Zack and Bouge

November 11th, 2005

Zack-Bouge1
It’s official: it’s one of the last sunny days of 2005.

What a strange world I have found myself in! Last week the leaves all turned brilliant colors then died. The kittens in the garage have eaten their full of the kibble and bits I’ve left outside for them then run back to cower in the dark. Today’s fashion is cast-off minimalism, as due to poverty; photos by Shelby. Soon we will be under six feet of snow. Even my cat Bouge (shown here in all her blue, cross-eyed glory, thanks darling) consented to pose with me for these photos. On days like today all I want is one bit of good jabber, gossip, gabble to pass on to you. I am feeling all mortal and detached and then I stumble upon this:

Shonen Knife Drummer Dies: This past weekend, a tour van accident claimed the life of Mana “China” Nishiura, drummer for revered Japanese psych-rockers DMBQ and pop-punkers Shonen Knife. Her bandmates and tour manager were also injured.

Zack-Bouge2

My brother and I went and saw Shonen Knife around a million years ago in Detroit. There was a guy in the mosh pit up front (or what passed as a mosh pit, I recall) dressed up like Batman, in full cape and tights. At one point the lead singer stopped playing and said: “Excuse me, I have a very important message to tell you …” Eli and I thought she was going to say something profound about peace or kittens and UFOs. Instead she said: “… the tour T-shirts you are wearing? They were designed by our drummer.”

I wonder if Eli still has his. Mana “China” Nishiura, we miss you!!

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full from the waves — geheel van die golwe uit

November 9th, 2005

My good friend Sarah from South Africa surprised me about a week ago with a translation of one of my poems, the mermaid sonnet full/ from the waves, into her native Afrikaans. It was one of the poems I submitted to the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Contest, with the understanding it wouldn’t be published anywhere else until after the judging was over. It won’t. That isn’t to say a translation of it won’t have the same restrictions. I have no idea what my Afrikaans reading population is. Sarah says her language is also close to Flemish; so I’d like to think there are thousands of new readers crying: “Oh Joy! A new sonnet all for our very own!” … though I am not holding my breath. This does raise several questions for me. There are Flemish and Afrikaans poets in the world. Where do they publish their work? What is the market for a book of translations, the ink still wet? Are there any websites you could recommend? If you know any Flemish or Afrikaans readers who like 14-line poems, tell them about this. Cheers!

Those who love the mermaid love her yellow
waves; love all that is green, soundless and wet;
love those fishermen’s tales retold below
the Northern Lights. Here, the songs of fishnet
kisses is what the mermaid sings. Let me
remind you how you came from the billows,
the dark waves. When you laugh the sea fairies
call out: “Sister;” when you swell the minnows
that make the tide go in and out declare,
“Ah, she’s happy!” Turquoise, salt water’s tongue,
looks good in your hair. Remember, somewhere
someone is singing about you: “She sprung
full from the waves!” Like mermaids and Venus
I’ll sing of you as a new sea goddess.

Diegene wat die meermin lief is lief vir haar geel
golwe; is lief vir alles wat groen is, geluidloos en nat;
lief vir die vissers se verhale oorvertel hieronder
Northern Lights. Hier is die liedere van visnetkouse
soen is wat die meermin sing. laat my
onthou jy hoe jy gekom het van die golwe,
die donker golwe. Wanneer jy lag die see feetjies
uit te roep: “Suster,” wanneer jy die ruis voorn swel
wat maak die gety gaan in en uit te verklaar,
“Ag, sy is gelukkig!” Turkoois, sout water se tong,
goed lyk in jou hare. Onthou, iewers
iemand oor jou sing: “Sy het opgeskiet
vol van die golwe “Soos meerminne en Venus
Ek sal sing van u as ‘n nuwe see godin.

