Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance - Carl Sandburg..........Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject - John Keats .........Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge - William Wordsworth ..........Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand - Plato .........No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language - Samuel Taylor Coleridge .........One demands two things of a poem. Firstly, it must be a well-made verbal object that does honor to the language in which it is written. Secondly, it must say something significant about a reality common to us all, but perceived from a unique perspective. What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves - W. H. Auden ...........Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash - Leonard Cohen .........There is a pleasure in poetic pains which only poets know - William Cowper .........Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood -T. S. Eliot ..........Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason - Novalis...........He who draws noble delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life - George Sand .........A poem is never finished, only abandoned - Paul Valery ........A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland - Kahlil Gibran.............Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance - John Keats..........To be a poet is a condition, not a profession - Robert Frost........A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself - E. M. Forster.........Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo - Don Marquis...........Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things - T. S. Eliot ..........You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick. You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in - Dylan Thomas .........Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words - Paul Engle......... There is not a joy the world can give like that it takes away! Lord Byron

v

尤兰达.卡斯塔诺 - 西班牙

 

经过这里无数次,从来没有到你

 

们正在做一个详细清单,
如同不可预见之星座的标本馆。
首先是百合,散落的星星装饰;
丽花,菊花;
罂粟也收因为这些身材细小的害羞花朵也值得一提。
无花果树上的花是潜意识之花。
书卷气的是:穗状花簇的花冠。
兰花显然是淫荡之花,
过分类似于——我就不描述了。
芙蓉使下午充满了奇异幻想和谚语。
绣球:告诉我在这里我曾经有多快乐。
还有鸢尾花,薰衣草,被叫做茶玫瑰的植物。
然后是玉*,正如这名字所示,
曾是某种蒙古*君王的标志。
马蹄莲,银莲,鹃的硬朗迹象。
然后是遥远纬度才找得到的其他神奇
比如难以言状的奇拉曼特花,
够感觉到却看不见,如同
膝盖上发出低沉呼唤一样的深深的爱。
这里
河流盾牌莲,中国玫瑰月季,狮齿蒲公英。
也有秩序花,巧遇花,心绪花,但这些已经
更多地是概念性花朵。
百香果像答案的宝座,
                                   
思考的华盖。
有些花永远带有第一眼见到时的名字。
丁香,金盏,康乃馨。
我不能忘记的含羞草,一丛微小的警告,
也不能忘记我的最爱:三角梅的不雅的热情香味。

过,我已告诉过你——我也不明白,真奇怪,
经过这里无数次,
不,
我以前从来没有

见过你。

 

*Magnolia 和蒙古Mongolia 音相近,故有这奇怪的联想。(译注

Chinese translation by Ming Di

 



首先是一种疾病
一个女孩有危害性的禁欲 那甚至没有那个

瘦小的我 在我成之前 只有贫穷    渴望  一种
寓言情  一种合症 
(同命运多舛的错过或感
打碎我项链有阴影的暗礁。
首先是一个闪烁
呼吸摸我不可能我高
我是学校操上最相貌平平的
平淡的表达不在任何地方播下什么
有或者没有  放弃  习惯  吞下去
乌鸦覆盖着被判决永久寒冷的云
病人飓风私人掠
(我是修道院姑娘她全得了
食症女同性恋除了
梁刺股 刺胳膊 
良心)。
上眼睛烈地盼望
一次性永久地回到曾的我。

但美会腐。美会腐
戴破我项链的有阴影的暗礁。
早晨得  咽喉含着兆。
愚蠢的小西!你迷恋选题
而不是内容。
眩之花在冬季
河流跳回  成瀑布玫瑰
玛丽帕莎蝴蝶和牛出在我头发
我乳房的笑容为飞机增添燃料
会腐
会腐
我腹部的送春天
海螺在我的微型手中流
我的最高嘉掐我的左心室
我已不知道怎么办这么多的光在么多的阴影里。

们说你的武器将是你自己的惩罚
把我的美德扔到我
部不接受画唇的女孩
肮脏的海啸变态的高利
与我的睫毛油无任何关系
老鼠跑到我房我的内衣抽
秘密刺探

几升控制几升几公升怀
我眉毛的紧张弧度一致你应该起来
予灰色的外用酸洗去你的特征
停止做自我以便成一个作家?
妖魔化我细长的脖子以及
在我背上的头发 
部不承认这样调教出来的女孩
不信任夏天
会腐
想想一切是否

 

 

Chinese translation by Ming Di

 

*                 *                 * 

 

I.

不可能的曲线疤痕留在高速公路上,

直接背离线

 

美女会是什么

挡风玻璃血淋漓,

我的乳房真状况会是什么

不会

再一次

落下? 

 

 

II.

 

 

此刻的空

 

此地与空无之一个毫无价

的不留神,一个愚蠢的机会裂

我骨

玫瑰重量

抵制鸿

 

一只冷蝴蝶从路上穿

我眼睛被它的飞跃擒住,

我很幸运。

 

一二,一二,一

二。

 

 

III.

 

如果此此刻

最小的不幸穿越我的

我的年运气立刻炸

没有人会看到什么

阴影或可疑

闪闪发光的

在路我的尸体中。

 

IV.

