torsdag 31 juli 2014

One sonnet out of many gave triumph to Raymond.

Det verkar som om fullpoängarna oftast lyser upp bloggen på den tredje tävlingsdagen. Jag vet inte vad det beror på.

Den här gången stämmer vi upp i körsång för Raymond Queneau, Lag Normandie. Hans sonett kan göras om till flera. Det är ett enastående och ambitiöst språkexperiment som han genomförde i början av 60-talet. Det fullständiga verket består alltså egentligen av 10 sonetter vars rader kan sättas ihop på valfritt sätt, helt slumpvis om man så vill. Det går att läsa mer om verket här.
Det var helt givet att ge honom fyra språkpoäng. Jag funderade faktiskt på att bryta normen och tilldela honom fem språkpoäng, men det stannade vid en tanke. Så här lät det i Sonett 8:

"he writes reviews that read like journalese
which freshens up the tribal rumbelow"

"Th' inspiréd poet isn't polyglot
in his brain one tongue is all he's got"

"O bard your solo readings make me mock
I nominate you as a gapingstock"

De elva poängen förde upp Lag Normandie i ledningen inför sista tävlingsdagen. Förra ledarlaget, Sachsen, föll till tredje plats.

École de Management

Team Content Language Day 3 Total
Normandie (Normandy, France) 7 4 11 22
Sussex (in England) 3 2 5 19
Sachsen (Saxony, Germany) 2 0 2 18
Rogaland (in Norway) 4 1 5 16
Yukon (in Canada) 1 0 1 14
Själland (Zealand, Denmark) 5 0 5 13
Jamaica 6 1 7 10


Dag 4: Vi belyser de återstående stroferna i ett - Historiskt perspektiv.

ROGALAND : Airborne / Öyvind Rimbereid

In the Lufthansa flight on her way home from Milan
seven thousand metres above the Alps
she rests her head against the window,
worried about her first assignment for Nortrade.
Soon she dozes, and half-dreaming
she is already over Skagerrak. 
But in the handbag under her seat
lies the rose
the Italian contact
bought for her at dinner the night before.
It lies protected
inside Monday’s Milano Finanza
she had hoped she would manage to read. 


SACHSEN : "Inner unrest as protection against clocks."
/ Durs Grünbein

What is childhood anyway, after years
Of running away, an extorted wish
Quivering on your lips, a nursery chant
Like home and belonging.
Spat over your shoulder the deadly look
Back was a poor exchange
For the shinking of both day and night.
The colors washed out, the pink idyll
Of lambskin. That was it: the whiff
Of regurgitated milk, the conspiracy
Among the growns to feed and stifle you,
Great clouds of hysteria
Where you learned to walk, and to fight back.


NORMANDIE : From Broken Line / André Breton

We are the bread and water in the prisons of the sky
We are the pavements of love all the stopped traffic lights
That personify the charms of this poem
Nothing speaks for us after death
In that hour when night puts on 
its shiny ankle­boots to go out
We take the weather as it comes
Like a wall adjoining one of our prisons
The spidery grapnels bring the boat into the road­stead
All you can do is touch there's nothing to see
Later on you'll find out who we are


YUKON : Learning Lorca / Erling Friis-Baastad

Too much history here
I cannot sleep

Cold lightning
to the west
over the Sierra Nevada
startles the centuries
awake and back
into hunger—


SJÄLLAND : from Arrival / Thomas Boberg

When you came the dream coincided with memory
and became reality
your name became your mouth, your face
and your face the moment
fused by the glow of your voice, your joy
that illuminated the whole house
and I knew that I had been here before


SUSSEX : from I cry out to the rock / Maureen Duffy

Thou has become a bulwark,
A symbol of fortitude,
An icon of stability,
The metaphor for firmness,
Those things which must BE.

I say unto thee now,
It is time to change that.
It is the time for you
To crumble, to become sand,
To give in to the vicissitudes
Of time, and wear, and growth.


JAMAICA : from “Morning Tableau” / Ishion Hutchinson
Intermittent drizzle on the orange roofs;
a barge slides russeting water, I awoke
and heard brass music from another century:
carriage tinkles and princes and parasols
the white of souls promenading by the river;
no tankers, no allies, just rows of lindens,
“without the broken crucifixes of swastikas,”
and a cortège of starred-arm people, clasped-hands,
shuffling to the prick of spires, by rote,
a voice terse script silting the sky.

onsdag 30 juli 2014

Hängivet ledarlag

Efter andra rundan av heat 4 ökade Lag Sachsen sin ledning med en poäng. De har nu två poängs marginal till Lag Sussex som ligger på 2:a plats. 

