory  
		         thwarted in its choked cry

    ancestor in its death     but inevitable     more than bones
		     sudden rain blazed dead stars 
	a homage to 	      until it fled	in its brain 
	each day commanded 	brimmed in apocalypse 
		to yield to the flashback with the rest 
		the welter choked cry charnel house

		      as panic stricken packs 
			  kao tao of fate 
                         savanna to tundra
	      i must rise to an unknown helplessness 
                      each day commanded of fate 

		     i must rise to an earthbound 
      memory to kao tao 	            yield to the inevitable 
    more than a homage to death 	to an unknown helplessness 
		     
		       brimmed in apocalypse

          i flashback 		         to my then thwarted ancestor 
          its choked cry 			      as sudden rain 
			  blazed in its brain 
	until it fled with the rest 	panic stricken packs 
			   savanna to tundra 
       under the welter of dead stars 	 charnel house of bones  

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

The Split. An Audio Textual Poem. Excerpt from All the Babble of the Souk


 

He knew not, he said, whether he was a butterfly 
	who awoke to find he was a man 
or a man who awoke to find he was a butterfly. 

To begin in the image, he kills for in his dreams 
	he wakes from half forgotten 
to the commotion of the day sealed by a story. 

To begin in the image, a view before the abyss 
	from old familiar haunts 
what clings, where there’s neither choice nor chance 
	yet beckons, to the impossible impasse. 

The Breach. 


Wu Ch Eng En descends 
	the mountain of the five elements 
bearing the moon as his lamp 
	forever grows longer, he muses 
leaving no footprints in the snow. 

	At daybreak the view is emptiness 
the truth of truth is its lie, he muses 
	to a lamp without a night. 

Wu Ch Eng En rested 
	to speak with the world on emptiness. 
He looked at the village’s railings 
	their fierce barbs pointing to the sky 

between which shadows peered 
	as if to promise through tricks of light 

Mystery but revealing only bondage 
	to landscapes in whose labyrinths 
you could believe you were in a place 
	you’d never left 
where to return was just deception. 

Must not you and i be inside emptiness 
	for we cannot both be outside 
but the world made no reply 
	lost to a fleeting memory 
that may never return or may. 

Wu Ch Eng En said 

	Day dreams the wandering mind 
as lonely as a cloud, flower and song 
	but not without blood 
the lifeless, Terra-Cota army 
	marches over our groundless days 
outwards from the tomb. 

Nature Thrives on Deception. 

Chuang Tze perched 
	on his usual precipice and reflected 
on to suicide or not to suicide. 

He recalled he had worn a dark suit 
	dark glasses, returned 
on a crowded summer’s night to a past 
	whose memories 
he could no longer remember 
	there he had sown his wild seed 
what had they come to now 
	but the way of all nothingness. 

There are those who maintain 
	creation is a purposeless drift 
those who maintain its entelechy 
	can simulate a deity of divine attributes. 

Chuang Tze  rocked to, fro 
	would not such deities grow perplexed 
about their state of affairs 
	traces of white fleece trailed 
across that blue emptiness called the sky 
	thus in that fall 

from that exalted simulation 
believe they were immortal souls. 

Chuang Tze said 

Even the wind is flawed 
	as it speaks through the leaves of trees 
the moment of history. 

Now caught in time evermore 
	yet the leaves belong to the branches 
to make small patterns in infinity. 

And we, where do we belong 
	with our swan song, as if we were going home 
the day after tomorrow. 

*(in homage to Ezra)
 
 
 

 

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

Yellow Blues. An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

yellow dust flights of hazes present as absent abstractions
as dawn breakings
as the ache of unfathomable memories
hauntings in a trackless desert of signs we make believe
each moment the better to kiss it goodbye like a butterfly
trapped beneath the sky

our entangled fate moves us only to wait the next entrapment
a seizure of happen stance dreams

as spectres of the day before its fall
and all we slay have slain after the birth of name
across that vast indifferent drift
that once seen we trembled in awe before

the arbitrariness of fate we now articulate
in our indentured voice amidst the tumult

& how could we ask for more when before us is only wall
we splatter our graffiti on
we threw our amazed cries like spears on the fresh wind

flights of hazes in the yellow dust
present in their absent abstraction
we make believe each moment the better to kiss it
                                                                      it goodbye


 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

Strange Fruit. Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop


 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Millenium. An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop


 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds. UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

For Olga. An Audio Textual Poem by Blanca Andreu. Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide

 

 

This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.

