***
"Walt Whitman poetry award" delas ut av The Academy of American poets. Bland de inskickade manuskripten väljer en enväldig domare (en etablerad poet, i år Carolyn Forché) den författare som får se sitt manuskript bli publicerat. Hen får även $5000 samt sex veckors vistelse i Umbria, Italien. Det är alltså ett debutantpris och Carolyn Forché utsåg Mai Der Vang till årets vinnare.
Det här kan mycket väl vara en kandidat till årets dikt. Den handlar alltså om monogram.
Prinsessan Diana's monogram |
Cipher song, by Mai Der Vang
(Originally published in the Cincinatti Review, Vol. 11, No. 2)
It’s come to this. We hide the stories
on our sleeves, patchwork of cotton veins.
Scribe them on carriers for sleeping
babies, weave our ballads to the sash.
Forge paper from our aprons, and our
bodies will be books. Learn the language
of jackets: the way a pleat commands
a line, the way collars unfold as page,
sign our names in thread. The footprint
of an elephant. Snail’s shell. Ram’s horn.
When the words burn, all that’s left is ash.
***
Min sjukdomsperiod sammanföll med poesimässan hos Stockholms stadsbibliotek och med Världspoesidagen (21 mars). Oerhört olyckligt!
Det österrikiska kaffeföretaget Julius Meinl erbjöd under poesidagen en gratis kopp kaffe till sina besökare. Allt gästen behövde göra var att dela med sig av en egen skriven dikt. I trettio länder var detta möjligt. Ambassadör för projektet var den omtalade performance-poeten Robert Montgomery.
Här får ni en eldfängd aforism, ett av hans signum.
In the silence of your
bones and eyes
forgotten magis sits
and waits for fire.
Robert Montgomery
***
Även The Independent uppmärksammade World Poetry Day på ett utmärkt sätt. De gjorde en lista som de kallade "28 of poetry's most powerful lines ever written". Bland de utvalda författarna hittar vi: Emily Dickinson (så klart!), Oscar Wilde, T.S. Eliot, Sylvia Plath, Pablo Neruda, E.E. Cummings, Walt Whitman, och många fler ...
Och så de vackra slutraderna ur den här dikten:
Variation on the Word Sleep, by Margaret Atwood (f. 1939)
(from Selected poems II : poems selected & new 1976-1986. Boston : Houghton Mifflin Co., 1987.)
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
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