Sjupoängaren i omgången gick till Jude Stéfan, Lag Normandie, för diktfragmentet "They go heads bowed". Men högst totalpoäng tilldelades Claire Booker, Lag Sussex, för sin fantastiska skulpturmonolog. Medan språkligan toppades av Clea Roberts, Lag Yukon. Hennes formulering slog rot hos mig.

And love, it waits in the cupboard
with the potatoes
its eyes exploding with flowers.

Team Content Language Day 2 Total
Sachsen (Saxony, Germany) 4 3 7 16
Sussex (in England) 6 3 9 14
Yukon (in Canada) 1 4 5 13
Normandie (Normandy, France) 7 1 8 11
Rogaland (in Norway) 3 0 3 11
Själland (Zealand, Denmark) 5 0 5 8
Jamaica 2 0 2 3

Friedenspark in Leipzig


Tredje dagen tar vi sikte på Språktemat.

ROGALAND : from A human being is here / Jon Fosse

But it is 
in all past and it is in all future
and it is
in something 
that doesn’t exist
in its vanishing border
between what has been
and what shall come 
It is infinite and without distance
in the same movement 
It clears up 
and disappears
and remains
while it disappears


SJÄLLAND : from collection Shaken Mirror / Sören Ulrik Thomsen

The radio has picked up a distant station 
where a chorus of children 
in a language that must be Russian 
reads something that must be poetry 
and could sound like a translation 
of the poem I've always dreamed of writing.


YUKON : from Suskwa / Jamella Hagen

as young animals we made it
through the burning cold to the other side,
to the beaver ponds where we balanced
on wet logs and swam until our lips
were the colour of saskatoons.

On the way back, our muscles
awkward from the cold, words
mangled by freezing cheeks, we laughed
because we couldn't speak, because we
didn't need to, bushwacked back
to our clothes, which we could hardly
put on, then shivered our way
up the trail to stand wringing our hair
by the hot wood stove, telling stories


NORMANDIE : Sonnet 8 (from One hundred million million poems) / Raymond Queneau

So now the bard spurns iambs and trochees
to aggravate the layman and the shmo
he writes reviews that read like journalese
which freshens up the tribal rumbelow
Just one was right and not those SOBs
the mob demands that verse be comme il faut
both are right not that vague congeries
most people like to read the words they know
Th' inspiréd poet isn't polyglot
in his brain one tongue is all he's got
e'en stol'n from th' celts his muse remains his queen
O bard your solo readings make me mock
I nominate you as a gapingstock
the metromaniacs outdo Racine


JAMAICA : from Talk / Kwame Dawes

You, August, have carried in your belly
every song of affront your characters
have spoken, and maybe you waited
too long to howl against the night,
but each evening on some wooden
stage, these men and women,
learn to sing songs lost for centuries,
learn the healing of talk, the calming
of quarrel, the music of contention,
and in this cacophonic chorus,
we find the ritual of living.


SACHSEN Entpuppung / Barbara Köhler

Ich habe das Sagen nicht. Ich lasse es
mir gesagt sein mir gefallen Wendungen
die verwandeln die EinRichtung zwischen
verrückten Wänden in ungehörige Räume
eine Fremde in der ich die Fremde bin
eine Stimme die sich der Sprache gibt
Klangkörper beim Wort genommen wachsen
mir Hände zu begreifen beschwören wenn
ich zum Wort stehe steht es mir zu dir
entgegen kommt es und geht zwischen uns
die Rede die Stille ein Raum, gelassen.


SUSSEX : from Rhetorical questions / Hugo Williams

And how do you think I like it
when you tell me what to do
and your mouth opens
and you look straight through me?
Do you think I mind
when the blank expression comes
and you set off alone
down the hall of collapsing columns?

tisdag 29 juli 2014

Kärlek är inte lika med symmetri

Sista filmkvällen inleds med skratt och igenkännande. Det är inte min favoritfilm men många uppskattar den, inte minst för huvudrollsinnehavaren Renée Zellwegers insats.

To Autumn, by John Keats (1795-1821)
(From The Classic Hundred Poems (Second Edition). Harmon, William, ed. New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.)

(Förekommer i Bridget Jones's diary från 2001. Regi: Sharon Maguire.)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, 
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, 
  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
  Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.


Vi fortsätter med en småmysig film i katolsk skolmiljö. Den lockar till skratt men innehåller även en del allvar.