From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You) , Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) , Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds), Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy) , Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas), Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).

We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.

For Olga

Girl of delicately golden tresses,
girl obsession of the virgin stork
with tufts of damask feathers
that splashed death,
of the crazy stork with wings
of golden strychnine
which flew off leaving you with a corporeal perfume,
a neat smell of lilacs, already golden and rude dreams.
Girl who obeyed the apostle scops owl
and the murky look of real eyes,
with puerile drawings of Selene and the rest.
Girl of non-existent concert,
girl of cruel sonatines and malevolent books by Tom Wolfe,
or witch lace to bandage wounded deer ulcers,
of fallow deer gazing from mystical knolls,
or places like that.
Pluperfect girl, girl we never were,
tell it now,
tell it now, you, now that it’s so late,
spell out the sombre tempo,
spell me the tear
the purple silhouette of the mare,
the foal that lay at your feet waking up foam.

Abandoned recite the words of yesteryear,
shadow of Juan Ramón: Solitude, I am true to you.
Scornful recite the words of yesteryear,
but not that courtly verse,
don’t talk of queens white as a lily,
snow and Joan burning
and interwoven melancholy
of dear Villon,
speak clear verbs where you can drink the saddest liquid,
jars of sea and relief, now that it is already so late,
raise your tiny voice and summon up the song:
tell life that I remember her,
I remember her.

This small death is definitely lost in a nascent forest,
the shoot of an arrested comet,
that nobody saves
young volcano of novice gust and bones
made of bird, eyelid and thinking wave
that no stella book
no book painted with Italien solar gold,
no book of lava
will seal for me.

And so death so many times written
becomes radiant,
and i can talk
of desire and the unseeing beam of the lighthouse,
of the chimerical corpse of the crew.
And so death
becomes the story
of that mute girl who hanged herself
with boreal harp’s strings
because of nuptial poison on her tongue.
I definitely get lost cradling litters of rare epitaphs,
girl of golden tresses,
I will tell life that you remember her,
I will tell death that you remember her
that you remember their lines conjuring your shadow,
that you remember their habits and tempo solo,
bitter laurel, deep bramble, brazen error and sorrowful hordes,
while Ephesian cats are crying at my feet,
while lost silver cats
go curdling their ancestry in genealogical cypress and poplar,
I will tell life to remember you,
to remember me
now,
when I rise with loops and hair strings
up to the disaster of my head
up to the disaster of my twenty years,
up to the disaster, lammergeier light.

De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall, 1980

Para Olga

Niña de greyes delicadamente doradas,
niña obsesión de la cigüeña virgen
con mechones de plumas de damasco
que salpicaban muerte,
de la cigüeña loca con alones
de estricnina dorada
que viajaba dejándote un corpóreo perfume,
un pulcro olor a lilas, ya dorados y rudos sueños.
Niña que obedeció al autillo apóstol
y a la mirada turbia de los ojos reales,
con pueriles dibujos de Selene y demás.
Niña de inexistente concierto,
niña de crueles sonatinas y malévolos libros de Tom Wolfe,
o de encajes de brujas para vendar las llagas de los corzos heridos,
de ciervos vulnerados asomados en los oteros místicos,
en los sitios así.
Niña pluscuamperfecta, niña que nunca fuimos,
dilo ahora,
dilo ahora tú, ahora que es tan tarde,
pronuncia el torvo adagio,
pronúnciame la lágrima,
la silueta morada de la yegua,
la del potro que se tendió a tus pies despertando la espuma.

