p.d.s. 45 – sfarsit de calendar

Mai aveam de adaugat o poezie din seria lui Frederick Seidel, poezia lunii septembrie. Le-am recitit pe celelalte gandindu-ma sa aleg cateva care-mi plac mai mult, da’ e greu. Octombrie imi place in continuare foarte mult, vad ca ziceam atunci ca si Martie ar fi una dintre preferatele mele, acum pare ca nu mai e, cred ca-s altele. Insa cum se schimba tot timpu’, mai bine nu mai zic nimic si va las sa cititi ultima fila din calendar.


The woman is so refined.
The idea of refinement gets redefined.
Doing it with her is absurd.
Like feeding stake to a hummingbird.

Her hair colorist colored her hair gold
To give her a look. It made her look cold.
Her face suddenly seemed see-through like a breath
In a bonnet of gold and she was in a casket and it was death.

She looked more beautiful than life.
She said she wanted to be my wife.
She comes with a psychiatrist to maintain her.
She comes with a personal trainer.

The September trees are still green in Central Park
Until they turn black after dark.
The apartments in the buildings turn their lamps on.
And then curtains are drawn.

One person on a low floor pulls the curtain back and stares out,
But pulls the curtain closed again when there’s a shout,
Audible on Fifth Avenue, from inside the park.
Somewhere a dog begins to bark.

I climb into the casket of this New York night.
I climb into the casket of the curtained light.
I climb into the casket and the satin.
I climb into the casket to do that in.

Into her roaring arms, wings of hummingbird,
A roar of wings without a word,
A woman looking up at me and me looking down
Into the casket at the town.

I see down there His Honor the Mayor
In St. Patrick’s Cathedral, head bowed in prayer.
His friend – wings roaring – hovers beside him in the pew.
Death is all there is. Death will have to do.


Bonusul de azi: pornind de la una dintre poeziile preferate (Februarie) – „The best way not to kill yourself / Is to ride a motorcycle very fast. / How to avoid suicide? / Get on and really ride.” – am ajuns si va trimit si pe voi la un articol al lui Seidel despre motociclete si produsele Apple. In plus, pentru ca azi e ultimul episod, un interviu cu Seidel din The Paris Review si un articol-recenzie despre cartea lui de poeme Poems 1959-2009. O sa va mai zic de el, ca-mi place. Dar mai am muuult de citit, sunt 50 de ani de poezii la mijloc.

[Din pacate aveam un cantec perfect pentru luna in curs (noiembrie, nu septembrie cel de mai sus), dar nu-l gasesc nicaieri pe net. Asa ca il inlocuiesc cu altul nu mai putin perfect si mai pun un poem ca sa nu fiu chiar defazata de tot.]


Bipolar November

I get a phone call from my dog who died,
But I don’t really.
I don’t hear anything.
Dear Jimmy, it is hard.
Dear dog, you were just a dog.
I am returning your call.

I have nothing to say.
I have nothing to add.
I have nothing to add to that.
I am saying hello to no.
How do you do, no!
I am returning your call.

I rode a bubble to the surface just now.
I unthawed and unthawed.
I said yes. Yes, yes,
How do you do?
I called to say hello
But am happy.

Today it is spring in November.
The weather opens the windows.
The windows look pretty dirty.
I go to my computer to see.
The six-day forecast calls
For happy haze for six days.

The trees look like they’re budding.
They can’t be in late November.
It is mucilaginous springtime.
It is all beginning all over.
The warplanes levitate
To take another crack at Iraq.

Hey, Mr. Big Shot!
I bet you went to Harvard.
Leaves are still on the trees.
The trees are wearing fine shoes.
Everything is handmade.
Everything believes.

(din Evening Man, 2008)

(Pe Seidel il traduce cineva si la noi?)

Explore posts in the same categories: calendarul seidel, pds

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