The Tyger, by William Blake (1757-1827)
(From Collected poems ; edited by W.B. Yeats ; with a new introduction by Tom Paulin. London :Routledge,2002.)

(Förekommer i The Dangerous Lives Of Altar Boys från 2002. Regi: Peter Care.)

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night; 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, 
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp, 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

When the stars threw down their spears 
And water'd heaven with their tears: 
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 
In the forests of the night: 
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


De fem veckorna med poesi ur filmer, avslutas med ett kraftfullt och välspelat ödesdrama. Den är värd att engagera sig i.

The earth turned to bring us closer, by Eugenio Montejo (1938-2008)

(Förekommer i 21 grams från 2003. Regi: Alejandro González Iñárritu.)

“The earth turned to bring us closer,
it spun on itself and within us,
and finally joined us together in this dream
as written in the Symposium.
Nights passed by, snowfalls and solstices;
time passed in minutes and millennia.
An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveh
arrived in Nebraska.
A rooster was singing some distance from the world,
in one of the thousand pre-lives of our fathers.
The earth was spinning with its music carrying us on board;
it didn't stop turning a single moment
as if so much love, so much that's miraculous
was only an adagio written long ago
in the Symposium's score.”

måndag 28 juli 2014

Einen Schub für Sachsen

PSTC 2014, Heat 4 - "Ett lyft för Sachsen"
Jag delade inte ut någon språklig fyra den här gången. Däremot gav jag Torild Wardenaer, Lag Rogaland, 3 språkpoäng för dikten "Av nåde". I den lyckas han länka samman raderna genom alliterationer på bokstaven N.

om natten

et mørkt nedfall

av nåde,

av uglers nærvær


i en hvilende trekkfugls nebb

Gårdagens sjua och den högsta totalpoängen gick till Christian Lehnert för den vackra dikten om en vårvinterdag. Tyska språket blir som allra mest poetiskt när rim, rytm och betydelse finner samklang. Det var Goethe en mästare på. Lehnert lyckas väldigt bra.

Därmed tog Lag Sachsen (Saxony in English) ledningen i heat 4.

Vapen för Freistaat Sachsen

Team Content Language Day 1
Sachsen (Saxony, Germany) 7 2 9
Yukon (in Canada) 6 2 8
Rogaland (in Norway) 5 3 8
Sussex (in England) 4 1 5
Normandie (Normandy, France) 3 0 3
Själland (Zealand, Denmark) 2 1 3
Jamaica 1 0 1


Andra dagen tar kärlekstemat vid.

SUSSEX : from Model in love / Claire Booker

There will be time enough to tell him
that she has let herself go.
From her billowing window she dreams
of a cluttered atelier:
turps, clay, clatter of wire-cutters,
plaster of Paris, misses
how he came again and again
simply to touch
the intelligent slope of her shoulder.

Other arms have circled her since.
Though lovers pluck her
as they might a courgette flower
(for taste and decoration)
still she knows that a girl should be free


SACHSEN : aus Hingebung / Volker Braun

Wie der Sommer kommt!
Die Abende sind warum und lang.
Ich bin ganz ruhig. Wir sitzen im Gesträuch

Reden uns aus uns heraus.
In seinen Gedanken plötzlich
Finde ich meine.

Die Wiesen liegen in ihrem Duft
Der strömt durch uns durch.
Die Bäume stehen in seltsamen Gruppen
Wie Liebende. Sie werden ganz dunkel.
Ich küß ihn, er küßt mich vom Fuß zur Stirn
Nehm ich nun ein.


NORMANDIE : from They go heads bowed / Jude Stefan

They go heads bowed on their agreement
            they exchange gestures
            press each other's feet in secret
            and sleep for each other
from the height of their tears to their forgiveness
                     they enchant each other
each Tuesday with a path of ivy and slowness
                       barely touching
                       then madly mouth to mouth
pressing her lips he tightens her scarf
             black as sex and blood red


JAMAICA : from From Aunt Rose’s Honey Advice / Lorna Goodison

Feed it to your love
from a deep silver spoon.
Throw open the curtains
draw free honey from the moon.

Use it to lend a gold glow
to wan lustreless skin.
Fold it into honey cakes,
drizzle it into honey drinks.

Add a satin honey glaze
to the matte surface of everydays.
Voices sing polished
with honey’s burnishing.


YUKON : Seasonal Adjustments / Clea Roberts

So many things grow 

Garlic in the kitchen.
Crocus in the compost.