Declama abandonada las palabras de antaño,
sombra de Juan Ramón: Soledad, te soy fiel.
Declama desdeñosa las palabras de antaño,
pero no aquella estrofa cortesana,
no hables de reinas blancas como un lirio,
nieves y Juana ardiendo,
y la melancolía entretejida
del querido Villon,
sino los verbos claros donde poder beber el líquido más triste,
jarros de mar y alivio, ahora que ya es tarde,
alza párvula voz y eco albacea y canta:
Dile a la vida que la recuerdo,
que la recuerdo.

Definitivamente se extravía en un bosque naciente esta muerte pequeña,
el brote del cometa detenido,
esto que nadie salva,
joven volcán de huesos y ráfaga novicia
hecha de pájaro y de párpado y de ola pensante
que ningún libro estela,
ningún libro estofado de oro solar de Italia,
ningún libro de lava
viene a sellar por mí.

Y así la muerte tantas veces escrita
se me vuelve radiante,
y puedo hablar
del deseo y del lacre rubio y ciego en los faros,
del cadáver quimera de la tripulación.

Y así la muerte
se convierte en historia
de aquella niña muda que se ahorcó
con las cuerdas boreales del arpa
porque tenía en la lengua un veneno nupcial.
Definitivamente me extravío acunando camadas de raros epitafios,
niña de grey dorada,
diré a la vida que la recuerdas,
diré a la muerte que la recuerdas,
que recuerdas sus líneas conjurando tu sombra,
que recuerdas sus hábitos y su carácter solo,
su laurel ácido, su profunda zarza, su descarado error y sus hordas dolidas,
mientras gatos efesios van llorando a mis pies,
mientras gatas perdidas plateadas
van cuajando su alcurnia en ciprés genealógico y en álamo,
diré a la vida que te recuerde,
que me recuerde,
ahora,
cuando me alzo con cuerdas capilares y bucles
hasta el desastre de mi cabeza,
hasta el desastre de mis veinte años,
hasta el desastre, luz quebrantahuesos.

“De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall”1980

AUTHOR: BLANCA ANDREU (1959)
Bibliography:
– De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall (awarded the 1980 Adonais International Poetry Prize) (Ediciones Rialp, Madrid, 1981).
– Báculo de Babel (awarded the Fernando Rielo International Poetry Prize) (Hiperión, Madrid, 1983).
– Elphistone (Visor Libros, Madrid, 1988)
– El sueño oscuro: (poesía reunida, 1980-1989) (Hiperión, Madrid, 1994).



Blanca Andreu (born 1959 A Coruña) is a Spanish poet. She grew up in Orihuela, where her family still resides, and attended El Colegio de Jesus-Maria de San Agustin, followed by studies in philology in Murcia. At age 20, she moved to Madrid without formally completing her education. Here, she met Francisco Umbral, who introduced her to the literati of the city.

In 1980, she was awarded the Premio Adonáis de Poesía for her work entitled, De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall. Her use of surrealism is considered the beginning of the Post-Modern Generation. Her later work has tried to shy away from the surrealist tendencies of her early pieces.[2]

In 1985, she married novelist Juan Benet. After he died in 1993, she returned to La Coruña where she now lives a semi-reclusive life.

Awards

1980: Premio Adonáis de Poesía
1981: Premio de Cuentos Gabriel Miró
1982: Premio Mundial de Poesía Mística, Fernando Rielo
1982: Premio Ícaro de Literatura
2001: Premio Internacional de Poesía Laureà Mela

Translators:

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a 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 , Jaccuzzi, and Valle Tiétar, 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 , 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)

 

 

Editor’s Note: see also Poetry, National Literature Prize 2018, Francisca Aguirre, Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop

Crocuta crocuta. Excerpt from Cartoon Molecules Collected Poems An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

The spotted hyena      aka the laughing hyena         both male and female genitals are strikingly similar

Natural History Pliny the Elder (A.D. 23-79)       ab uno animali sepulchra erui inquisitione corporum

–     it was more jackals that were prone to digging bodies out of shallow graves and eating them    Robert Graves     White Goddess  –   The Jackals, sacred to Anubis, Guardian of the Dead, because they fed on corpse like flesh and had mysterious nocturnal habits.

