In this article, the Peruvian writer Miguel Angel Zapata (*) reflects on the poetry in the United States and one of its greatest representatives present Billy Collins (March 22, 1941), who offers three beautiful texts translated into English. Collins is an American poet named Poet Laureate of the United States (Poet Laureate of the United States) from 2001 to 2003. He is a distinguished professor at Lehman College, City University of New York and a leading member of Winter Park distinctive Institute in Florida. Has been recognized as a Literary Lion by the New York Public Library (1992) and selected as the poet of the State of New York in 2004-2006.
In a nation as dispersed as the United States, find some sign of support for the arts and literature could be almost a miracle to some innocent. But we must recognize that the United States is one of the nations where the culture has a huge support (not reaching that should have due to their high income), which crystallizes with awards, grants, sponsorships, and fees for each reading of poetry or literary presentation. As in the rest of the world, poetry is a secret paradise, and the media almost no attention. That, at least could be positive if we defend his solitude and mystery. One exception comes to mind: Bill Moyers. The American journalist in the late eighties (1989) began a series on public television, The Power of the Word, dedicated to the dissemination of the poetic works of a select group of writers, so that a large majority could see and hear what the poets had to say today. Then publish a book of interviews with several poets from the United States. That was a great attempt to bring art to the people, mainly teenagers at the time, and children in public and private schools. One of the most significant awards recently went to the poet and university professor, Billy Collins (1938). Billy Collins was appointed Poet Laureate for two consecutive years (2002-2003), and Poet Laureate of New York (2004-2006). Collins author of several books of poetry, among them Picnic, Lightning, The Art of Drowning, Questions about Angels, Sailing Alone Around the Room, and Nine Horses. He has published his poems in American magazines of international repute such as Poetry, Paris Review and American Poetry Review. Billy Collins has received numerous awards and recognition from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. Write and publish poetry in a nation where the dark today is the metaphor of confusion, is already a heroic act of survival. The dream of the everyday is a rarity, and the dream of the impossible can be achieved only in the imagination of the arts and letters. It could say that most of the rulers of the United States have been more concerned with the art of war in the situation of literature or art, or more seriously the situation of human beings living in the great country of North, or those who were to die for their country. America is a land of great poets, who are and have been very influential in the literature. Just pointing out some names: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Edgar Allan Poe, Amy Lowell, Gertrude Stein, William Carlos Williams, HD, TS Eliot, Erza Pound, ee cummings, Hart Crane, Ernest Hemingway, Robert Bly, Allen Ginsberg, Frank O'Hara John Ashbery, WAS Merwin, Mark Strand, Theodore Roethke, Charles Simic, Louise Glück, Margaret Atwood, James Tate, Yusef Komunyakaa, and Billy Collins. And while the candidates for president of the republic discuss their potential to control Iraq and terrorism, the poets read their poetry in cafés, universities, museums, publishing their books, and in the dark depths of the cities sometimes shouting out the sky and the government of its injustices and oversights, as a sign of dissatisfaction, and the health of the mystique of the sky and city life, you hear a song mundane and overwhelming of the Beastie Boys, Miles Davis and the other for long night. Therefore, for foreign readers, and stakeholders (which are not always poets) who do not live in the United States, the translations (versions) of American poetry is a window to understand its culture and its poets. Accept the fact that poetry in this country has its adherents is not a romantic dream or nationalist but a tangible reality. Some friends, and Billy Collins himself has said on more than one occasion that so many readers of poetry as the poets themselves. There is a proviso in New York, the crowd that attends poetry is becoming more numerous, and it is not uncommon to hear recitals by John Ashbery, Charles Simic, Louise Glück, David Lehman, Billy Collins and Levin Philis, and dozens of poets from around the world that offer concerts every week in different parts of the Big Apple. Art in New York City can be seen not only looking at the shadow of skyscrapers in the era of postciudad, but also the vast amount of art galleries, cafes, museums, and universities. Among the many selected walks the poet Billy Collins with her black coat, out of school, or going for a coffee and read a book by Thomas De Quincey. Collins's poetry brings fresh language to American poetry. Poetry is a linear and transparent in appearance, but if you read with patience and confidence, the reader encounters a deep and ironic poet, his poems contain in their walls a strange transparency. The beginning of each poem always brings something unexpected: "I pour a layer of salt on the table / and I draw a circle with my finger." The silence is immediate, and it seems confusing enjambment prompted by an odd sight. Billy Collins read his poems because transparency is a complex, not a baroque that is to say nothing. Is a transparency that leads through gardens forgotten in dreams, in the grass of a nightmare, and the discovery of a new word. The poetry and language are always listening to the poet writing his verses. The novelty is in how the unexpected is set to a poem: "I ask you to do water skiing / across the surface of the poem." Perhaps it suggests a new way of shaping the surface of a poem whose center is the water that changes its appearance with the wind of the pen, or forced by a water-skiing. Better still, here are the three versions of its readers fresh and profound poetry, like water, like the trains that fly through Manhattan.