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Creole’s “Evening of Poetry & Song”

November 7th, 2005

Rue just wrote to remind me:

Don’t miss a fabulous “Evening of Poetry & Song” hosted by The Old Town Poetry Series this coming Wednesday, Nov. 9th, 7:30 PM at the Creole Gallery, 1218 Turner St. in Lansing’s historic Old Town. The evening will feature a local favorite, poet Joyce Benvenuto, plus Los Maestros, Miguel Cabanas and Jose Colmeiro, singing songs that evolved from Spanish and Galician poems. English translation will be provided by the singers and Ruelaine Stokes. Joyce Benvenuto has been a powerful voice within the Lansing poetry scene from many years. She served as an English teacher par excellence at the Meridian High School in Haslett until her recent retirement. Now living in Vermont & Arizona, she returns periodically to help with the Capitol Area High School Poetry Contest, of which she was a founding organizer, and help with various poetry projects. We feel fortunate to have “captured” her for this reading. Los Maestros, a dynamic Spanish band featuring Miguel Cabanas and Jose Colmiero, is a true delight — high energy and deeply melodic. They will sing Spanish and Galician songs which originally came from poems. Miguel and Jose work as Spanish professors at MSU, and Jose is teaching a class this semester on the interconnections between Spanish poetry and song. Plus, we will have an Open Mike Session. Participating poets are invited to “throw their names in the hat” at the front table. Poets read 1 poem . . . . . unless we have extra time. A donation is suggested (w/ a sliding scale from $3-$5). Refreshments are free. Parking is available on the street or in the large parking lot on the south side of the intersection of Turner St. and Grand River Avenue. (Turner Street is just 1 block east of the Grand River in Lansing’s Old Town.)

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in the bowels of powell’s & beyond

November 7th, 2005

I started this morning off writing to friends asking if they went anywhere over the weekend? I am highly interested in other people’s expeditions and journeys. Even if it is a mundane trip, say going to work, if it involves traveling into the realm of the unknown, going across a body of water or deep into the earth, anything could happen. For me, I went to Chicago. Powell’s of Portland might be the world’s largest used book store, but Powell’s of North/Lakeview in Chicago (2850 North Lincoln Ave.) is a mixed bag. Their flier reads: “[We] offer our best selection of Art, Architecture and Photography, and [are] host to our largest rare book room. Lots of fiction, a large children’s section and a coffee bar.” Be warned; there is a coffee bar which, as the clerk told us, “hasn’t been opened in years.” There is even a poetry section but it isn’t labeled and I wandered around the store twice before asking for help. The staff is neither engaged nor energetic when it comes to answering questions. Perhaps they were engrossed in a really exciting Weekly World News article? Or maybe they could sense I was from out of town? Regardless, the poetry section is hidden under the first large table you come to on your left side. It requires you to either squat or sit on the floor as you sort through the mostly non-alphabetized books. There are several comfortable sofas in the back, however, with tables set up for chess and the kind of artwork on the walls that resemble orange and green paper-mache hearts with blackened honeycombs poking out here and there. There was light jazz on the stereo and someone reminded me it Guy Fawkles Day. Guy Fawkles Day! I didn’t get the chance to burn anything down, sadly. Nor was I able to take a ride on the subway this time. I love subways. We don’t have a subway system in Lansing. Chicago has one. I’ve only been to that city half a dozen times but each time I go I try to ride on it. You end up losing a sense of self there, or at least I do, a sense of who you are, packed in those little rattling tin-boxes, rumbling at insane speeds through the dark. The poet Alice Notley wrote in “The Descent of Alette:” “One day, I awoke” “& found myself on” “a subway, endlessly” “I didn’t know” “how I’d arrived there or” “who I was” “exactly” — that’s happened to me too, that sense of waking up out of your body and not sure where you are or what’s happening. Isn’t that what we describe limbo being like? I know when you’re on a subway your not suppose to stare at your fellow passengers, it is rude and might cause a fight to break out (we have far too much aggression in the world as it is) but I swear, there are people riding the subway that look like mist, who look like phantoms, who look like they’re trapped between heaven and hell.

VII.
There was a ghost girl on the subway She slept with absolute grace her delicate ankles crossed beneath her dress her hand on a trashy romance novel like she was swearing on the Bible.