the hyena is of feline descent

hyenas were hermaphrodites bearing both male and female organs         Aristotle declared in the Historia animalium    “this is untrue.”

medieval bestiaries drew a moral lesson from the depravity of beasts excluded from Noah’s ark     in 1614 God had only saved the purely bred          hyenas were reconstituted after the flood through the unnatural union of a dog and cat

female hyenas virtually indistinguishable from males      their clitoris enlarged and extended to form an organ of the same size shape and position as the male penis can also be erected

high foetal androgen levels responsible for male sexual facies in adult female spotted hyenas

an unfair stereotype of hyenas in reality fascinating intelligent even beautiful creatures

Disney animators sketches for The Lion King the trio of hyenas in the movie reinforce the common stereotype of hyenas as cowardly skulking lowlifes

Ernest Hemingway, – Fisi, the Hyena, hermaphroditic self-eating devourer of the dead, trailer of calving cows, ham-stringer, potential biter-off of your face at night while you slept, sad yowler, camp-follower, stinking, foul, with jaws that crack the bones the lion leaves, belly dragging, loping away on the brown plain –

“Hyenas” movie      an urban legend account of human encounters and attacks by a sub-culture of predatory cryptohuman hyenas      shape-shifting human-like creatures prowl the rural back roads and forests of North America           thought to exist by cryptozoologists

folklore and sightings persist even as mainstream science denies their existence

Rudyard Kipling:   The wise Hyenas come out at eve to take account of our dead,… they know the dead are safer meat than the weakest thing alive… and tug the corpse to light, the pitiful face is shown again, an instant ere they close in.

UK Teaching Resources TES     Edwin Morgan enters the mind of the hyena      English National 5 Poetry he describes its patient menacing personality      Morgan adopts the persona of a hyena    I sing and am the slave of darkness, my place is to pick you clean and leave your bones to the wind.

a hunters  poem from Lesotho description shifts to the first person singular to give the hyena’s own words          I growl being a poor body, I am small, I am hunched up like the elephant…

hyena of the Mmankala of Kone-land     a group whose symbol is the hyena     when it says ngou!   it devours even man

a Yoruba hunting poem      the hyena is regarded as the ultimate scavenger there being nothing it won’t eat      oral poetry from Africa    Hyena   who is there when the mourner buries the corpse eats fat and bone, scabbard and hide

spotted hyena strongest jaws in proportion to body size across the entire mammal kingdom cunning hunting tactics    nocturnal nature     nefarious reputations      frontal cortex of their brains thought to regulate social intelligence

the largest of the other three species brown striped and aardwolf     spotted hyenas are among Africa’s most vocal animals

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

All the Babble of the Souk Cartoon MoleculesNext Arrivals, Collected Poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual 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)

 

 

Next Arrivals. An Audio Textual Poem, Excerpt from Next Arrivals Collected Poems by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Author’s comment: this is a technically constructed work from texts  both edited & derived from Yuval Noah Harari’s   Sapiens & Homo Deus  with interpolations and additions made by the author   (2017)

