International Zoo (April 16, 2013)

April 16, 2013 § Leave a comment

Quite an odd prompt (which means it’s unfamiliar to me), which became fun: take a poem written in another language, use the written word to imagine another meaning, and “translate”.  I spent very little time on this, so please forgive the roughness.  First, I’ll post my poem,, then the Polish, then the translation, so you don’t have to do the work.  I didn’t read the translation first.

International Zoo (Villars)

A sleepy zoo opens internationally
with decisive mojo.

Solemn mortals — Papi, Karen —
chew zesty ravioli.
Trouble’s waiting.

We don’t mean to be depressed.
Kotya Anna isn’t feeling well.
It’s a mystery at Verdun
and crazy dancing at Auschwitz.

No wildness, cries, or scares,
please kindness and zygotes.
No aching.

SKLEPY ZOOLOGICZNE (Lipska)

Sklepy zoologiczne. Obóz internowanych
z mojego dzieciństwa.

Świnki morskie. Papugi. Kanarki.
Chorowity zapach niewoli.
Trociny wydarzeń.

W domu wypluwałam depresję.
Kotka Antygona nie pokazała się więcej.
Łapki na myszy spod Verdun
i potem ciąg dalszy aż do Auschwitz.

Nie wiedziałam czym się to skończy
kiedy zgłaszałam się do życia.
Na ochotnika.

PET SHOPS (translation by Davidson and Nowakowska)

Pet shops.
The internment camp
from my childhood.

Guinea pigs. Parrots. Canaries.
The sickly scent of captivity.
Sawdust of events.

At home I spat out depression.
Antigone the cat didn’t show up any more.
A mousetrap from Verdun
and then all the way to Auschwitz.

I didn’t know how it would end
when I signed up for life.
A volunteer.

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Pantum (April 15, 2013)

April 15, 2013 § Leave a comment

What a painful day. Everything except Boston seems frivolous, and it is. Here’s today’s pantum, Boston captured.

Muscled and lean, the runner’s legs
ripple, calm as waves, as she dashes past.
Her medals are shattered, damp with red:
remnants of lost fortune. We are aghast.

Anti-dote (April 14, 2013)

April 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

I’m not a comics or cartoons kind of person, so I twisted today’s prompt (How about a poem in the voice of a superhero [or a supervillain?]) into a voice of evil. At least that’s how I see it.

Anti-dote

Pour your bloody flesh in me.
I need the steaming guts up to my brim.
Feed me raw and fresh.

Tear the fish damp from the sea
I want to watch them gasp for breath.
Feed me new and clean.

Use your guns to split the sky
I use abandoned feathers for my hair
and scrape my teeth with wings.

Worship me with all your goods,
your wets, and beasts, and fowl.
I promise you forever.