And love, it waits in the cupboard
with the potatoes
its eyes exploding with flowers.


SJÄLLAND : from Human Arms / Marianne Larsen

"We put our arms around each other
a pair of ordinary tax-paying human arms
not to rest them
but to harden them
a pair of ordinary concrete-accustomed
and marketed human arms
a pair of ordinarily needing
a par of ordinarily hugging
human arms
we put them around each other
they are health-insured and ordinarily dressed
a pair of ordinarily love-interpreting
human arms


ROGALAND : from Tir n'a Noir (in english) / Kolbein Falkeid

It’s a cold November
As the sea crashes in 
But I still do remember 
Though the memry grows dim 
To a magical summer 
With sweet Mary McKear 
In the west in Tirna Noir

Were you there as a dream 
Though it all seems so real 
With the laughter I hear and the touch I can feel? 

Far beyond the horizon 
Where the fog disappears 
You were mine dear Mary McKear

söndag 27 juli 2014

Poetry Slam - Team Contest, Heat 4, Day 1

Då har vi kommit fram till heat 4 i sommarens "poesicup". I det deltar två nordiska lag, ett kanadensiskt, ett engelskt, ett tyskt, ett franskt, och så Bellman. Ah, det sista var ett skämt - förstås. Det ska vara Jamaica.


Vi börjar med Djur-tema.

SUSSEX : from Dawn chorus / Sasha Dugdale

And once I rose and twitched the curtains apart
Expecting the birds to be pressing in fright
Against the pane like passengers
But the garden was empty and it was night

Not a slither of light at the horizon
Still the birds were bawling through the mists
Terrible, invisible
A million small evangelists

How they sing: as if each had pecked up a smoldering coal
Their throats singed and swollen with song
In dissonance as befits the dark world
Where only travelers and the sleepless belong


YUKON : Glimpse / Michael Eden Reynolds

Sight is a bird 
atop the spine.

Sleep is the twittering 
of the closed eye.

There comes a river of fish 
caught in dream’s light.

The bird spreads its wings.

Let it be a kingfisher, 
to carry this body of dream into memory.

Let it be a tide of swifts in the gathering dusk 
to dive like stars into that black cave.


SACHSEN : Vorfrühling / Christian Lehnert

Die Amsel zögert noch in einer Welt, 
die innen stumm ist, außen kaum zu fühlen, 
im Schnee. Als hätte sie sich vorgestellt, 
zum Fliegen sei ein Ton herabzukühlen,

der Wind sei ein bestimmtes Intervall, 
so klar wie Eis. Im Schwarm allein, das eine
gefiederte Erwachen, Widerhall -  
wie Schatten gleiten Vögel über Steine

in gläsernes Gezweig, in hartes Moos. 
Noch scheint die Sonne aus der Luft gegriffen, 
noch wirkt die Scheune völlig schwerelos, 
fossiler Zahn von Zeit und Traum verschliffen.


SJÄLLAND : ur Flugten / Christian Winther 

Han sagte lod sig glide  Fra Dyrets brede Ryg,

Ned sank han ved dets Side  Paa Mosteppet tryg.

Dog knap sig følte Hjorten  For Baand og Byrde qvit,

Udstødte den et Brøl,  Sprang op og kneised frit.

Med Bragen brød den gjennem  Den tætte, mørke Skov,

Den vækked de smaa Fugle,  Som sad der og sov;

Og længe hørte Svenden  Hver raslende Busk,

Og hvor Grenene de knaged  Ved de voldsomme Rusk;


NORMANDIE : Face the Animal / Jean Follain

It’s not always easy
to face the animal
even if it looks at you
without fear or hate
it does so fixedly
and seems to disdain
the subtle secret it carries
it seems better to feel
the obviousness of the world
that noisily day and night
drills and damages
the silence of the soul.


JAMAICA : From Yard Fowl / Olive Senior

Some find you loud mouth and simple, 
for every egg laid a big announcement 
a cackle, some find you 
the broody hen, not knowing all 
is meant to throw spies off the scent 
of your blood’s secret: you know 
the sky isn’t falling, geese don’t lay 
golden eggs, superior knowledge 
resides in the feet. 

You are mistress of maps to the under 
layer, to buried treasure. Why else 
do you nod your head and give thanks 
as you sup? With every scratch, 
woman’s luck you turn up.


ROGALAND : Av nåde / Torild Wardenaer

I skogen

om natten

et mørkt nedfall

av nåde,

av uglers nærvær

og av englers


er en gylden dråpe

i en hvilende trekkfugls nebb