*

we invent them to serve us        controlling our existence

to create virtual worlds with hells and heavens

myths domesticate science

fiction and reality blur        shaping our reality

an assembly of biochemical algorithms      flash fade     flash fade

*

spinning

*

epidemic is business economy grows

human experience as any other item

in the supermarket a designable product

intelligence mandatory consciousness optional

individuals = dividuals

in carbon or silicon

*

owned by imaginary gods

who     what you are     how to turn you     on and off

*

beyond control

beyond

the opaque wall

algorithms can command empire

or an upper class ruling the planet

if words could make dreams come true

a simultaneous instant in the brain of seven billion

emerges the beautiful androgynous face of the serial killer

wheat eater          bread winner

*

& the deluge of data

millions of nano-robots coursing humankind’s veins

an Orwellian police state

splits into

the chosen hi-tech Noah’s Ark

a new religion information flow

Datism

A Brave New World

*

to merge or not to merge

the human genome as a digital processor

where overwhelming data

garbles the message in dystopian double talk

will the defeaters prevail

or cometh utopia from outer space

our post human descendants

*

do as you would be done by Datism

as we condemned the mammoth to oblivion

your every action

but where no human can follow or need to understand

in the matrix     the inter net of all things

*

where has the power gone

the cosmic data God draweth nigh

the great flow

to maximise    to plug you in    voters of the world unite

a colossus astride this narrow world

free market       big brother

watches over every breath you take

invisible hand that flies in the night

*

between laboratory & museum

voice of a million ancestors

a ripple in the cosmic data flow

shifts homo centric view to data centric view

knowing us better than we know ourselves

*

forager

scavenger of carrion follower in fear & flight

big brained

Neanderthal Denisovan Sapiens

what drove you for 2 million years

a big bum?

*

what bound

small divergent groups of differing tongue & taboo

into the framework of humankind

but fiction

collective myths woven into our reality

from money to the nation state

imprisoned

by the archetypes

we’ve identified them with          a virtual reality of cartoon molecules 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

All the Babble of the Souk Cartoon MoleculesNext Arrivals, Collected Poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual 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)

 

Madrid 1973. A Video Poem with Text by Guadalupe Grande. Translated by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arróspide

¿Y si fuera otra la ciudad,

“apenas vaho sobre el cristal”,

           apenas un puñado de azogue sobre el vidrio?

 

Pero entender es extranjero;

tienes que dar un paso a tu costado,

abandonar el familiar aliento:

ese que teje con su alma de humo

el calendario absorto de los días;

el que hilvana en la sombra del horizonte

la pupila del tiempo;

el que sostiene,

con alfileres de arena entre los dedos,

los muros de la infancia,

las calles que ya no son, las horas

que ya se fueron,

los escombrados descampados que ahora son penumbra en el mostrador

 

Sin embargo, tú sigues viendo

el horizonte con su sombra

allí donde hoy hay un garaje.

       Entre llaves y llantas,

       entre motores y carrocerías

       entre este mono azul y el suelo gris

       aún huyen por las piedras los lagartos,

       aún deja el caracol su rastro en la escombrera.

 

         Florecen los almendros,

         los trigales se elevan:

               regresas con un olor a cardo y cicatriz,

               vaho de miel,

               apenas                         fragmentos de un azogue

               ardidos en la hoguera.

 

 

La puerta del garaje se ha quedado abierta:

te asomas absorta a tu costado,

te quedas ahí, quieta, “respirando el verano”,

recordando,

        respirando, recordando

                 la canícula secreta,

 

olvidando, mirando, quieta:

resbala una libélula

             entre manos grasientas,

            cae una tuerca,

                          cantan

                             ¿quién canta?

             llaves, llantas, ruedas

                        y unos niños que saltan

                           al estupor de piedra en piedra.

Correr sin caerse entre los escombros.

           Correr deprisa, muy deprisa,

                     saltar, correr, cantar,

                         correr

                              antes de que todo desaparezca,

                              antes de que se acabe el verano,

                              antes de que ya solo quede

                              este garaje,

                             este vaho, este cristal,

                             este hombre rodeado de llaves,

                             aceites, llantas, tuercas,

                                           piezas del velatorio de tu infancia.

 

Qué tarde se ha hecho:

aunque hemos sorteado los escombros,

cruzado los almendros, atravesado el trigal,

aunque estamos sudorosos y sin aliento,

la ciudad ha llegado antes,

ha llegado más lejos,

                                         más deprisa, más dónde:

apenas un hilo sobre el cristal,

un puñado de azogue sobre el vidrio.

 

Es otra la ciudad

y entender es extranjero.

 

 ***

 Madrid, 1973

 

And if the city was otherwise,

“just haze on crystal”.

                        just a handful of quicksilver on the glass?

 

But understanding is alien;

you need to step beside your side,

abandon the familiar breath:

the one that with its soul of smoke

knits the absorbed calendar days;

the one that threads the horizon´s shadow

through the pupil of time;

the one that holds

with pin heads of sand between its fingers

the walls of childhood,

the streets that are no more, the hours

already gone,

the dumping tips that are now twilight on the countertop.

