false translation

I thought it would be fun to practice doing false translations, so I took the writing prompt from NaPoWriMo as a jumping off point for Day 16. But, I’m posting it today because life.

Since I first learned about this exercise while studying with Diane di Prima, I’ve become more compelled by this idea of the vagaries of translation: from language to language, from perspective to perspective, from identity construct to identity construct. How all we are and see and do alters our perception so that really, everything becomes a translation filtered through our human, our animal skins.

I do not especially like this poem. In fact, it irritates me and I almost feel shamed by it. I’m posting it anyway because fuckit. (original poem follows)

Bimbo, nestled placenta

Bimbo, in cup of media

Morbid curtain of Pele

Enduring the putana

Rose red, flame of what disgrace

Red of your bloody body tongue

Appending the fat

Bimbo, ladled out there.

Bimba nella
placenta, bimba
sotto coperta,
nella corteccia
morbida di pelle,
indurita dal
bosco, rossa
come scottata,
rossa che nuoti nel
tuo sangue,
appena fatta, bimba
qui scodellata.

© Elisa Biagini
From: Cappuccio Rosso
Publisher: Einaudi

Dictionary Poem

Cleavage appears first

Any member a mouth

 

Developing indeterminate isotopes

The sea squirts, the fish in layers

 

A penetration of epithelial

A substance of killing

 

To draw in water

A baby, a cloud

The edentate

Colorless material relating

 

Latitudes for the sidereal

Established for the treelike

 

Used furs a number of ornamental loops

Haunt of the ferocious

 

Armor from the splinters

I made my own scaffold

 

Deracinated

Granular anthems the shrub of a genus

Sometimes used as a gemstone

Married, transparent, from rendered fats

Dinner with Phoenix and Aphrodite

My son (6) asked: “where do people go when they die?” I explained that no one really knows, but that people have different theories – sometimes based on which religion they believe in, and whether or not they believe in God. He quickly maintained that he does not believe in God, which he’s mentioned before. So, I asked him what he believes in.  He replied: “I believe in you. I believe in love. I believe in the goddesses.”

 

The mother of love says go on give it open up

The crown heart thrush rises – to overlook precipice

Take aim, glowing out light embers

Cicatrix phosphenes in the fire radial

 

Belly was the boulder belly the chasm

Upright stone slab – a storm of grey wanting

She lifts, fragments:

 

Membrane wing,

two breath,                         flesh devour

 

Spiny,                                     comb bearer,                                                 little ring

 

Ungulates

 

Love says: look and I am you.