je brûle de partout.
I burn everywhere.
quote unquote
06 Monday Mar 2017
Posted in French, quote unquote, Translation
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Category Archives: Translation
quote unquote
01 Friday May 2015
Posted in Erotic, Portuguese, quote unquote, Translation
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Me lambe, me chupa, me coma, babá / Lick me, suck me, eat me, nanny
one should always be drunk that is all that matters
17 Friday Apr 2015
Posted in French, quote unquote, Translation
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Tags
Charles Baudelaire, French poetry, French quote, one should always be drunk that is all that matters, quote unquote
One should always be drunk. That is all
that matters; so as not to feel Time’s
horrid burden that breaks your shoulders and grinds you down, you
must get drunk without resting.
But on what? On wine, poetry, or virtue
as you please. But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a
palace, or in the green grass of a ditch, or in the bleak loneliness
of your room, as you wake and find your drunkenness already dying
away, ask the wind, ask the wave, ask the stars, ask the clock – all
that which runs, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all
that which sings, all that which speaks – ask them, what time is it?
and the wind, the waves, the stars, the birds, and the clock, will
all reply: “It’s time to get drunk! So that you may not be the
martyred slaves of Time, get drunk, get drunk and never pause for
rest! On wine, poetry, or virtue, as you please!”
– Charles Baudelaire
fantasma guloso [greedy ghost]
20 Friday Mar 2015
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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“I had almost forgotten how good it is to be licked – kissed – smeared –”
Be for me the language
that redeems me.
Mortal flesh is weak, but
I am apocalyptic: she-devil
in heat.
I am your horny sister
cursed with
chastity.
“Greedy Ghost.” (desire
takes shape) “Feel this wet tongue
slide and your juice returns
to condition of the living.”
][][
“Eu quase havia esquecido como é bom ser lambido – beijado – lambuzado –”
Seja comigo uma língua
que me redime.
Carne mortal é fraca, mas
eu sou apocalíptica: um diaba
no cio.
Eu sou o seu tesão irmã
amaldiçoado com
castidade.
“Fantasma guloso.” (desejo
toma corpo) “Sentir a língua molhada
deslizar enquanto o teu suco retorna
à condição de vivos.”
gosto [taste]
20 Friday Mar 2015
Posted in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Tags
cunnilingus, gosto, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, taste
TASTE
Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.
Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth
on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch
of the tongue.
Suck your
fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair
pulling. Strange
fruit.
][][
GOSTO
Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.
Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca
na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque
da língua.
Chupo teu
fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão
de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.
Bilac’s DELÍRIO
20 Friday Mar 2015
Posted in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Olavo Bilac, Delirium
Naked since love doesn’t need shame
In my her mouth I pressed.
And, as for carnal thrills, she said:
“Lower down, baby, I want your kiss!”
Crude, unconsciousness of my desire
Trembling, my mouth obeyed,
And I bit her taut breasts
So that she gasped like broken chords.
In endless sighs of joys
She told me, still almost crying:
“Lower down, baby!” – All in a frenzy.
On her belly I laid my mouth,
“Lower, baby!” – She said, crazy,
Puritans, forgive me! but I obeyed …
][]][
Delírio
Nua, mas para o amor não cabe o pejo
Na minha a sua boca eu comprimia.
E, em frêmitos carnais, ela dizia:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem, quero o teu beijo!
Na inconsciência bruta do meu desejo
Fremente, a minha boca obedecia,
E os seus seios, tão rígidos mordia,
Fazendo-a arrepiar em doce arpejo.
Em suspiros de gozos infinitos
Disse-me ela, ainda quase em grito:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – num frenesi.
No seu ventre pousei a minha boca,
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – disse ela, louca,
Moralistas, perdoai! Obedeci …
note:
Olavo Brás Martins dos Guimarães Bilac (1865 – 1918) was a Brazilian poet, journalist and translator. This poem comes from his, Poesias (1888)
schall’s AMOR EM AZUL E BRANCO
10 Tuesday Feb 2015
Posted in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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| AMOR EM AZUL E BRANCO Virgínia Schall |
LOVE IN BLUE AND WHITE translation by ZJC |
|---|---|
| Nuvens brancas espumas flutuando os andes Brancas geleiras pinceladas impressionistas descendo sobre os cimos do Ozorno Branco em flor campo de margaridas ondulando ao vento Branco-amor esvoaça em lençois e cortinas desnudando os corpos no quarto róseos, ardentes, úmidos e ungidos Branco enevoado do ar em cheiro de sêmen-vida do encontro que exala e enche a casa perfuma a brisa e se espalha por entre as ondas suaves do marinho Pacífico, ornando a cena, túrgido e cingido ao azul celeste da Terra em cio. |
White clouds foam floating across the Andes White glaciers Like impressionist brushstrokes coming down off the peaks of the Ozorno White flowers a field of daisies rippling in the wind White-love fluttering in the sheets and curtains they bare their bodies in this room all rosy, glowing, wet and anointed White misty air that smells of vital cum from the encounter that exudes and fills the house with perfumes the breeze spreads through the gentle waves of the Pacific ocean, gracing the world, surrounding the turgid heat of the blue Earth. |
Poet’s Biography:
Besides writing poetry, VIRGINIA TORRES SCHALL is a psychologist, biological scientist (neurophysiology and behavior), and holds a Ph.D. in education. She has been working at Fundacao Oswaldo Cruz (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) since 1981 as a researcher. In 1990, she created the Laboratory of Environmental and Health Education (Department of Biology, Oswaldo Cruz Institute). According to her website she is also currently working at Rene Rachou Research Center (Fundacao Oswaldo Cruz, Belo Horizonte).