 

Yet still you continue to see

the horizon with its shadow

where today a garage stands.

            Between spanners and tyres,

            between motors and bodyworks,

            between a blue boiler suit and a grey floor

           where lizards still dart amongst the stones,

           where a snail still leaves its trail on the dump.

            Almond trees flourish,

             wheat fields rise up:

                     you return with a smell of thistle and scratches,

                     honey dew,

                    just fragments of quicksilver

                    burnt at the bonfire.

 

The garage door has remained open:

absorbed you peer into your side,

you remain there, still, “breathing the summer”,

remembering,

                      breathing, remembering

                      the secret midsummer heat

 

Forgetting, looking, still:

a dragonfly glides

                     between greasy hands,

                     a screw drops,

                              they sing,

                                        who sings?

                     spanners, tyres, wheels

                               and children hop scotching

                                        amazement from stone to stone.

 

                   Run without stumbling over the rubble.

                   Run fast, very fast,

                   skip, run, sing,

                   run

                                    before everything vanishes,

                                    before summer is over,

                                    before only

                                    this garage

                                    this haze, this glass

                                    remain,

                                   this man surrounded by spanners,

                                   oils, tyres, screws,

                                                       pieces of your childhood´s wake.

 

 How late it´s grown:

even though we´ve avoided the dump,

crossed by the almond trees, passed through the wheat field,

even though we are sweaty and breathless,

the city has arrived before,

has arrived more far,

                                     more quick, more where:

just a thread on the crystal,

a handful of quicksilver on the glass.

The city is otherwise

and understanding is alien.

Guadalupe Grande was born in Madrid in 1965. She has a Bachelor degree in Social Anthropology. Published poetry books: El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, awarded the 1995 Rafael Alberti Award, 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 and La torre degli Arabeschi, Milán, 2009),  Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) and Métier de crhysalide (an anthology, translated by Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).

As a literary critic, she has published in cultural journals and magazines, such as El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña and others.

In 2008 she was awarded the Valle Inclán grant for literary creation in the Academia de España in Rome.

In the publishing and cultural management areas, she has worked in institutions such as the Complutense University of Madrid Summer Courses, Casa de América and Teatro Real. Currently she manages poetical activities in the José Hierro Popular University at San Sebastian de los Reyes, Madrid.

The poems “Ocho y media” (Half past eight) and “Madrid, 1973” belong to La llave de niebla, (Key of Mist) which has been translated into English by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arróspide.

 ***

Guadalupe Grande nació en Madrid en 1965. Es licenciada en Antropología Social.

Ha publicado los libros de poesía El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, Premio Rafael Alberti 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 y La torre degli rabeschi, Milán, 2009),  Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) y Métier de crhysalide (antología en traducción de Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).

Como crítico literario, ha colaborado en diversos diarios y revistas culturales, como El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña, etcétera.

En el año 2008 obtuvo la Beca Valle Inclán para la creación literaria en la Academia de España en Roma.

En el ámbito de la edición y la gestión cultural ha trabajado en diversas instituciones como los Cursos de Verano de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid, la Casa de América y el Teatro Real.  En la actualidad es responsable de la actividad poética de la Universidad Popular José Hierro, San Sebastián de los Reyes, Madrid.

Los poemas “Ocho y media” y “Madrid, 1973” pertenecen a La llave de niebla y han sido traducidos al inglés por Robin Ouzman Hislop y Amparo Arróspide.

Translators:

Amparo Arróspide (Argentina) 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, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines. She has translated authors such as Francisca Aguirre, Javier Díaz Gil, Luis Fores and José Antonio Pamies into English, together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, who she worked with for a period as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, at Artvilla.com a Webzine. Her translations into Spanish of Margaret Atwood (Morning in the Burned House), James Stephens (Irish Fairy Tales) and Mia Couto (Vinte e Zinco) are in the course of being published, as well as her two poetry collections Hormigas en diáspora and Jacuzzi. She takes part in festivals, recently Transforming with Poetry (Leeds) and Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

All the Babble of the Souk Cartoon MoleculesNext Arrivals, Collected Poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual 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)