"Literature is a cohesive force for us readers around the world.  It is the voice of our common humanity, expressing at the same time the different cultures in which we live.  As such it is surely one of the more benign forms of globalization, and it may become a bridge toward world peace and understanding.  Alas, there is a limit to the languages we can learn over a lifetime, and thus a need for translation.  Translation is the hearing aid that allows us to listen to the voice that speaks in another language.  The Enchanting Verses Literary Review has decided to make available the original texts, wishing to encourage readers to take a look at them."
 ~~~Ute Margaret Saine , Editor of Translations

The International Translation project of The Enchanting Verses Literary Review encompasses poetry across the globe in several languages translated into English by renowned translators. Every month we feature 2-4 new selections of translations as a part of this project. 

Volume 1 No. 3 November, 2011

IL  SENTIERO  DI  POLLOCK

Caos apparente
si sente e muove
l' inconscio soave
altrove è la mente

una mano astratta
adatta le emozioni
in miriade di direzioni
l' etere è la tratta

e si muta in colore
il dolore dell'anima
oscura una lacrima
che sulla tela muore

narrano le linee
una visione tessuta
di fili di voce muta
le idee fulminee

dal cielo sottratte
i tratti frementi
di dei ardenti
al sublime adatte

la visione è completa
secreta allo sguardo
gioco o un azzardo
la ragione decreta

è il sogno la meta
fiammata ascendente
al sublime tendente
per la via del poeta

Jackson Pollock (1912-1956)  New York painter famous for ‘action painting’.

L’ASTRO  DI  LORD  BYRON


Ho chiesto alla polvere
di chi fosse
l’ardere di parole
ispirate al mio cuore.
Il fato apri’
la mia mano
e il vento porto’via
la voce di quei grani
nel silenzio dell’incerto domani.
Allora guardai le acque marine,
a loro parlai
di porre fine al mio tormento,
assai erano le onde,
cosi’ alte e
fragorose che
il mio grido
fu messo a lato
e implose inascoltato.
Oramai stanco
sfinite le mie membra
alzai lo sguardo,
le mani in preghiera
al cielo freddo
della tetra sera.
Vidi un astro raro
che nel blu fremeva
di luce seria,
il dardo dominava il firmamento
con l’anima inquieta d’un corsaro.
D’improvviso
sentii un fremito,
un lucente sparo
mi trafisse e a terra svenni.
Una ellisse brilla
intorno al mio cuore
che si scalda
al tepore di sublimi Inni.

POLLOCK’S  WAY

Apparent chaos
felt and moving
a gentle unconscious
a mind that is elsewhere

an abstract hand
emotions that function
in a myriad directions
mediated by the ether

transmuted in color
the pain of the soul
stains with dark a tear
dying on canvas

lines that narrate
a woven vision
from threads of mute voices
into fulminant ideas

pulled down from the skies
in the trembling strokes
of those ardent gods
used to the sublime

the vision is complete
and secret to the eye
a game or a chance
so reason decrees

a dream is the goal
in flames ascending
they tend toward the sublime
wending along the poet’s way. 

LORD  BYRON’S  STAR

I asked the dust
whose were
these burning words
that inspired my heart.
Fate opened
my hand
and the wind carried away
the voice of those grains
into the silence of an uncertain tomorrow.
Then I looked at the marine waters,
to them I spoke
of ending my torment,
many were the waves,
so high and
thunderous that
they stifled
my cry
and it imploded unheard.
Tired from now on
with worn-out limbs
I raised my eyes,
my hands in prayer
to a cold sky
on this grim evening.
I saw a strange star
of serious light
shine trembling in the blue,
a dart dominating the firmament
like a pirate soul in torment.
Suddenly
I felt a shudder,
a gleaming shot
pierced me,
I fainted and fell down.
A sudden ellipse
illuminates my heart
basking in the warmth
of sublime Hymns.

Original poems in Italian by Alessandro Pinto 

Alessandro Pinto is a poet and mathematician who lives in Catanzaro, Italy.  He writes in Italian and has been translated into several languages.  He is interested in poets world-wide.

© Translation by Ute Margaret Saine


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Volume 1 No. 2 October, 2011

Dala na Umaanlong

(inaon ed anlong ya To a Rebel Poet)

insulat mo so ampait a bilay
 asugat tan apoolan so papil ed dalam
 pinaekatan mo’y lua so matam

pirawat mo’y mareen iran agew
nen akila kan akibakal
ed kapalandeyan

mannangis ira’y musia
nen inateyan mo’y sanlasos a patey
inuran na bala so malangwer a laman

say samput ya terter na dalam
mansa ed dalin no iner nisulat
so samput mo met ya anlong

To a Rebel Poet

you penned a bitter life
the paper bled and burned with your blood
i drained the tears

in your empty eyes
you dreamt of better days
while fighting underground

i heard the muses cried
when you died a hundred deaths
when bullets rained your body

the last drop
of your blood stained the ground
with your last poem

Akar-pusa

(inaon ed anlong ya Catwalk)

nan-akar pusa
 manaanap na antokaman a tawen
manbibilay dia’d saray karsada
 tan dalan ya ag nanaugip
na labi

say oras
maganggano
dia’d inkapusa to
bengatlan tinmanan
kaib-ibgan to la’y makablos

mangareereen...

