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Tag Archives: Poetry

ch’iu chin: i die unfulfilled

11 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Chinese, Feminism, Historic Research, Poetry, Translation

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ch'iu chin, Chinese translation, 秋风秋雨愁煞人, essay, i die unfulfilled, Poetry, Qiu Jin, translation

autumn rain/ autumn wind/ i die unfulfilled

Poetry translation is never an exact science. Taking a concept, rich with metaphors, from one language and somehow then discovering a similar meaning in another has challenges. How does one find that original essence – the core of what the poet was trying to say – in an alien tongue? I have always found translation to be a synthesis of everything that has been done before my attempt and then a smoothing out of all the rough bits into something that sings to me. If there was a philosophy to this it’d go: be illiterate in all languages, just resonate with the soul of what is being said. I suppose that is the difference between professionals and amateurs. I will always be an amateur. To misquote the Japanese haiku poet Issa: “there will always be farmers/ laboring in the fields/ I don’t feel guilty.”

Today I turn my attention to the Chinese radical feminist, revolutionary and martyr, Ch’iu Chin (better known through modern translation as Qiu Jin). If you’ve never heard her name before just know this: she was a lesbian poet who tried to overthrow the Qing dynasty in 1907 and then was executed, beheaded. One day someone will translate all her poetry, essays and speeches into English and that will be a blessing. Just now I am only looking at her last words, her death poem. They’re simple, they look like this:

秋风秋雨愁煞人

Technology fails us. According to Google Translate we get, “Autumn autumn rain sad people.” which are at least English words strung together in some sort of order. And yet they fail to capture any meaning of these words. First let me reprint the best translation that I’ve found:

Autumn rain, autumn wind/ I die of sorrow.
[from the documentary, Autumn Gem]

Now let me tell you why this is so good. Ch’iu Chin’s name literally translates into, “Autumn Gem,” and the ‘autumn’ is the metaphor that works in this poem. By the time of her capture she was burned out, depressed and had realized that her revolutionary goals would never happen. She let herself be captured and executed so that she could become one of the Chinese heroines of myth who rose up to fight for women during times of oppression.

As one says, there are no bad translations, just different interpretations. I point out these simply because they were faithful to the words on the page but the translators did not seem to know why the words were written:

O Autumn Winds chilly, O Autumn Rains chilly, (Why you are spilling)
Frank C Yue

Autumn wind autumn rain makes one gloomy
Lu Yin, from Imagining Sisterhood in Modern Chinese Texts, 1890–1937

For whom does the autumn rain and wind lament?
Sjcma

All of which, out of context, still works. Getting executed would make one gloomy. Then there is the fact that Ch’iu Chin became a symbol for the 1911 Revolution and her words were used to express the woes of other people, and thus we get the royal ‘we’

Autumn wind and rain have brought overwhelming grief to many
Albert Chan

The sorrow of autumn wind and autumn rain kills
China Heritage Quarterly

Again, this is all just a matter of interpretation of what comes before. Like I said, I can’t read Chinese, I can just guesstimate from the works of others. If I’m wrong … then I’m wrong and this was just a curious post won’t mean anything. Still, I love the poetry of Qiu Jin and if I can be part of helping her find an English audience then my day is good. Two translations that I think are kind of marvelous:

Autumn wind and autumn rain often bring forth unbearable sorrow
Alan Cykok

The autumn wind and autumn rain agonize me so much.
Badass Women of Asia

santorum

15 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Auntie Peg, bareback, erotic sonnet, Juliet Anderson, pegging, Poetry, post-punk, santorum, sonnet

I like the wet, the sweaty, the ones dank
and moist after a workout. You come home

from the gym; it’s 9 and I’m drunk. I yank
your shorts down; spread you wide. With tongue I roam

around your core. “No, it’s dirty,” you bleat —
pressed against the wall, fingers scratching paint.

I’m not a scholar; you’re not an athlete;
but we make do. “Auntie Peg” — holy saint

of the fifth base, fecking and gaped starfish —
“Let me clean the kitchen.” Neither of us

are strong but I fill you with a fat slish
until all else becomes superfluous.

You are ill and I’m a freakin’ drunk —
you and I are bareback: post-rage, post-punk.

][][
note:
If you’re trying to write gender-neutral erotica anal sex makes a logical path, especially in a world that does not reward gender-neutral, but we make do. Auntie Peg is both a reference to Juliet Anderson, who passed away in 2010 and also to the act of using a strap-on on a male partner.

