• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: translation

adástsooʼ

14 Sunday May 2023

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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adástsooʼ, Bilagáana, cunnilingus, Diné bizaad, erotic poetry, Judy Grahn, poem, Poetry, sonnet, translation

Adááʼ (lip). Atsooʼ (tongue). I might not know

the words for for lust or thrust or that wet greased

growl that you make with jaws stretched as you show

me just how far I can go –– but at least

you taught me to say adástsooʼ. We mapped

out our bodies with skull-fucking, hair

pulling and the heat of the day still trapped

in the skin of your pickup. This is prayer

as well. Not Bilagáana or Dineh

prayer, but still holy. Something to drive nine

hundred miles for. Somewhere out in the owl’s

light a goat bleats. Tomorrow we will pray

again without the need for language, mine

or yours, just our untranslatable howls.

][][

Notes:

In Diné bizaad (the Navajo language), adástsooʼ is the word for the clit. Bilagáana is an older term for white people (such as myself). Owl’s light is another way of talking about the dusk. 900 hundred miles is a reference to Judy Grahn’s “Love rode 1500 miles on a grey hound bus & climbed in my window one night to surprise both of us.” I’ve always adored that poem.

irrumabo

05 Wednesday Jan 2022

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Catullus, gnostic gibber, Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, poem, Poetry, priggish schlock, sonnet, translation

Before the Great War poets saw Gnostic

gibber everywhere. “Hark! The voice of Dawn!”

they’d write and then Dawn would say some stomach

turned tripe about Divine will and Bygone

virtues. After great wars and great horror

the shit got real. “Make it new,” had no place

for, “Lord’s sweet orbs of night,” or whatever

passed as gritty for those sad fucks. “Embrace

vulgar and speak truth,” Catullus charged us.

Brother, even now they still don’t get it;

if those hard sibylline K’s in Cunt, Cock

and Cum offend how will they bear witness

to real horror? –– “Irrumabo?” Shit,

time to go Orphic on your priggish schlock.

][][

NOTES:

When the subject of wretched poetry comes up my first thought is of those slushy, inbred Victorians, who gave us some of the worst doggerel to be found in the English language. Full of pomposity, being grandiloquent without humor or irony, they seemed entirely unwilling or unable to write about anything without heaping bathos all over it: “Theirs not to make reply,/ Theirs not to reason why,/ Theirs but to do and die.” Yes, please put this schmaltz out of its misery. It’s no surprise that the artists who survived WWI quickly realized that their forebears were altogether useless when describing the horrors that they themselves had just witnessed. Burning it all down and salting the earth after was the only logical way to go. Thus, “Make it new,” became Modernism’s imperative and we’ve been following that maxim ever since … with mixed results. I lay claim to the Roman poet Catullus (84-54 B.C.) as poetic progenitor (that’s approximately 84 generations back). He’s a clean old man; though these days Catullus is chiefly remembered for a line of verse considered so obscene that a complete English translation of it wasn’t even published until the 20th century. “Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,” which translates as: “I will sodomize and face-fuck you” (best opening line to one’s critics ever). That is the, “vulgar truth,” that I look for in poetry.

whack

31 Sunday Oct 2021

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry

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blind satyr, bloody breath, byéjémshen, dansés jémshen, erotic poetry, poem, Potawatomi, sonnet, translation

No womb, no bloom, no plume of bloody breath

claiming divine chaos, divine vision ––

It’s the ones that want to kiss me to death,

lips to lips, our hips to hips, that won’t shun

this plump flesh, that I want. “Burn your marriage

bed,” the blind satyr said. “Dansés jémshen.”

Little daughter, kiss me. As if carnage

were that whack. Once again my swelling skin

rests in the palm of your hand, distending

the dark all around. No womb, no bloom, just

my cum coating your fingers. Lick them clean.

“Byéjémshen.” Come kiss me. I’m wanting

to want you. My whack smack. My angel dust.

My sick urges. My infernal machine.

refute

24 Sunday Oct 2021

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

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bode'wadmi, erotic poetry, ghostly sex, halloween, joe orton, poem, sonnet, spilled ink, translation

“Through the wall stole a weird form who unbent

herself and stood tall.” I’ve had nbodewbi

ghosts, drunk and horny, slither like portents

to my bed before. Sex, grim and ghastly,

is all that the dead offer. Whatever

you think about lust now, that memory

will haunt you. Ghostly sex is still better

than no sex, they say. Perhaps most don’t see

it like that. Hot to leave their flesh and blood

behind they’ll grasp at any fairy tale

that says eternity is chaste. I know

how our souls refute that. These castrated

ghosts can only moan; when you’re cold and pale

come find me. You know I won’t say no.

][][

Notes:

The first line is a reworking of the beginning of George Houghton’s poem, The Witch of York, “Up o’er the hill and broken wall/ There stole a weird form, bent but tall.” In Bode’wadmi (the Potawatomi language), nbodewbi is a verb meaning drunk and horny. I think Joe Orton summed it up nicely when he said, “Enjoy sex. When you’re dead, you’ll regret not having fun with your genital organs.”

Quote

quote unquote

19 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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mary barnard, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

And I said … I shall burn the fat thigh-bone of a white she-goat on her altar …

Sappho

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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barks, quote unquote, Rumi, this we have now, translation

When the nightsky pours by it’s really a crowd of beggars and they all want some of this …

Rumi, fragment (trans. C. Barks)

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

I loved you once, Atthis, long ago. You seemed like a child to me, little and graceless.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

For me neither honey nor the honey bee.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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fragment, lombardo, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

What girl has seduced you? Draped in burlap, she doesn’t even know to pull her rags down over her ankles.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)

Quote

quote unquote

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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lombardo, Poetry, quote unquote, Sappho, translation

blessed one/ lovely braids … O Cypris may she find you more bitter still and Dorikha not boast of her desire come to fulfillment a second time.

Sappho, fragments (tran. S. Lombardo)
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