intilak to ‘ra’y balikas
ya inkorit to ed laman ko

ngali ag narengel
eteet na onkakaput
 ya wangala

Catwalk

she catwalks searching
for a certain sky
living her ninthhood
on the streets
and alleyways
that never sleep
at night

the hours
only moments
& in her catness
she slips slyly
longing to be free

wordlessly…

leaving only the poems
she has written
on my body

softly
the sound of
a closing door

Original poems in Pangasinan language by Santiago B. Villafania.
Translation into English by the poet.
© Santiago B. Villafania

Santiago B. Villafania, Pangasinan poet, is the author of poetry collections Balikas na Caboloan (Voices from Caboloan) published by the National Commission for the Culture and the Arts (NCCA) under its UBOD New Authors Series (2005) and Malagilion: Sonnets tan Villanelles (2007). Malagilion was recognized by the National Book Development Board and Manila Critics Circle as Finalist for Best Book of Poetry in the 27th National Book Award.
Some of his poems in Pangasinan and English have appeared in local and international print and web publications/anthologies and have been translated into several languages. Villafania is one of the 11 outstanding Pangasinenses and recipient of the 1st ASNA Award for Arts and Culture (Literature) during the first-ever Agew na Pangasinan and 430th Foundation Day of Pangasinan in 2010.
His collection of Pangasinan poetry (with translations in Filipino, English, and Spanish) will be released in 2012.

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

I

El ciego espía de algún país extinguido
se encierra en los baños públicos
de una estación desvencijada
recuerda
las fiestas infantiles que alguna vez animó
como un mago ciego espía
saca los pins de los bolsillos y no se da cuenta
que estamos en extremo peligro
avanzan las manifestaciones
alaridos gritos
contra las multitudes
enfrentamientos históricos que huelen a sangre
Cuerpos de color adusto
Para callarlas/ Para siempre

III

Mientras tanto te tomo entre mis brazos rendidos
eres un cuerpo pequeño
te beso toda entera
los pies las manos el cuello la piel llena de arruguitas
previas a la muerte
te beso y te repito te quiero te quiero
te acurrucas entre mis brazos
tierna y cansada
entregada a este paso final
no elegido.
Empiezan a morir
todas ellas
mis amigas mis siempre amigas
pegadas a mi memoria
como las enredaderas que también
se llaman siemprevivas.

VIII
A mi país.

¿Qué tienen que ver
estas oscuridades inmensas
cielos premoniciones vastas
conmigo?
Si vengo de otro país
y siempre estoy del otro lado
ahora donde el norte pisotea al sur
firma nuevos tratados
y los esclavos se multiplican
mientras
bajo la tierra
aún laten los cadáveres
de los que cayeron.

I

The blind man spies from an extinguished country
he locks himself in the public restrooms
of a broken-down train station
he remembers
the children’s parties where he used to entertain
as a blind spy magician
he takes the pins from his pockets and doesn’t realize
that we are in extreme danger
demonstrations march forward
shouts and cries
against the crowds
historical confrontations that smell of blood
Bodies of a dull color
To silence them/ Forever
III

In the meantime I take you into my willing arms
you are a small body
I kiss you all over
the feet the hands the neck the skin full of little wrinkles
preceding death
I kiss you and repeat I love you I love you
you nestle into my arms
tender and tired
accepting this last step
that you did not choose.
They are beginning to die
all of them
my friends my long-time friends
that adhere to my memory
like the the vines that are also
called sempervivens, living forever.


VIII
To my country.

¿What do they have to do
with me
these immense darknesses
skies and vast premonitions?
I come from another country
I am always on the other side
now when the North tramples the South
signs nervous treaties
and slaves multiply
while
under the earth
there are still the heartbeats
of the cadavers who fell.

Original poems in Spanish by Zulema Moret  

Zulema Moret is an Argentine poet in exile who teaches Hispanic literatures at Grand Valley State University in Allendale, Michigan, the United States.  In “Poemas del desastre” the poet, returning to Argentina, traces a stark, moving psychogram of the actual state of her country.  Argentina, still shaken by woes, has just abolished the military dictatorship.  The public mood resembles a delayed psychological reaction, after the numbness of shock has given way to some kind of collective post-traumatic stress syndrome. 

In addition to coping with the public situation and tracking her old haunts all over the city, the poet finds a dying mother that is in need of comfort and daughter-to-mother solidarity.  The third poem is a meditation on emigration and exile.

© Translation by Ute Margaret Saine

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Volume 1 No. 1 August, 2011

MENTRE NON LO SAI

Ti guardo
quando t’abbandoni e non lo sai
ingoiata da giochi d’ombra
la tua maschera dai mille volti.

Mi fermo sugli occhi
così lontani
specchi disciolti
dove un tremulo cielo
si perde.

Trattengo il fiato
perché non possa sciuparti.

