Antonio Machado: I Never Wanted Fame

The short poems of Antonio Machado have found there way to Issa's Untidy Hut a few times. I Never Wanted Fame, a little chapbook published by Ally Press in 1979, is a delightful window into the work of this fine Spanish poet. The translations of Robert Bly are crystal clear, which brings the mystery of the poems themselves into high relief.

I.

---I never wanted fame,
nor wanted to leave my poems
behind in the memory of men.
I love the subtle worlds,
delicate, almost without weight,
like soap bubbles.
I enjoy seeing them take the color
of sunlight and scarlet, float
in the blue sky, then
suddenly quiver and break.

I enjoy seeing them take the color
of sunlight and scarlet, float
in the blue sky, then
suddenly quiver and break.

The beauty of the image here almost overwhelms the meaning; the reader must confront what are the subtle worlds, transported as she/he is into lyrical realms upon contemplation. Of what subtle worlds speaks the poet?

Perhaps there is a clue here:

II.

---Why should we call
these accidental furrows roads,...?
Everyone who moves on walks
like Jesus, on the sea.

If everyone who moves "walks / like Jesus, on the sea" perhaps these subtle realms aren't so distant after all.

VI.

---I love Jesus, who said to us:
Heaven and earth will pass away.
When heaven and earth have passed away,
my word will remain.
What was your word, Jesus?
Love? Forgiveness? Affection?
All your words were
one word: Wakeup.

Ah, that world, the world of spirit, the spiritual world. Gautama's favorite word: Wakeup! And when we are not awake, when we are lost, what then:

VII.

---It is good knowing that glasses
are to drink from;
the bad thing is not to know
what thirst is for.

There is a realm, too, a place, a world not so subtle. We find ourselves, we lose ourselves, we find ourselves again. When lost, how, how do we find our way back?

VIII.

---All things die and all things live forever;
but our task is to die,
to die making roads,
roads over the sea.

Here is our way out, here is our way home, back home to the subtle worlds where we so long to be. Might we need instruction as to the how, the where?

X.

---Mankind owns four things
that are no good at sea:
rudder, anchor, oars
and the fear of going down.

There are copies of this poignant little volume of ten verses, though long out of print, floating around for a very reasonable price on amazon (of course, some idiot is selling one for $90) and, if you cherish transcendent verse, this is right up your street. Since its been my policy for a couple of years now not to link to amazon, you may also find it here and here. I thought it might be available in Robert Bly's selected translations, The Winged Energy of Delight, but I checked at the library and, though there are some other Machado poems in that book, these little ones are not there.

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In the ongoing, or on and off-going, feature of Lilliput broadsides, we've arrived at #84, Winter Prayers by Christien Gholson, a six-part poem. Here is part IV:

IV. None: heading to the bank

An old man stepped carefully down the ice sidewalk.
His skinny, brittle legs knew
that everything in his briefcase
----------------------- ------didn't matter

I knew he would not make it through the winter
and my knowing brought me closer
to that face,
------ -- - ---- beyond desperation,
---- --that saw the shadow of a sparrow
---- --as it slipped beneath the river
---- --and carried the bird shadow down
---- --to live in the form of curious fish
---- --moving through the cave of a skull.

And, to thread it all together, the master:

through the great red gate
no fear...
cuckoo

Issa
translated by Daniel G. Lanoue

best,
Don

Isabella Rossellini, Dante's Inferno, and Antonio Machado

Cover by Wayne Hogan

Well, this week started with some Green Porno, so who am I not to share? Is it poetry? Maybe not, but it is lyrical in its own way and we need truth like this in a post George Carlin world. Thank you, Isabella Rossellini.

And, oh, yeah, humor. (Don't miss the other mini-films on the side bar).

I've had an idea percolating for a blog post at Eleventh Stack (the blog at my "other job") and it seemed worthy of sharing here (the idea, not the post). I stumbled across the fact, thanks once again to the folks over at the Bookslut blog, that there is a paper puppet version of Dante's Inferno, due for DVD release next month. Here is the trailer, posted at YouTube:





For those with hearty hard drives, you might want to try one of the higher-tech versions at the film's website. If the trailer tantalizes, Ovation TV has posted a 4 minute excerpt that portrays the Flatterers as congressional lobbyists (if this isn't in the spirit of the original epic poem, I'll take my 8th circle punishment right now. Oh, what the hell, here's the 4 minute excerpt (there is no doubt that this is poetry):





Perhaps I've strayed a bit and need a stopover in the 6th circle on my way down. Obviously, that one ain't my call.

In the more traditional area of poetics, I've been digging into a parcel of poetry books this past week, including Han Shan (more about that in a future post, I hope) and C . D. Wright's new take on the state of things, given Iraq and all that, in Rising, Falling, Hovering. If you are detecting some cynicism in the way the later part of the previous sentence trailed off, it seems I've got still another stop to consider. But I'll withhold judgment on that for a moment. Today what I'd like to recommend is a good, strong dose of Antonio Machado.





Dennis Maloney and Mary G. Berg have translated a volume of Machado's enigmatic short poems entitled There Is No Road, published by White Pine Press and pictured above. The works are all short, blending aphorism, philosophy, and a lyrical mysteriousness that is pure poetry. Here are a handful to give you a taste:

It is good to know that glasses
are to drink from;
the bad thing is that we don't know
what thirst is for.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Man is only rich in hypocrisy;
he relies on his ten thousand disguises
----------to deceive
and uses the double key that protects his house
to pick the lock of his neighbor.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Look in your mirror for the other one,
the one who accompanies you.