That was from a small orange book of poetry, Twenty-Two Poems About Girls on the Subway by Damian Kalish I picked up at Quimby’s (1854 W. North), an alternative bookshop (“alternative to what?” I asked) in downtown part of the city. Shelby and I spent all day Saturday going from bookstore to bookstore. It was a lot of fun; and I kept finding books about ghosts riding on subways all day. I find subjects like that invariably fascinating. But, unlike the warmhearted dead, I can’t spend the all my time sitting on the floor of dirty bookstores, pawing through musty chapbooks. Ezra Pound wrote: “the apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough” after he emerged from underground on a Paris subway; he saw the haunted faces of people all about him, beautiful as ghosts. Like Pound, at some point Shelby and I had to wander out into the rain, find our parked car and drive back home. And rain it did; I think I might be coming down with the flu. All weekend it had been raining that cold, Lake Michigan rain filled with the warning of snow. I was in it without a hat, phaw!

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The Fabulous Heftones

November 3rd, 2005

Once again, NY Uke Fest has come and gone and I missed it! The Fabulous Heftones were there, however. I was in Altu’s last night with Shelby, working a cross-word puzzle and eating yummy Ethiopian food, when who should enter by Lynn, who actually does play a Heftone, who told us all about Uke Fest and their new CD, In the Garden. They are going to have a CD release party in the near future (if it is after November, though, probably not in an garden) and I recommend both the CD and the party to one and all, I love their music.

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Alice Notley in Ann Arbor!

November 2nd, 2005

Wednesday, November 2, 7:00 PM — I spent an entire day gathering Mid-Michigan poetry information and fifteen minutes after it starts I discover this (the long howl of irony is just me in the background):

Alice Notley & Ken Mikolowski reading from The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan. Please join us at Shaman Drum Bookshop for a special evening of poetry by the late Ted Berrigan. Alice Notley, Berrigan’s wife and poet Ken Mikolowski will be reading from a new collection of his work. This landmark collection brings Ted Berrigan’s published and unpublished poetry together in a single authoritative volume for the first time. Edited by the poet Alice Notley, Berrigan’s second wife, and their two sons, “The Collected Poems Of Ted Berrigan” demonstrates the remarkable range, power, and importance of Berrigan’s work. Ted Berrigan (1934-1983) was the author of more than 20 books, including “The Sonnets,” “Bean Spasms,” with Ron Padgett and Joe Brainard; “Red Wagon”; and “A Certain Slant of Sunlight”. Alice Notley is the editor of two of Ted Berrigan’s books, “The Sonnets” and “A Certain Slant of Sunlight”. She is the author of numerous volumes of poetry, including “Mysteries of Small Houses” and “Disobedience”. Anselm Berrigan is the director of the St. Mark’s Poetry Project and the author of “Zero Star Hotel”. Edmund Berrigan is a poet and songwriter and the author of “Disarming Matter”.

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Third Coast Poetry Readings & Events

November 2nd, 2005

I have yet to find a lot of poets from Detroit, Columbus, OH, Chicago, IL … even Toledo, who can keep me focused on the poetry events in their areas. I tend to drift easily. At first I was going to simply title this entry “In Memory: The Sucker MCs,” what with the death of Jam Master Jay three years ago (10.30.2002) it’s hard to believe it was 1983 when Run-D.M.C’s self-titled record hit the world. Regardless of what you think of hip-hop’s and rap’s contribution to the world of poetry I am for anything that helps the ecstasy of words spread we had no memorial services in Lansing for one third of the crew who penned: “… all you sucker MCs, you gotta say please/ Cause when he jumps high, I’m pulling down weeds” … for the world. With that said, here is Zachary’s November Calendar of Third Coast Poetry Events ~~

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1 [running through NOV. 20] Chicago, IL Caffeine Theatre’s presentation of Federico Garcia Lorca’s “Doña Rosita: la soltera o el lenguaje de las flores” (or “Doña Rosita: the spinster and the language of flowers“).

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3 Chicago, IL Radio WHPK-FM, 88.5 Mhz. Poetry & Its Music International presents poetry and interviews with Richard Fammereé as heard throughout the South Side of Chicago, on the first and third Thursdays of the month at 3:00 PM featuring published poets, venue hosts, spoken word artists, and more.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3 Chicago, IL The Poetry Foundation and The Modernist Studies Association at Loyola University Chicago present Kay Ryan 5:30 – 7:00 pm reading followed by a reception 5th Floor, Chicago Marriott, 540 North Michigan Avenue.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 4 Las Vegas, NV It’s Las Vegas poet Robert Meyer’s 51st birthday! Happy birthday, Robert!