 

到了晚上,高速公路像一个子游

最乏味的黑暗并不我困惑。

 

仿佛一个

我的青春,一条可卡因线,有

弯曲。

 

我的道后面兴奋

 

我加快速度

同生命离开

 

 *                 *                 *

 

 

 

 

庆贺面包(这是一个不公平的世界

 

世界是一个没有前台的宾馆。

说会道的赋不是人人共有的东西

 

面包和也不是那样分配的。

肉运到右边的船舷,头送给左边的码头

 

你会失去你的头,雨会下帽子你,

富人将会有钱,穷人将会有孩子。

 

我知道一面包,我会把它切成

微乎其微的小块,留下多余的,

如果面包屑也可以填一张口,

如果它能够满足人甚至可以解开一个舌头。

 

如同泰坦尼号上救生艇的荣耀,

梳子之林为那些

秃顶的

 

 罗马或全世界的修辞法:即不是这里也不是预期。

须缝起来给那些缺下巴的。

 

有些嘴被授予三秒钟记忆

神会把面包

齿更少的。

 

Chinese translation by Ming Di

 

 

*                 *                 *

 

斯泰园的苹果


我,
曾沿着内雷特瓦河堤驾车
也曾在哥本哈根热气腾腾的街上骑自行车而筋疲力尽。
我,曾用手臂测量萨拉热窝的洞岩,
曾在驾驶座上穿越斯洛文尼亚边境
并在双翼机上飞越过贝坦索斯河。
我,从停靠在爱尔兰海岸的渡轮上出发,
到达科斯博卡湖的欧美特佩岛;

我永远不会忘记布达佩斯的那家商店,
赛利亚的棉田,
以及我17岁在尼斯一家旅馆度过的一个夜晚。
我的记忆在拉脱维亚的尤尔马拉海滩上打湿了自己的脚,
在第六大道上感觉回到了家。
我,
在利马乘出租车差点死去,
穿越过帕克若基斯明亮田野的金黄,
跨越过亚特兰大那条街,同玛格丽特·米切尔一样。
我的脚走在埃拉弗尼斯的粉红沙滩上,
穿过布鲁克林街角,查理大桥,拉瓦列小街。
我,走过沙漠去索维拉,
从蒙巴酋山顶沿着索道滑下去,
我,不会忘记睡在阿姆斯特丹大街上的那个夜晚,
奥斯特若格的修道院,米特奥拉的石头。
我,曾在甘特广场中央大声喊一个名字,
穿戴希望抄近路走遍博斯普鲁斯,
奥斯威辛那个下午之后我再也不是同一个我。
我,
东开车一直开到靠近波德戈里察,
在瓦特纳冰川被雪覆盖,
我,从未感到有如在桑特丹尼斯路上的孤独,
再也不会品尝到科林托那样的葡萄。
我,有一天会摘
       
尔斯泰园的苹果,
我想回家:
整个阿科鲁尼亚

我最热爱的

难所

正是你。

Chinese translation by Ming Di

 

 *                 *                 *

 

 

格律恐惧症

 

景尽,雨

用一滴墨点模糊云。

行吟这页军事路线

 

我想出是士兵。

见吗?感轿厢吹起口哨。

地区公路像

线谱本。

我喜割犁山脉,把一首背在肩上

像旅行者一

我的是一枚炮

韵律而非火,我”。

一起穿山谷,政府区,

设备

我想和巨人大

我的与我不什么也能互相理解。

 

布洛芬的白花

我的是士兵

来朗诵诗

蒙福··莱莫斯*!”

而它

发动机搭配我的音域,

敲敲打打,

叮叮当当,

尽管它有

格律恐惧症。

 

注:

*蒙福··莱莫斯,西班牙西北角加利西自治区戈省附近城市

 

 

Chinese translation by Tian-ai

 

 *                 *                 *

 

Yolanda Castaño (Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 1977).

 

BA in Spanish Language and Literature and with Media Studies, apart from being a poet, editor and an very active culture manager, Yolanda Castaño has been a columnist and has worked in Galician TV during many years (Galician Audiovisual Academy Award as ‘Best TV Communicator 2005’). She has published 6 poetry books in Galician and Spanish (“Depth of Field”and “The second tongue” are her last titles), several chapbooks and a pair of compilations. She has won poetry awards amongst which the National Critics Award, the Espiral Maior Poetry Award, the Fundación Novacaixagalicia, the Ojo Crítico (best poetry book by a young author in Spain) and the Author of the Year Galician Booksellers’ Award stand out. She is a relevant cultural activist, regularly organizing monthly poetry reading series, festivals, literary and translation workshops, all of them hosting local to international poets (Galician Critics’ Award Best Cultural Manifestation 2014). She was the General Secretary of the Galician Language Writers Association and she has made her contribution to many written media, books, anthologies, conferences and many readings or multimedia poetry performances inside and outside Galicia, including many international poetry festivals and meetings, mostly around all Europe and America but also in Tunisia, China and Japan. She has coordinated collective books, art and poetry exhibitions, she has published works as an editor, as well as five poetry books for children and four of translations (from contemporary authors like Nikola Madzirov or Marko Pogačar, among others, into Spanish and Galician). She has been involved in many different experiences of blending poetry with music, performance, dance, architecture, visual and audiovisual arts, and even cookery, being awarded for that too. Some of her poems have been published translated into twenty languages. She held three international fellowships as a writer-in-residence, at the IWTCR in Rhodes (Greece) and in Villa Waldberta (Munich - Germany) in 2011, and at the HIP-Beijing (China) in 2014.

 

 

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