Non mi stanco di contemplare
la morbida posa
per catturare anche solo un inciso
tra i tuoi pensieri
e spiare gli  spasmi del sangue
mentre respiri i tuoi sogni.

Esito sulle punte
resisto
non oso sfiorare l’ondulato velluto
forgiato su te

nodosa scultura che imparerei al tatto
per uno schizzo
su una pagina d’anima
unito alla scritta “malìa”.

WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW IT

I look at you
when you let go and don’t know it
your mask swallowed by the play of shadows
gives you a thousand faces.

My gaze rests on your eyes
so far away
dissolving mirrors
and in them a lost
trembling sky.

I hold my breath
so as not to waste you.

I don’t tire of looking at
your gentle pose
to catch even just a touch
of one of your thoughts
catch the spasms of your blood
while you breathe in your dreams.

I hesitate on the tips of my toes
I resist
and don’t dare caress the velvet waves
cast over you

a knotty sculpture I would get to know by touch
by a sketch
on a page of the soul
under to the word “magic.”

ESTENSIONE  AD  ALTA  VOCE           

Ho immaginato pene che non bastano
flagellanti colpi di parole
e sentito ululare il vento al posto mio
Non capisco quel che fa male di più
la pelle non sfiorata o i bacini esistenziali

Metto in fila ordinata i peccati
presunti e insubordinati
conto e riconto quante volte
m’è piovuto addosso
e mi sentivo asciutta

Alla fine voglio restare così
vagamente sbilanciata
da un’ingenua aspettativa
di parto indolore

mi innaffio le radici
e aspetto che sgorghi la clorofilla

Dentro ho tenuto intatto
tutt’un prato di fiori spontanei
posso ben disertare
posso... vero?

r.s. 31/05/2011

© Rita Stanzione

EXTENSION  IN  A  LOUD  VOICE

I have imagined pains that are not enough
chastising blows of words
and have felt the howl of the wind in place of me
I don’t understand what hurts more
a skin untouched or existential hollows

I put in an orderly row
of presumed and insubordinate sins
I count and count again how many times
it has rained on me
and I have felt dry

In the end I want to stay like this
vaguely out of balance
in naive expectation
giving birth painlessly

I water my roots
and expect the chlorophyll to flow

Inside I have kept intact
a whole meadow of spontaneous flowers
I can easily desert
can I... really?

Original poems in Italian by Rita Stanzione
Rita Stanzione is an eminent Italian poet and media expert who lives near Salerno.

© Translation by Ute Margaret Saine

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For all the women

She might be a Khajabi
Or another Mariamma 
Might be Kameshwari
Fixed in the frame of society 
Like a glass ball if she fixes herself 
Amid the steel spikes of the wheel society 
It’s not a problem 
If she moves around the nail ancient value 

Breaking the walls 
Flouting the immorality 
That seems as a moral 
Achieving the self existence
Deciding their liberty 
Kicking all insignificant consecration with a left foot 
As if fisting bravely on the face 
If they start to live as they wish it’s a crime.

A woman should not live alone
She shouldn’t be the boss of her desires
Should have a husband as a prison and house as a graveyard
Should be the Circles of rangoli’s and the Lives of cleaning-cloth 
Should clean the vessels and
 Wash the butts of the children                                                                                            
Taking the kitchen as a heaven as a stone under a shoe 
She should live as an ancient Pativrata woman
Everyone can talk about her
Poets, artists police, systems and situations 
Men and women talk about her
Everyone care for her

But 
She should obey them all and 
Stand in the circle drawn by them 
She should huddle and sit in the copper tumbler of their ideals 
May be an UDDARINI, or a vessel 
 Shaving the head or a veil 
Whatever it might be a limit, a rule, an order
Say jai to Urvashis who challenged 
The Purooravas to keep their value clothes a side 
Say jai to all the women who take the entire world 
Behind them 
Holding it with a tether 

The evil eye

Mom
Let me lie down a while with you
Everything is dark and resembles a turned off light
Some body shoves me from behind
 I can’t see the path vividly in front
Over cooked and burned at the base
Some one sitting in front of me
Threatens me with a cane
With a net someone chases me

This path is filled with
Broken glass pieces
As if unseen mires waiting for me
Mom
Let me sleep
Under your sheet
Digging my face in your belly
When you stroke my body
With your hand
And rub my back with your palm pleasantly
By tomorrow morning
All the fears vanish
All the demons
As the broken wings of white ants
Roll on the soil.

 Mom
But where are you?
In which shed and to which tether
To which rope have you been tethered?
To reach you
It seems I have to cross the VAITHARINI
I have to lie down
Closing my nostrils with cotton
Mom
I would like to lie down a while with you

Original poems in Telugu by K Shiva Reddy
K. Siva Reddy is a major voice in contemporary Telugu poetry. He has published eleven collections of poems: his first was published in 1973 and his most recent book in 2003. He has won several honours, including the Sahitya Akademi award in 1990 for his sixth book, Mohana! Oh Mohana!. He taught English for several years at the Vivek Vardhini College in Hyderabad, and retired recently as its principal.

©Translated by Swatee Sripada