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 4 East Lansing, MI Poet Jack Driscoll will be part of MSU’s Writers Series. He is currently Writer-in-Residence at Interlochen Center for the Arts in northern Michigan.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5 United Kingdom Somewhere, someone should be reading a Guy Fawkes’ Day poem. Really!

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 9 Lansing, MI Ruelaine Stokes hosts “An Evening of Poetry and Song;” featuring Joyce Benvenuto & Los Maestros at the Creole Gallery, 1218 Turner St. in Lansing’s historic Old Town. The reading will begin at 7:30 pm. A donation is suggested (w/ a sliding scale from $3-$5). Refreshments are free. Parking is available on the street or in the large parking lot on the south side of the intersection of Turner St. and Grand River Avenue. (Turner Street is just 1 block east of the Grand River in Lansing’s Old Town.)

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10 Ann Arbor, MI Herbert Granger Lecture: “Poetry and Prose: Xenophanes of Colophon ” 4:00pm Classics Library

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10 Ann Arbor, MI Anne Carson’s Decreation: Poetry, Essays, Opera at the Shaman Drum. The flyer reads: “In her first collection in five years, Anne Carson contemplates “decreation”–an activity described by Simone Weil as “undoing the creature in us”–an undoing of self. But how can we undo self without moving through self, to the very inside of its definition? Where else can we start?

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 13 Lansing, MI Join the Nu Poets at Gregory’s Ice and Smoke @ 7:30 PM. Doors open at 7:30 PM, 8:00 PM – 9:00 PM. Contact: Rina (!) 517 372 8466. tncp@comcast.net and www.tncp.net. Rina says: “The NuPoets performed to a packed room for the Southeastern Michigan African American Book Club Mingle on October 22, 2005 in Ann Arbor. We represented. Lansing and it is your turn to support us.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15 St. Joseph, MI The Box Factory for the Arts, 1101 Broad Street, St. Joseph, MI. Their flier reads: “Join us for the Poetry Factory Open Mic every third Tuesday of the month. Admission is $4 for audience members, or free for readers. Please bring original poetry to read, as well as a published poem from someone else that you admire. If you are planning on reading, please arrive between 7:00 and 7:30 to sign up.” Sponsored by The Poetry Factory. (269) 983-3688 & info@poetryfactory.net

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 17 Bowling Green, OH Winter Wheat Festival of Writing The fifth annual WWFW runs from Nov. 17-20 at Bowling Green State University (BGSU), featuring some 40 workshops for writers of all abilities, author readings, and panel discussions. Featured Poets: George Looney, Aimee Nezhukamatathil, and Philip Memmer.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 18 East Lansing, MI Poet Conrad Hilberry will be part of MSU’s Writers Series. He he was poetry editor of Passages North and edited the anthology Poems from the Third Coast.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29 Indianapolis, IN Butler University Visiting Writers Series. Reading and book signing by poet and novelist, Pablo Medina. Free and open to the public. 7:30 p.m. Butler University, 4600 Sunset Ave.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29 Lansing, MI Open Mic hosted by: Tim Lane (!) Magdalena’s Tea House, 2006 E. Michigan Ave., Lansing. $5 cover, sign up at door. (517) 487-1822.

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“Who loves, raves.”

