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Saturday, March 15th, 2014
por J Osner
Tenemos defectos todos nosotros
Y razones también
Para seguir nuestros senderos.
Tenemos ojos todos nosotros
Casi todos
Ojos que no pueden ver
Por la senda abajo.
Siguen en sus senderos
Los pájaros que volaban
En la última luz
Del anochecer:
Buscan nido.
(a Marta Aponte)
Las paredes de mi casa se extienden
largas y derechas,
dijo la loca. Se cruzan
en ángulos rectos. Afuera
lo que deseo. Afuera también
lo que temo.
Las paredes de mi casa,
dijo la loca,
me rodean a mÃ
y todos mÃos. Salgo.
posted morning of March 15th, 2014: Respond
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Sunday, March 9th, 2014
 3 Y, ¿por qué miras la paja que está en el ojo de tu hermano,
y no echas de ver la viga que está en tu propio ojo?
4 O, ¿cómo dirás a tu hermano: Déjame sacar la paja de tu ojo,
y he aquà la viga en tu propio ojo?
5 ¡Hipócrita! Saca primero la viga de tu propio ojo,
y entonces verás bien para sacar la paja del ojo de tu hermano.
3 And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye,
but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
4 Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye;
and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
5 Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye;
and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.
posted afternoon of March 9th, 2014: 1 response
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Saturday, March 8th, 2014
Mantener enteras las cosas
Soy la ausencia
del campo
en el campo.
Así es
siempre.
A dondequiera que estoy
soy lo que falta.
Al avanzar
divido el aire
y siempre
entra el aire otra vez
para llenar los vacíos
que ha dejado mi cuerpo.
Tenemos todos motivos
para movernos.
Me muevo
para que se mantengan enteras las cosas.
posted afternoon of March 8th, 2014: 1 response
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from Funeral oration, at the death of JoaquÃn Pasos
by Carlos Martinez Rivas
tr. Jeremy Osner
The drum beat echoing across
the little parade ground,
as if we were at the funeral of some Hero:
that's how I'd like to begin. And just
as must be done, in these Rituals of Death, I'd like
to forget his death; to look to his life --
to the lives of all the heroes now extinguished,
heroes who just like him lit up the night down here --
for many is the young poet who has died in our time.
Across the centuries they call out and we hear
their voices blazing, their distant canticle --
from the depths of the night they call out and reply.
There's not so much that we can know of them: that they were young,
that their feet strode upon this earth. That they knew how to play some instrument.
That they felt the ocean breeze across their forehead,
and looked up to the hills. They loved some girl,
and scribbled all this down til late at night, and crossed lines out,
and one day died. And now their voices blaze in the night.
posted morning of March 8th, 2014: Respond
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Thursday, March 6th, 2014
posted evening of March 6th, 2014: Respond
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Sunday, March second, 2014
posted evening of March second, 2014: Respond
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Having a nice weekend with a lot of musical content -- here's my contribution, played on my newly autographed fiddle!
posted afternoon of March second, 2014: Respond
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Check it out,
posted morning of March second, 2014: 1 response
➳ More posts about the Family Album
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Best picture of Robyn Hitchcock I was able to get this weekend (and looks like tomorrow's show is going to be snowed out) is this, during the encores last night:
posted morning of March second, 2014: 1 response
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Saturday, March first, 2014
posted morning of March first, 2014: Respond
➳ More posts about Reading aloud
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