teixeira’s VISITA
10 Tuesday Feb 2015
Posted in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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| VISITA Virna G. Teixeira |
VISIT translation by ZJC |
|---|---|
| criado-mudo: bíblia e rosário de contas na cama, ao lado |
Bedside table: a bible and rosary beads In bed |
Poet’s Biography:
Born in Fortaleza, Brazil, in 1971 VIRNA G. TEIXEIRA works as a neurologist in São Paulo, and has published three books of poetry: Visit (2000), Distance (2005) by 7 Letters Press and Transits (2009) by Lumme Editor, as well as several titles of Scottish poetry translations.
marjorie agosín’s “peces”
08 Thursday Jan 2015
Posted in Poetry, Spanish, Translation
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Tags
Marjorie Agosín, Peces, poem, Poetry, Spanish translation, ZJC
Saludo a los peces del mar
respetando su milenaria
genealogía,
sus danzas fugaces y suaves,
los colores que delatan
otros colores,
sus colas iridiscentes
parecidas a los cristales
de las adivinanzas.
Brindo un vaso
de agua
por todos los peces
todavia libres
por su elegante sangre fria
y sus simetrias perfectas.
][][
I greet the fish of the sea
respecting their ancient
tribes,
their fleeting and smooth dances,
colors that reveal
other colors
their iridescent tails
like a fortune teller’s
crystal ball.
I drink a glass
water
for all fish
still free
their elegant coolness
and perfect symmetries.
Marjorie Agosín, “Fish”
– translated by ZJC
garcia lorca’s sorpresa [por michael brown]
13 Wednesday Aug 2014
Posted in Armenian, Poetry, Spanish, Translation
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… because even as I work on this translation another person has been shot by police in Ferguson, MO. As Garcia Lorca said about an apathetic country when its children are murdered by their own police, “Nobody could look into his eyes staring up into the hard air.” I suppose this is the point where I say something cliché like, “I pray for peace,” when in reality the only way there will be peace is when those who have been hiding behind their “to serve and protect” badges are held accountable.
][
SORPRESA
— by Federico Garcia Lorca
Muerto se quedó en la calle con un puñal en el pecho.
No lo conocía nadie.
¡Cómo temblaba el farol!
¡Madre, cómo temblaba el farolito de la calle!
Era madrugada.
Nadie pudo asomarse a sus ojos abiertos al duro aire.
Que muerto se quedó en la calle que con un puñal en el pecho y que no lo conocía nadie.
][
[in English]
SURPRISE
Dead they left him in the street with a knife in his chest.
No one knew who he was.
How the lamppost trembled!
Mother! How the little lantern trembled!
It was early morning.
Nobody could look into his eyes staring up into the hard air.
And he was dead in the street with a knife in his chest, and no one knew who he was.
][
[in Armenian, transliteration]
ANAKNKAL
Merrats e, vor lk’yel e nran p’voghots’um danakov ir krtsk’avandaki.
Voch’ vok’ ch’giter, t’ye ov e na:
Vor lapterasyun vakhets’av!
Mayry! P’vok’r lamperi vakhets’av!
Da vagh arravotyan:
Voch’ vok’ ch’i karogh nayel nra ach’k’yeri mej ch’ap’azants’ ach’k’i ynknogh mej tsanr od:
Yev na merrats p’voghots’um danakov ir krtsk’avandaki, yev voch’ vok’ ch’giter, t’ye ov e ink’y:
][
[in Armenian]
ԱՆԱԿՆԿԱԼ
Մեռած է, որ լքել է նրան փողոցում դանակով իր կրծքավանդակի.
Ոչ ոք չգիտեր, թե ով է նա:
Որ լապտերասյուն վախեցավ!
Մայրը! Փոքր լամպերի վախեցավ!
Դա վաղ առավոտյան:
Ոչ ոք չի կարող նայել նրա աչքերի մեջ չափազանց աչքի ընկնող մեջ ծանր օդ:
Եւ նա մեռած փողոցում դանակով իր կրծքավանդակի, եւ ոչ ոք չգիտեր, թե ով է ինքը:
memories of my ghost sista 