November 2nd, 2005

I am probably the wrong person to be picked as a TV Reviewer, since I have not owned a TV set since 2001 and the urge to actually watch television is, at best, rare. However, once in blue moon I hear about a show or program and think: “gosh, wouldn’t that be interesting to see?” Alessandra Stanley has written a sharp review of BBC America’s Byron: The Dissolute Lifestyle of a Charmer and a Poet. Too bad it is over. The Exotic Byron, the Brooding Byron, the Foreign Byron, the Ottoman Byron. I love this painting by Thomas Phillips, (1813); though it highlights one major problem with Byronmania. As usual, Byron’s poems get shunt to one side whenever any mention of the poet is made — it is his wild life we love. But why should this be so? Byron dealt with metaphysics like his fellow Romantics. Even if I didn’t end up working in the Lord Byron English School in Gyumri, Armenia (a gift of the British Government after the earthquake) Byron had a hand in constructing the first English-Armenian dictionary; one day upon hearing I had been to London several years before, a student of mine in 9th Form came up to me and told me to say “thank you” to Mr. Byron next time I saw him for the school: “he is very nice man.”, how could I not love a poet who wrote: “Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten/ thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man/ marks the earth with ruin, but his control/ stops with the shore”? Indeed, what modern critic has praised the camp humor found in much of Don Juan? The brilliant, bitter plays like Manfred, never meant to be performed? Why has Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, which sparked Pop Art as we know it, dropped off the poetry map? I would have asked if I could come over and watch Byron with you. Who knows? A night of Jonny Lee Miller as Byron, absinthe, and The Abduction from the Seraglio by Mozart May 3, 5, 7, 11, 13 The Chicago Opera Theatre will be performing this, Shelby. (hint, hint) on the stereo might conjure up some interesting poetry. Instead I will go down to my library and see what their Book Nook/ Sale Shelf might hold. Poetry at 50 cents a pop is always interesting. Three books of poems I wish my local library carried: The Keepsake Storm by Gina Franco; Sabrina Orah Mark’s The Babies; and Vitriolica … if only Vitriolica had a book out. You rock, my dears!

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The Yakuts/ Sakha Sonnet

November 1st, 2005

Disclaimer: Ekaterina Evseyeva is a friend of mine, a Yakuts scholar and poet from Siberia. I had written to her during my research for various forms of international sonnets. She translated an article written in Russian by T.N. Vasilyeva and sent it to me. The translation, the discourse and the copyright being what they are, I take full responsibility for any information presented herein, as well as any mistakes in interpretation — ZJC.

