
The best way to criticize an imperfect translator is not to shoot, then bury him in a picturesque forest, but to do a better translation. Doing this, you’ll make the flawed, offensive translation, which you’ve sucked on and tweaked only slightly, disappear forever from the face of this earth.
The many resistances in the source poem force the translator to compensate and invent, enriching the language he is translating into.
Vietnamese poet/critic Trịnh Thanh Thủy: “Influenced by the peculiarities of foreign languages and cultures, Vietnamese texts written overseas do not lose their strengths but gain new dimensions through awakened, previously latent capabilities.”
In both cases, you have one culture or language trying to accommodate another. This meeting point, this border, this collision of avant-gardes, is where the new, improvised and unexpected can happen.
I’m not a translator so much as a tightrope walker between two unreliable dictionaries.
It’s not entirely true that translation is just thin jism on a moonless night, eggdrop soup minus the egg, or a thin man chasing a fat man’s shadow.

To speak the unspeakable, that is often the poet’s job. Finding a language for what otherwise goes shoved under the worldwide carpet. In Dawn Lundy Martin’s beautiful and uncompromising new book, “A Gathering of Matter/A Matter of Gathering,” we are given a language for the body. The body as object of obsession, the body as lover, the body as slave, the body as violator, and violated. The winner of the Cave Canem Poetry Prize and published by the University of Georgia Press, Martin’s book has made her a Lambda Literary Award Finalist. And I for one, hope she wins.

Saw Shine A Light, Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones movie, last night. In a theater! (Such things get an exclamation point when you’ve got a one-year-old: We! Went! On! A! Date! And! Saw! A! Movie!) And really this one should be seen in a theater because, I mean, if you want to see Keith Richards sweating, which I realized last night that I do, you might as well see it on a big screen. I realized two other things:
1. Poetry’s great tragedy is that it never has been and never will be as much fun as rock and roll. Until we admit that to ourselves, we, as artists, will be fundamentally unserious.
And
2. All I’ve really ever wanted out of life is to be a backup singer. One of a row of three, maybe a little overweight but game, in a fun sleazy dress, gesturing and harmonizing and moaning and dancing in place, maybe the one with the tambourine.
O’Hara said poetry should be as good as the movies, but really it should be as good as big movies about big rock and roll.

UbuWeb
Tellus Audio Cassettes (1983-1993)
http://www.ubu.com/sound/tellus.html
UbuWeb is pleased to present the entire run of the legendary New York-based Tellus audio cassette magazine. Originally a subscription-based bimonthly publication, the series took full advantage of the popular cassette medium to promote cutting edge music, documenting the New York scene and advanced US composers of the time. Highlight issues include: All Guitars! (1985), The Sound of Radio (1985), Just Intonation (1986), Audio By Visual Artists (1988), The Voice of Paul Bowles (1989) and Flux Tellus (1990). Featuring hundreds of artists including Marcel Duchamp, Alison Knowles, Sonic Youth, Joan Jonas, George Brecht, Pauline Oliveros, John Zorn, Richard Prince, Glenn Branca, Harry Partch and Mike Kelley. Tellus cassettes were edited by Joseph Nechvatal, Claudia Gould and Carole Parkinson. This UbuWeb feature is presented in conjuction with Continuo’s Weblog. Produced for UbuWeb by Steve McLaughlin.
Dada Magazine, Issues 1, 2, 3 (1917-1918)
http://www.ubu.com/historical/dada/index.html
Attempting to promulgate Dada ideas throughout Europe, Tristan Tzara launched the art and literature review Dada. Appearing in July 1917, the first issue of Dada, subtitled Miscellany of Art and Literature, featured contributions from members of avant-garde groups throughout Europe, including Giorgio de Chirico, Robert Delaunay, and Wassily Kandinsky. Marking the magazine’s debut, Tzara wrote in the Zurich Chronicle, "Mysterious creation! Magic Revolver! The Dada Movement is Launched." Issue 2 appeared in December of 1918. Issue number 3 violated all the rules and conventions in typography and layout and undermined established notions of order and logic. Printed in newspaper format in both French and German editions, it embodies Dada’s celebration of nonsense and chaos with an explosive mixture of manifestos, poetry, and advertisements – all typeset in randomly ordered lettering. Included is Tzara’s "Dada Manifesto of 1918," which was read at Meise Hall in Zurich on July 23, 1918, and is perhaps the most important of the Dadaist manifestos. See also Helmut Herbst’s film Deutschland Dada (1969), Hans Richter’s films and Tristan Tzara’s sound poems in UbuWeb Sound which is strewn with historical and rare recordings from dozens of Dadaists.
Dinner With Henry Miller (1979)
http://www.ubu.com/film/miller_dinner.html
Dinner With Henry is a rare, 30-minute documentary about Henry Miller. It is exactly what the title implies: footage of Henry having dinner. With him at the table is the film crew, and actress/model Brenda Venus, to whom Henry was enamoured in the final years of life. Henry – at age 87 – spends the majority of his time speaking on a number of subjects, the most persistent of which is Blaise Cendrars. Occasionally, he complains about the food. That is all: a curious "slice of life" for any Miller fan who likes to imagine being at the table with him.
David Cronenberg on Andy Warhol (2006)
http://www.ubu.com/sound/warhol.html
A guided tour of the "Andy Warhol / Supernova: Stars Death and Disasters, 1962-1964" exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario, conceived and narrated by renowned filmmaker David Cronenberg. Cronenberg says, "Andy was making underground films when I was making underground films. And I was more inspired by him than by Hollywood. He created himself: He was an outsider, a Slovakian, Catholic, gay, an artist, poor; an outsider in his own family, a triple outsider like Kafka, with his nose pressed against the New York window. And, he became the ultimate insider, the center of his own world, and drew people to him. He became a huge example of the invention of an identity." Commentary by David Cronenberg, Mary-Lou Green, Dennis Hopper, David Moos, James Rosenquist and Amy Taubin.