Quote

quote unquote

04 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Lola Ridge, Poetry, quote unquote, Wind in the Alleys

You are full of unshaped dreams/ You are laden with beginnings —

Lola Ridge, from “Wind in the Alleys“

Quote

quote unquote

04 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Federico Garcia Lorca, Poetry, quote unquote, reblog

I denounce everyone
who ignores the other half,
the half that can’t be redeemed,
who lift their mountains of cement
where the hearts beat
inside forgotten little animals

Frederico Garcia Lorca (via smakka–bagms)

apocryphal thing

04 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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apocryphal thing, bong water, cheeba spirits, Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem, Ganjasaurus Rex, Poetry, quell my distraught, sonnet

Fruit flies drift around my glass-pipe. Cheeba
spirits — perhaps? A friend sends me ink flow

pix, thick thighs, spandex and short-shorts, extra
around the belly. I love my friend, though

we’re a world apart. Ghosts are everywhere,
like love. Dr. Teeth told us to, “Begin,

Believe, Begat.” But to start an affair
is an apocryphal thing with a friend.

Everything will change. I brush away specks.
On the laptop, Ganjasaurus Rex, plays.

I feel that heavy cold spot when I’m not
doing right but that need for friends, love, sex

leaves me low. To be appeased with just praise;
to have someone who might quell my distraught.

Quote

quote unquote

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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haiku, Issa, Poetry, reblog, robert hass

Don’t worry, spiders,

I keep house

casually.

][][

Goes out,

comes back —

the loves of a cat.

][][

I’m going out,

flies, so relax,

make love.

][][


The Hungry Ghosts

Flowers scattering—

the water we thirst for

far off, in the mist

][][

No talent

and so no sin

a winter’s day

][][

This stupid world —

skinny mosquitoes, skinny fleas,

skinny children

][][

Last time, I think,

I’ll brush the flies

from my father’s face.

— Kobayashi “little cup of tea” Issa (from Robert
Hass’ The Essential Haiku, 1994)

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quote unquote

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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haiku, Issa, mothers I'll never know, Poetry, reblog

the mother that i’ll never know/ every time that i see the ocean/ every time —

KOBAYASHI ISSA

Quote

Jena Strong’s “Throwdown”

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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jena strong, Poetry, reblog, throwdown

give me the drag queens, dolled up and delicious
the two moms bickering over the dishes
the orphans, adopted, the chosen, the trannies
the witches, the protestors, tattooed laughing grannies
the boys wearing tutus and all the shirtless
daughters of the revolution playing basketball
on the broken courts of lost fathers
the failures, the forgotten, the throwdown, the freak show
the hurts and the heartbreaks, the hassles and headaches
the beggar, the baron, the shelter, the clambake
trade in the cynical, the stubborn, the splintering showdown
because it’s time to unite now, yes it’s time to ignite now
it’s time to pick up the phone to say, It’s me and I love you

— 

Jena Strong

year of the conch shell

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

2017 sucks, anal sex, erotic poem, Poetry, soft flesh, sonnet, strap-on, year of the conch, year of the rooster

The Year of the Cock makes gender-neutral
a tad hard, be it soft flesh or strap-on —

but we strive. If, during our long anal
fucking, I cup your balls, pull your tampon

string, or rub that scarred place that you can’t feel,
then we’re still creatures of fire in a world

that loathes burning. If, after each gasp, squeal
and, “¡Ai! mi Diosa!” If, while we’re curled,

nuzzled, while the sweat and cum cools, then yes,
this year might remain awful — we can lose

so much — yet, we’re here right now, divinely.
There’s no Year of the Conch Shell, though we bless

the same deep crinkled lips. These are taboos
that we must break—these acts that make us free.

Quote

patricia smith’s “siblings”

25 Friday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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blood dazzler, hurricane harvey, I weep, Katrina, patricia smith, Poetry, reblog, siblings


Hurricanes, 2005

Arlene learned to dance backwards in heels that were too high.
Bret prayed for a shaggy mustache made of mud and hair.
Cindy just couldn’t keep her windy legs together.
Dennis never learned to swim.
Emily whispered her gusts into a thousand skins.
Franklin, farsighted and anxious, bumbled villages.
Gert spat her matronly name against a city’s flat face.
Harvey hurled a wailing child high.
Irene, the baby girl, threw pounding tantrums.
José liked the whip sound of slapping.
Lee just craved the whip.
Maria’s thunder skirts flew high when she danced.
Nate was mannered and practical. He stormed precisely.
Ophelia nibbled weirdly on the tips of depressions.
Philippe slept too late, flailing on a wronged ocean.
Rita was a vicious flirt. She woke Philippe with rumors.
Stan was born business, a gobbler of steel.
Tammy crooned country, getting the words all wrong.
Vince died before anyone could remember his name.
Wilma opened her maw wide, flashing rot.

None of them talked about Katrina.
She was their odd sister,
the blood dazzler.

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