“National Features of the Yakut Poetry” While establishing contacts with the world literature in the aspect of the genre forms and in analyzing of the contemporary issues, Yakuts/Sakha poetry does not loose its own peculiarities and moreover, produces some adopted lyrical forms, one bright example being the sonnet. One of our well-known scholars, Vasilyeva, reviewed almost all works of this genre, from 1930-2000. Her work is based on the theory of K.S. Gerasimov, who tells us that “the most suitable size of sonnet is the one in which the poetry of a given nation reveals its perfection.” Thus, the most common size of the Yakut sonnet is a seven-syllable/ step form, the oldest form coming from the Turkish poems. For example, we can analyze the sonnets of our poet, Ivan Gogolev. In his work, rhythm equals with the size of traditional Sakha songs. The development of this idea and theme in the sonnet is like that in the song – not too fast, but gently; the thesis gradually turning into antithesis. Such soft transition is supported by repletion of sounds and morphemes such lines as: Кулун ыраас хара5а/ 2-2-3/ clear eyes of the foal Долгутар миигин куруук,/ 3-2-2/ always make me feel excitement, Ыйдаца куех арда5а/ 3-1-3/ like when the rain during the full moon night Дууhабар тохтор курдук./ 3-2-2/ pours into my soul. Дьиктиргии, сергии, уерэ/ 3-2-2/ being full of solemn joy, Аан дойдуну одуулуур,/ 1-3-3/ it looks around at the world,Бу бэйэтэ олус кэрэ,/ 1-3-2-2/ and this is beauty, Бу бэйэтэ, дьицэр, улуу./ 1-3-2-2(2,14)/ and this is something grand. (Note: the size of the Yakuts/ Sakha sonnet is not the same as in its English translation). National, traditional peculiarities are shown in the Yakut mentality and are primarily reflected in its lexis – fine, exquisite metaphors and similes, rich abilities for producing local sayings. These peculiarities are often shown in the thematic and composition of the sonnet. For example, there are both oral and written traditional metaphors on such notions like trees, sun, horse (key elements of visual symbolism for the Sakha). But even in such metaphors poets open something new; they make their own interpretations of a known phenomenon. Iven Gogolev used the traditional musical instrument “khomus” to symbolize inseparable unity and the bond of two loving hearts. The use of color should be noted as one of the main peculiarities of poetical similes and epithets. As it’s known, the color white (“уруц, мацан”) has been called “the most beloved color of the ancient Yakut.” White was given the most respect in epithets, which carried on in Yakut sonnets. Furthermore, philosophical sonnets are common as a major theme of Yakut poetry. For example, the sonnets of Ivan Gogolev and Michail Efimov both reflect a multitude of images of the world; their dark and light sides, as well as their dual conflicting views in their poetical outlook. Philosophical sonnets display the poet’s pondering about time and meaning of life. They reveal the image of a national motherland and give predictions about what awaits the Sakha people. Besides that, poets find unlimited opportunities to bring to light and evoke general matters of the individual in specific or historical ways; it gives the Yakut sonnet artistic volume and grandness. Poets propagate a sacred belief of advantageous influence of the beauty of the world onto their people; the old pride is true here, that the poet believes in the only form of happiness is to bring “good to their people.” The love sonnets differ in their own ways. Here, there is a traditional image of a beloved — a woman, be it a wife or mother. This can probably be explained by an “oriental mentality” of the author, from where the classical Turkish form comes from. The portrait of a beloved, depicting her long hair, eyes and her smile: “long hair flowing down like a glow of moon” (“ый тохтул5ан баттахтаах”) and in very traditional Sakha belief it is compared to “a sacred birch tree” (“аар хатыцца”), “rich sounding khomus” (“этигэн хомуска”), “a goddess Aiyysyt” and looks like “the light of the life, the goddess Iyehsit” (“Олох сырдыга”, “сырдык Иэйэхсит”). Consequently, having studied the literary canon, the Sakha poet introduces new images into the discussion – “a sonnet Lady,” an image of writer’s wife. There is also an image of mother, which symbolizes the gratitude to destiny, acknowledgment of power of wisdom and tranquility. Here there are thoughts about moral and ethical questions of life, which gain convincing power through memories of childhood. In all, sonnets about motherhood has a motivation concerning sadness and search, the search of the beloved, in this case the nurturer, with imagery of her warm breath, as well as suitable expressions concerning the idea of an eternal bow and gratitude towards mothers. In all known forms of sonnets, except its satirical form, one can find meditations about the unity of nature and human soul. Landscapes act as a reflection of social life and dialectical activities. Philosophical themes of the beauty of the world receive both intellectual and emotional expressions in the space of sonnet and this theme is a rather traditional one in the Sakha lyrical poetry. That’s why their is a bond between our people and the character in the given sonnets, seen as the basis of philosophical revelation of a nationalistic mentality, or the lyrical “I” in the Yakut poetry. The canon of classical sonnets was introduced into the Sakha language when they were first translated. Our poet, Semen Rufov, produced several translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and he made them ten-steps in Sakha instead of traditional fourteen-step. The poet explained that change by the lack of tonic syllabicity in the Sakha poetry and our very light word stresses. If he remained in a fourteen-step size, the sound of the poem in Sakha would be too stiff. So he observed how the poems would sound to the Sakha people, if they would be good to listen to it or not. Содур олоххо то5о олорор? /10/ why does he/she lead sinful life? Суобаhа суохтары кемускээриэ? /10/ to protect the disgraceful? rnАлбыны кистээн кене оцорор /10/ to cover the truth by the lie Абааhыны айыы дэттэрээриэ? /10/ and to call the bad as the good? То5о сирэйин тэтэркэй имин /10/ why do his cheeks get reddened Тууйар, оцоhуу ецунэн сыбаан? /10/ artificially? Кулуктуу сатыыр дьицнээх кэрэтин /10/ why does s/he cover the true beauty Келдьун киэргэли салама ыйаан? /(3,74) 10/ by unnecessary salama? (“salama” is a sort of decorative rope) Critics have said this could be said by a truly Yakutian poet: antithesis of “sin-esteem” is seen as contradiction of “abahyy” (devil) and “ayii” (holy spirit). To search for artificia, falseness is compared to needlessness of putting on extra ornaments. Thus, preserving the poetical idea of Shakespeare, Rufov used elements and images of the Yakut poetical system and folklore to strengthen the poem. While reading the Rufov’s translations one can forget their English origin due to the very rich Yakut elements which allow readers to feel artistic peculiarities of this native tongue. While writing his translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Rufov implies some peculiarities of traditional Sakha poetry, like morpheme and sounding harmony of lines. Another characteristic feature are frequent verbal rhymes which end up syntactically finished in thought. The author wants to fit traditional prerequisites in for the Sakha audience, thus using laconic, accessible, sincere words. Viewed from one side, translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets by Semyon Rufov are a bright example of our world literature heritage, and from another they represent some samples of the classical Yakut sonnet’s flexibility. If we first consider its rhythm, metric, content and dialectical structure in the Yakuts sonnet form, we can assume that its nationalistic characteristics are reflected in classical forms of sonnets as well.