Lately, the graffiti in my neighborhood has been getting very positive. I find that each day on another block I’m getting bombarded more and more with messages of Magic and Think of the Future. On good days I find it practically overwhelming how lovely it is, on bad days I take offense. But either way it reminds me of how many of us feel like we must write things down and then share them with other people. (Yes, I know there are many legal implications, and I’m not encouraging graffiti. I might add to that however, that some of my favorite artists started out making street art including Basquiat. And some of my favorite artists are still making street art, such as Shepard Fairy.) I like the urgency of it, the immediacy of having to write on the wall.
My apartment in Philadelphia is three blocks from Geno’s Steaks, famous for the sign, “This is America, when ordering speak English.” The owner of Geno’s, Joey Vento, is a little guy with a big attitude. (Vento is Italian for “wind,” by the way.) Joey has a Hummer and several Harleys, which he displays in a store front with his confederate flag, Elvis figurine and a Frankenstein manakin wearing a T-shirt that says, “I’m an American, so I order in English.” Geno’s is a tourist magnet, so it attracts plenty of foreigners, but the sign makes little sense, since what language would anyone order in but English? Of the roughly 6,900 languages in the world, hundreds are endangered, with one disappearing every two weeks. Approximately 600 became extinct in the last century. English is not threatened, obviously. It is the most dominant and ubiquitous language ever, more than Latin, French or Spanish, so there’s no need to harass anyone into learning it. People worldwide are already hounded and seduced into memorizing, at the very least, “Yes. No. Thank you. Sexy. Excuse me. I’m sorry.” Conversely, Americans overseas seldom bother to order their foods and drinks in anything but English. Just across the street from Geno’s is Pat’s, the original Philly cheesesteak joint and Geno’s rival. Its slogan: “Don’t order a misteak.” Unlike Vento, Pat Francona is lowkey, a Democrat, like most folks in Philadelphia, and even a multiculturalist, “We serve everyone here. It doesn’t matter if you speak English or any language. If you need help getting through a cheesesteak order, we’ll help you. This is a multicultural neighborhood now. We have a range of different people now. We have to teach them. We can teach them to say cheesesteak.”
Are you excited for tonight’s GOSSIP GIRL?
(OK, catch your breath.)
Now tell me: Does the show reflect poetry’s diminishing cultural capital?

New Fish

Cat in Hat
Despite the fact that he was a leftie (cf. various Marxist analyses of Horton Hears a Who), I’m hating Dr. Seuss more and more each day, even as Maisie likes him more and more. All those damned monosyllables. But I’ve discovered that, while Jim is reading One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish to Maisie out loud, it is possible to read certain adult poems to myself in the same room without being too distracted. One is Allen Ginsberg’s “America,” his best poem, one of the best poems of the last century, and now officially awarded Honorary Mommypoem status.
“Bump, Bump, Bump, Did you ever ride a Wump?” Jim will read.
And I’ll be reading (to myself): “Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb”
“We have a Wump with just one hump.”
“I don’t feel good don’t bother me”
“My hat is old. My teeth are gold. I have a bird I like to hold.”
“America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.”
“The moon was out and we saw some sheep…”
“America when will you be angelic?”
“We saw some sheep take a walk in their sleep”
“When will you take off your clothes?”
“I like to box. How I like to box. So, every day, I box a Gox.”
“America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die.”
“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.”
“America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.”


THE SKELETON ADDRESSES FELIPE:
“IT’S BETTER FOR YOU TO ANTICIPATE…THE DAY OF THE DEAD WON’T BE LATE,AND THIS FRIDAY 4,000 NAMESOF CHILDREN, WOMEN AND MENWILL BE REGISTERED ON THE FENCE–IN BLACK AND WHITE A GREAT DISASTERFROM A DOZEN YEARS, AND NOT BY CHANCE.AS FOR YOU, YOU’LL BE CALLED ON LATERTO BE YET ANOTHER MIGRANT DEATH.”

In reading the insightful discourse on online intimacies, I found myself thinking deeply about the importance of the online community for poetry. Mainly I was thinking about the odd and blossoming event that has happened every April for the past five years: National Poetry Writing Month. Now, we all know it’s National Poetry Month, but to some poet/bloggers, it is also the month where they challenge themselves to write one poem for each day of the month. And post their journey online. Founded by Maureen Thorson and inspired by National Novel Writing Month, the participants are now upwards of fifty and the fevered attempt to write everyday is celebrated, sometimes embarrassingly (as when I participated), in full view of the public eye.
Anselm Berrigan
Abigail Deutsch
Tonya Foster
Melissa Friedling
John S. O'Connor
Barbara Jane Reyes
Amber Tamblyn
Edwin Torres
Cathy Halley
Michael Marcinkowski
Travis Nichols
Fred Sasaki
Don Share
Señor Smith to you. (1)
Vladimir, Ron, and Gregori (4)
dubious poetry: the palin comparison (3)
To Vaya in the Viva of Time (2)
Indie Publishing: Two Questions, Many More... (5)
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