from Two Translations of "Some Like Poetry" by Symborska

The first is translated by C. Cavanagh, the second by J. Trzeciak.  
I was reading David Lehman's, State of the Art, in which he compares these two translations.  He writes: 
So profound is the difference that the concurrent appearance of the two translations seemed itself to constitute a literary event--an ambiguous parable that could yield lessons ranging from the familiar ('"poetry is what is lost in translation'") to the paradoxical ('"poetry is mistranslation").

MIPO!!!

https://mipo.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/magzter2.pdf

I edited this issue of MiPo and am pretty excited about it.  Check it out!

"I PANT, I SINK, I TREMBLE, I EXPIRE!" from Shelley's "Epipsychidion"

"One hope within two wills, one will beneath

Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death,

One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality,

And one annihilation. Woe is me!

The winged words on which my soul would pierce

Into the height of Love's rare Universe,

Are chains of lead around its flight of fire—

I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!"

from the last lines Shelley's "Epipsychidion"

Birthday Cake and Reading at Youngstown Lit!

To read to friends and celebrate my birthday at the same time---what a perfect night!
And I usually hate birthdays!

SPRING AT LAST

Come on already! Stop taking photos!

The Dreariest Journey by Shelley

I never was attached to that great sect,
Whose doctrine is, that each one should select
Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,
And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
To cold oblivion, though it is the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road
Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread,
By the broad highway of the world, and so
With one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe,
The dreariest and the longest journey go.


Note:  I've been reading David Lehman's The State of the Art.  This poem was discussed in the chapter titled 2013 with the subtitle, "It was his poetry that kept him going."  It begins with the sentence:  "Shelley's 'Defense of Poetry' (1821) culminates in an assertion of poetry as a source not only of knowledge but of power.  

I've been thinking about that.  Poetry, a source of power. 

There is poetry in Erie, PA

Karen Schubert and I read at Poet's Hall In Erie on Friday night--a reading hosted by the amazing Cee Williams whose poetry and generosity of spirit blew us away.  Cee opened with a list poem in which each line began, There is poetry in . . .

I have been thinking about that ever since.  Today there is poetry in the blue bells, poetry in the just-planted spinach and lettuce and kale, poetry in lunch-an omelet with onions and peppers and coffee, and I know there is poetry in the nap I about to take . . .

I am a firm believer in the poetry of naps.

Interview with Larry Moore of Broadstone Books with an Excerpt from Philip Brady's New Book

INTERVIEW