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so curious to me

November 1st, 2005

In Poetry News: Mark Irwin’s Bright Hunger has been awarded the 2005 Colorado Book Award in Poetry; Eduardo C. Corral be a Winter/Spring 2006 Fellow at The MacDowell Colony; C. Dale Young has a poem in this issue of Poetry; and I finally posted the November Up-Dates on my Contests, Submissions, Awards & Deadlines link. Remember, just because there are a hideous number of December 1st deadlines doesn’t mean come mid-month I won’t be up-dating the page once again. There is great joy in slogging through the slush pile so you won’t have to.

1993, can you believe?

Warning: Scantily Clad Info Dump Alert!

My dear friend Michelle (Goodeve) Dakin sent me this photo she snapped when I was a wee Zachary back in the glory days of 1992, we think, at Michigan State University. I draw your attention to this, not because of my hair or The Animalia Wall Freize by Graeme Base or even the styling Jimi Hendrix t-shirt I wore, Oi! Jim Behrle; here is one for your: What the Hell is Up With Your Author Photo? series! but for the tattered remains of my left hand, wrapped in bandages in the photo, when I cut off the pads of my fingers and thumb in a deli-meat-slicer accident. Yes, there was a time in my dim past when I had a job as Mr. Zack The Deli Boy. I’d wait in this back room of McDonel Dormitory’s cafeteria and craft hand-made sandwiches for all who asked. Right, “craft” might be too strong of a word, but if memory serves right, I used a lot of cheese. Anyway, part of my job involved slicing up all the meaty shanks and roasted thighs and grilled calves on one of those stainless steel deli meat slicers that would make a: j’zing/ j’zing/j’zing noise as meat passed through them. Perhaps you can see where this story is going? The radio was on, a song I do not now recall but just know I liked it was blaring and I wasn’t paying attention. I had just finished a hank of roast beast, reached out and the machine made its j’zing/ j’zing/j’zing ruckus, except there wasn’t any hank left to be cut. I think I splattered a lot of my blood all over myself as I pulled my hand back, my finger tips dangling, because my supervisor bustled over and said the very worse thing possible to a person thinking of going into shock: “Ohmygod, he’s going into shock! I think I’m going to be sick!” Thanks, my dear. I don’t recall a lot after that. They loaded me up in the ambulance that came to collect me, my hand parts in a bucket of red ice water. A friend of mine, Liz, was looking out her dorm window (disasters warranting ambulances were always big attention getters) and said: “hey, that person on the stretcher looks like Zack … wait, it is Zack!” My father was teaching at the time and the department secretary apparently entered, announcing to the 200+ students that the professor’s child had had “an accident” and was being taken to the hospital. My brother, Eli, recalls that when they arrived at the hospital and went into the waiting area of ER, all he could hear was the long, drawn-out scream of his brother getting sewn up with no pain-killer. You see, after eighteen stitches in each finger, as the mealymouth RN, who seemed to be finishing up a 54-hour shift, stuck the last stitch into the meaty part of my pad, the pain killer wore off and I shouted: “I can feel that!” “Quit whining,” was his reply, “it’s only one stitch left.” What is odd, to me is that while I have no sensations in my fingers on my left hand anymore I can still feel that last stitch when a storm is coming in and my bones ache.

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