In a nation as dispersed as the United States, find some sign of support for the arts and literature could be almost a miracle to some innocent. But we must recognize that the United States is one of the nations where the culture has a huge support (not reaching that should have due to their high income), which crystallizes with awards, grants, sponsorships, and fees for each reading of poetry or literary presentation. As in the rest of the world, poetry is a secret paradise, and the media almost no attention. That, at least could be positive if we defend his solitude and mystery. One exception comes to mind: Bill Moyers. The American journalist in the late eighties (1989) began a series on public television, The Power of the Word, dedicated to the dissemination of the poetic works of a select group of writers, so that a large majority could see and hear what the poets had to say today. Then publish a book of interviews with several poets from the United States. That was a great attempt to bring art to the people, mainly teenagers at the time, and children in public and private schools. One of the most significant awards recently went to the poet and university professor, Billy Collins (1938). Billy Collins was appointed Poet Laureate for two consecutive years (2002-2003), and Poet Laureate of New York (2004-2006). Collins author of several books of poetry, among them Picnic, Lightning, The Art of Drowning, Questions about Angels, Sailing Alone Around the Room, and Nine Horses. He has published his poems in American magazines of international repute such as Poetry, Paris Review and American Poetry Review. Billy Collins has received numerous awards and recognition from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. Write and publish poetry in a nation where the dark today is the metaphor of confusion, is already a heroic act of survival. The dream of the everyday is a rarity, and the dream of the impossible can be achieved only in the imagination of the arts and letters. It could say that most of the rulers of the United States have been more concerned with the art of war in the situation of literature or art, or more seriously the situation of human beings living in the great country of North, or those who were to die for their country. America is a land of great poets, who are and have been very influential in the literature. Just pointing out some names: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Edgar Allan Poe, Amy Lowell, Gertrude Stein, William Carlos Williams, HD, TS Eliot, Erza Pound, ee cummings, Hart Crane, Ernest Hemingway, Robert Bly, Allen Ginsberg, Frank O'Hara John Ashbery, WAS Merwin, Mark Strand, Theodore Roethke, Charles Simic, Louise Glück, Margaret Atwood, James Tate, Yusef Komunyakaa, and Billy Collins. And while the candidates for president of the republic discuss their potential to control Iraq and terrorism, the poets read their poetry in cafés, universities, museums, publishing their books, and in the dark depths of the cities sometimes shouting out the sky and the government of its injustices and oversights, as a sign of dissatisfaction, and the health of the mystique of the sky and city life, you hear a song mundane and overwhelming of the Beastie Boys, Miles Davis and the other for long night.
Poems by Billy Collins
English versions of Miguel Angel Zapata
Design
pour a layer of salt on the table
and trace a circle with my finger.
This is the life cycle
tell anybody.
This is the wheel of fortune,
the Arctic Circle.
This is the ring of Kerry
and the white rose of Tralee
tell the ghosts of my family,
parents dead,
the aunt who drowned,
my brothers and sisters come,
my children to come.
This is the sun with its rays shining
and bitter moon.
This is the absolute circle geometry
tell the recess in the wall,
the birds that cross the window.
This is the wheel I just invented
to shoot for the rest of my life
and I say
touching my tongue with your finger.
Of Sailing Alone Around the Room (New York: Random House, 2001)
Center
I ask you to grab a poem
and hold up to the light
as a color transparency
or press an ear to their hive.
say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch to see how it goes
or walk into the room of the poem
and feel the walls
ask them to do water skiing
through the surface of a poem
But all I want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with a rope
and tortured to confess
They begin to beat him with a hose
to really know if it says
Of Saling ...
Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine.
Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine. You
dew on the grass
am and wheel
burning sun.
're the white apron of the baker
and marsh birds
suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the
wind in the orchard,
plums on the counter
or house of cards.
And certainly there are the air
fragrant pine.
In no way are the air
fragrant pine.
You may be the fish
under the bridge,
perhaps even the pigeon on his head General
,
but you can not even dream to be
the flower field corn
dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror
show that you are neither the boots in the corner or
the boat asleep in his shed.
you might be interested to know,
talking about the playful imagery of the world,
I am the sound of rain on the roof.
happens that I'm also shooting star,
the evening paper flying through the alley,
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon through the trees,
cup of tea from the blind woman.
But do not worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and-somehow-
wine
Nine Horses (2002 )
(*) Miguel Angel Zapata studied at the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos de Lima, and earned a doctorate in philosophy at Washington University, USA. He currently resides in Long Island, New York, where he teaches head of Latin American literature at Hofstra University.
Literature. Poetry. Billy Collins. Miguel Angel Zapata .
0 comments:
Post a Comment