-----------------------------------------------------------

These chance furrows
why call them roads?
Everyone on a journey walks
like Jesus on the sea.

At 110 plus pages, one poem per page, there is much to ponder here. I'm partial to Dennis' work as I've published a volume of his Issa translations, Dusk Lingers, and one of love poems from the classic 100 Poems by 100 Poets entitled Unending Night. There will be a companion volume to the later focusing on nature poems from 100 Poems to be published in the Modest Proposal Chapbook series sometime next year. The clear, concise language of the translation of Machado comes through in There Is a Road. It's definitely worth a look.

Speaking of journeys, the tour of Lilliput Review's back pages continues this week with issue #83, published in November 1996. If anyone is actually keeping tabs, I've skipped #84, which was a broadside issue by Christien Gholson, Winter Prayers. As with many of the broadsides, excerpting work just doesn't do it justice. If you are interested, it is still available for $1 or can be bundled with 2 other broadsides, for a total of 3 for $2.00. On to the poetry in #83 ....

it is still

worth the risk
to sit, old and troubled
inside the heart
and scrape the walls
worth everything
to dip fingers
in the gravy
to paint the tablecloth
with words
necessary and fat.

jen besemer

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The Ego and the Raven

Wings, talons, hair, horns:
Why heed a raven's lecture
when you've got it all?

Marjorie Power

----------------------------------------

places I've never been
people I've never met
the things that connect us

David Stensland

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And one that probably hasn't aged so well ...



I Can't Believe Its Not Buttofucco Madonna

has an oily
texture of
rancid
margarine

Lyn Lifshin

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Yikes, I can't end with that - here's a Donny Smith translation of an Anonymous Greek epigram:

epigram

The puckered rosebud opens, darkens, withers.
Where it was sweet, now it prickles.

Anonymous (translated by Donny Smith)

Till next time,
Don

Antonio Machado, Issa, and the Return of the King

Cover by Oberc

As time and tide permit, I've been trying to get a hold of and read some of the volumes suggested for the Near Perfect Books of Poetry list. This week, via the wonder that is interlibrary loan, I received The Sea and the Honeycomb: a Book of Tiny Poems, edited by Robert Bly. I've enjoyed much of what I've read; a great many of the poems are translations by Bly himself, occasionally with a collaborator.

The poems that struck me immediately were translations of the work of the Spanish poet, Antonio Machado. I've run into his work before and enjoyed it, particularly the shorter poems. Here are a couple of Bly's translations:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is good to know that glasses
are to drink from;
the bad thing is not to know
what thirst is for.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

If it is good to live,
then it is better to be asleep dreaming,
and best of all,
mother, is to awake.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


Another excellent poem from this collection is by, of all people, Vladimir Nabokov:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Only the birds are able to throw off their shadow.
The shadow always stays behind on earth.

Our imagination flies:
we are its shadow, on the earth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


Finally there are a few poems by the delightful Issa, our patron; though I've seen this one translated differently, I like the starkness of this rendering:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Why mention people?
Even the scarecrows
are crooked.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Sea and the Honeycomb is out of print and if you want a copy of your own, it will cost you via amazon's used market or my favorite virtual source for used books, abebooks. Some of the Bly translations are available in The Winged Energy of Delight, a volume of selected translations. The Issa and Machado are there but since the later's poems are part of a larger work, they are not indexed and one has to leaf through. But they are there, along with an incredible cross section of great poets. Here is the contents page plus a generous preview of the poems, courtesy of HarperCollins.

Since this blog takes its name and inspiration from the master poet Issa, I've tried to provide many different translators takes on his work (the Issa link above is new and different). Here is a translation from a master in his own right, Cid Corman, with a very different approach to another familiar Issa poem:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Only one guy and
only one fly trying to
make the guest room do

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I've begun preparing the contributor copies of the new issues, #'s 163 & 164, for mailing and I'm hoping that they will begin to go out over the next two weeks. In the meantime at flashback central, here are a couple of little pieces from Lilliput #85, originally published in January 1997:



--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cutting

My father leans close
to my ear, a root beer
barrel rattling over
back teeth, he fumbles
against the rust clasp
on a blue plastic case,
scissors and black combs
within clear pockets.

Mark Forrester

Oh, Cowboy,

you climb up my tree,
wake all the bats.

Lindsey Royce

Why We Never Got Rid of the Poodle
----We Found at Blue Stem Lake

We are all of us
sparrows
in winter branches
without names.

Greg Kosmicki

Dear Don:

More threats. More haiku.

John Cantey Knight

N. B.

Life is like
nothing else.
Exactly.

Cid Corman

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Finally, to close out with a smile, below you will find the Monday edition from a relatively new comic strip, Lio. Lio is about a little boy with a mighty attraction to the macabre: zombies, monsters, aliens etc. are all regularly, and happily, featured in this generally amusing strip. This week takes it to another level with a homage to the greatest comic kid of all-time, Calvin, of Calvin and Hobbes. Below, Lio is once more messing with the mystic, with results that will delight comic fans everywhere:




I'm a sucker for cartoon strip (as opposed to comic/graphic novel) crossovers.


Till next time:

Don

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