[3 fragments of Mimnermos]
fr. 8
[that lucky old Sun]
Look: up every bone every sky every day every you--
he goes working his
way up blue earlobes from ocean goes
thrown my rosesudden someone's
already tomorrow goes riding his bed of daysided
gold goes skimming
sleep countries from west to east until sudden
rosestopped someone's
already earliness opens the back of the clock: he
steps in.
fr. 5
[a sudden unspeakable sweat]
Sweat. It's just sweat. But I do like to look at them.
Youth is a dream where I go every night
and wake with just this little jumping bunch of arteries
in my hand.
Hard, darling, to be sent behind their borders
carrying a stone in each eye.
fr. 4
[for poor Tithonos]
They (on the one hand) made his chilly tears immortal
neglecting to tell him
his eyes were not.
Translated from the Greek by Anne Carson
I started reading the selection and by the second stanza I knew Gene had selected and posted this! It was fun to read and then feel which one of "us" had chosen this poem. Good choice dear Gene. For some reason I can't post from my computer (too slow.) I forwarded a photo and poem to my work computer but then couldn't remember the name of the site! Tomorrow I shall return!
ReplyDeletePamela, I bet you would love Anne Carson's translations of Sappho's poetry. And I now look forward to your posting.
ReplyDelete"...this little bunch of jumping arteries in my hand." I have that. Thanks for articulating how it feels, and thanks for all the above.
ReplyDeleteI recently discovered Anne Carson -- her book Vox, which I ordered. Gene, it's quite remarkable that any author I've ever found that I like has either been recommended by you or known by you. You are my wikipeida of all good authors.
ReplyDeleteFrom the Publisher's Weekly review of Vox:
"In order to discuss Carson's latest work—a foldout, Jacob's ladder collage of letters, photographs, and poetry, all housed in a beautiful box—one must first address its resistance to being addressed. Rather, what Carson does (and with furious precision) is impress upon us her grief over a life she cannot recapture—for Carson, this life is her brother's, for whom this collection is both an elegy and a history. What results is a work of astonishing candor, in which Carson manages to define the elegy anew by exploring the lacunae of her brother's life. It is when you are asking about something, she writes, that you realize you have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself. Carson accomplishes just that, creating a physical record of a life in the form of a book that allows its fragments to carry her brother's absence. To call this art object extraordinary—more than a book, it's a reproduction of a scroll Carson made by hand—would be to understate. What Carson has given us is an act of devotion of such integrity that it carries its grief on its back."
NOX! Yes! Believe it or not, Ruth, I was going to order you a copy, but then thought I'd best peruse it myself first, to see if indeed if it was something you'd be moved by. Months ago I ordered it (as you know, there's a rack of writers I follow, and Carson being one, I wanted to see/read her latest, regardless) and finally it arrived. I think the delay was due to the nature of its production, which was worth the wait, as you will soon discover. Enjoy!
ReplyDeleteGene, that's quite a coincidence, because I ordered it in October, for you. It came rather promptly, and I saw how lovely it was. In the meantime, Jackie's brother Matt died in such a tragic way after a troubled life, and since Vox was about Anne Carson's brother and a similarly troubled life, I thought I might send it to Jackie. But then she didn't respond to a long email I sent her, so I thought perhaps to send her Vox would be overstepping, and in the meantime, Cole and I had gotten quite attached to it, so here it sits on our coffee table.
ReplyDeleteSynchronistic! (Sitting on your coffee table is obviously where it belongs.)
ReplyDeletewhat a fun conversation to listen in on!
ReplyDelete