torsdag 17 juli 2014

Dublin kommer närmare segerbucklan

Efter tredje dagen har heatet åter bytt ledarlag. Med hjälp av Harry Cliftons 11 poäng, för dikten The Approaches, tog Lag Dublin över ledningen. Jag gillar dikter där poeten använder ord som förstärker både rytm och betydelse, så som Harry Clifton gör i sin. Det gav honom en självklar "poängstrike".

A childless, futureless road / And then nothing

Uncut fields and paced-out walls

Dublin by night

Lag Innehåll Språk Day 3 Total Heat 2
Dublin 7 4 11 23
Baskien 5 3 8 22
Yorkshire 6 2 8 21
Galicien 3 3 6 20
Harlem 4 0 4 14
Färöarna 2 1 3 13
Puerto Rico 1 1 2 12


Avslutningsdagen handlar dikterna om vatten.

GALICIEN : Water Of Love Without A Name / Luís González Tosar

In this uncertain light separating our bodies
I’m well aware I’m a sad boat
desirous of shade in an evening harbour,
knocking against rocks and stranger ships,
leaning on acid loneliness for ever,
hearing from time to time the call of a horn
which lifts our waves onto the bow,
magical vision which eats away
at colour and phosphorescence,
in words everything drowns.


PUERTO RICO : from When songs become water / Martin Espada

the poems become songs
and the songs become water
streaming through the arteries
of the earth, where others at the well
will cool the sweat in their hair
and begin to think.


HARLEM : Thirst / Claude McKay

My spirit wails for water, water now! 
My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot 
For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough, 
Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot. 
My hungry body's burning for a swim 
In sunlit water where the air is cool, 
As in Trout Valley where upon a limb 
The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool. 
Oh water, water, when the night is done, 
When day steals gray-white through the windowpane, 
Clear silver water when I wake, alone, 
All impotent of parts, of fevered brain; 
Pure water from a forest fountain first, 
To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!


DUBLIN : Underwater contact / Simon Ó Faoláin

It was not the vision’s ultrasound
That bore your being home to me,
But deep blind sonar of the ear,
The liquid beat of a tiny heart
Exactly like a swishing prop,
And I am a diver once again
Sensing mysterious vessels glide
Upon the surface overhead.


YORKSHIRE : from Canal Life / Ian McMillan

The canal tells you stories
The canal sings you songs
They hang in that space
Between memory and water

Once saw a narrowboat raised up,
Like it was cutting through the air,
Between two grass walls and the road below
Like it was sliding through history, 
And a tiny vole swam across the water
So a tiny vole swam through history.


BASKIEN : Water dreams (III) / Miren Agur Meabe

Your voice on the phone is water.
A glass on the side table.
I fell asleep looking at it.
Water floods the bed.
My nightdress swells, I drift
towards a lighthouse,
where you happen to be,
writing an email to me.
Subject: “Water, please.”
(Is my voice water to you?)
I open my eyes. I stretch my arm out. The glass falls.
The pieces on the ground spell your name.
I wake up wet.


FÄRÖARNA : ur Regn / Rói Patursson

det regnar i valparaiso
och den kalla vätan piskar
ögonblicken till döds

det regnar i tórshavn
och terrorbalansen speglas i vägen

det regnar på tonsättaren
och rytmerna drunknar i notbladet

det regnar på biblioteket
och det är otätt mellan teori och praktik

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