2024-10-31
2024-10-30
Francis Combes (POETS OF THE PLANET)
NON, LA TERRE N’EST PAS RONDE
Non, la Terre n’est pas ronde
Si la Terre était ronde
Cela se verrait
Cela se saurait
Si la Terre était ronde
Il n’y aurait pas, d’un côté,
Quelques-uns tout en haut,
Et les autres, la plupart des autres,
En bas,
Souvent même tout en bas…
Si la Terre était ronde
Aucun pays
Ne pourrait se dire
Le centre de la Terre
Car tous seraient au centre.
Et tous les hommes
Tout autour de la Terre,
Seraient logés à la même enseigne.
Mais ce n’est pas le cas
Et la Terre va de travers
Parce que la Terre n’est pas ronde.
En tout cas,
Pas encore.
Francis Combes
Non, la terre n'est pas ronde,
« Si les symptômes persistent consultez un poète », le Merle moqueur 2013 – préface de Bernard Noël
NEIN, DIE ERDE IST NICHT RUND
Nein, die Erde ist nicht rund
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Säh man das
Man wüsste es
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Gäb es nicht auf einer Seite
Ein paar Wenige ganz oben
Und die Anderen, die Meisten
Da unten
Sogar oft ganz unten…
Wenn die Erde rund wär
Könnte gar kein Land
Von sich behaupten
Der Mittelpunkt der Welt zu sein
Weil alle in der Mitte wären
Und alle Menschen
Überall auf Erden
Wären ebenbürtig
Doch so ist es nicht
Und die Erde läuft nicht rund
Weil sie nicht rund ist
Zumindestens
Noch nicht
Nein, die Erde ist nicht rund, Übersetzung : Magdalena Kauz
NO, LA TIERRA NO ES REDONDA
No la tierra no es redonda
Si la tierra fuera redonda
Esto se vería
Esto se sabría
Si la tierra fuera redonda
No abría de un lado,
Unos pocos bien en lo alto
Y los otros, la inmensa mayoría
Abajo
A menudo del todo bien abajo …
Si la Tierra fuera redonda
Ningún país
Podría decirse
El centro de la tierra,
Porque serían todos en el centro.
Y todos los hombres
Al alrededor de la Tierra,
Serían albergados bajo el mismo lema.
Pero no es el caso
Y la tierra está al revés
Porque la tierra no es redonda.
En todo caso,
No todavía.
Traducción de Nancy Morejón
NÍ CRUINN ATÁ AN DOMHAN
Ní cruinn atá an Domhan
Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
chífea é
bheadh a fhios agat é
Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
ní bheadh cuid againn
ag an mbarr, i leataobh,
agus an chuid eile, an móramh,
ag an mbun,
thíos ar fad go minic . . .
Dá mbeadh an Domhan cruinn
ní thabharfadh tír ar bith
lár an Domhain uirthi féin
mar bheadh gach aon rud sa lár
agus an cine daonna go léir
gach áit ar fud an Domhain
sa bhád amháin . . .
Ní mar sin atá, áfach
agus téann an Domhan amú
mar nach cruinn atá an Domhan.
Ní go fóill
ar aon nós.
2024-10-29
2024-10-28
2024-10-27
2024-10-26
2024-10-25
Alan Dent, Mowing the Lawn, (POETS OF THE PLANET)
Alan Dent was born in Preston in 1951. He has lived in Lancaster, Hull, Rouen, Kent, Wales, Blackburn and now is once more in Preston. He has published the following collections of poetry: Bedtime Story, Antidotes to Optimism, Corker, Who, Town and Schrodinger’s Women. He has also published two volumes of translations from French: When The Metro is Free and Common Cause, the latter by Francis Combes. His work has appeared in Ambit, The Echo Room, The Wide Skirt, New Statesman, Prop, Tears In The Fence, Fire, Still and many other magazines. His plays include The Joy of Banking, Lap Dancing In The Gulag and The Lift. He is famous for his excoriating editorials in his magazines The Penniless Press and Mistress Quickly’s Bed; the former is now a web mag which incorporates the Northern Review of Books, founded by Dent in 2010. He has also published many reviews, mainly of contemporary poetry, and has been described by a leading contemporary poet as “a brilliant critic.” Under various pen-names he has published almost a hundred short stories.
Lomadh an Fhéir
Má tá do thigh leagtha is do theaghlachsa marbh
leanaí is mamónna ina luí ar an ngaineamh
an domhan bun os cionn - faoi do bhun atá an spéir
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
sceimhle na hoíche, éadóchas an lae
gan lámh chúnta in aice leat, inniu ná inné
nuair b'fhearr leat ná aon rud a bheith sínte sa chré
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
ocras ar pháistí, déantar anraith as féar
gan uisce ar fáil dóibh ná fliuchadh a mbéil
an dorchadas forleathan ag breacadh an lae
níl ann ach an IDF ag lomadh an fhéir;
ina mbáisteach tá buamaí ag titim ón spéir
ar dheis is ar chlé níl ann ach piléir
an IDF ag méanfach is straois orthu go léir
níl ann ach na Síónaigh ag lomadh an fhéir
dílleachtaí ag caoineadh in ard a gcinn go géar
is cabhraíonn SAM leis na daoine atá ag lomadh an fhéir.
MOWING THE LAWN
by Alan Dent
If your house is destroyed and your family lies dead
your babies and grandmothers left where they bled
if your world is upended and you’re lost and forlorn
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when your nights pass in terror your days in despair
if you reach for a hand and no one is there
when death’s your best friend and you wish you weren’t born
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when your children are starving you make soup from grass
not a sole drop of water for your dry mouth, alas,
when life is all darkness no promise of dawn
it’s only the IDF mowing the lawn;
when the bullets fly wildly and there’s nowhere to run
and the bombs fall at random as the goons have their fun
and the IDF laugh, sneer, lie back and yawn
it’s only the Zionists mowing the lawn;
and the righteous US as the poor orphans mourn
runs to help Zionists mowing the lawn.