Thursday, January 17, 2019

Monologue



Monologue


By Ko Un (Korean Poet and Nobel Prize nominee)


Translated by Brother Anthony of Taizé and Lee Sang-Wha



The lonesome communist José Saramago once

  said that

 joy and sorrow

 go together

 because they are not water and oil.

I nod.

Nod.


Then I object:


Joy knows no sorrow.

Sorrow knows no joy.


I refuse sudden enlightenment.

All the dialogues in the world, frogs’ night-long

choruses,

ultimately they’re each a monologue.

Flowers and sudden frosts on spring flowers,

each a monologue

to the very end.


What is truly amazing

is that dialogue

 has never existed in this world of greed and lust,

 no, not even once.

To the end, each and every aloneness

 is so hard-shelled it has no sense

 of having ever been alone.


 Ko Un, born Ko Untae in 1933, was the first child of a peasant family living in Gunsan, North Jeolla Province in Korea. During a time when the national culture was being suppressed under  the Japanese occupation, his grandfather taught him to read and write in Korean. When he was 12, he found by chance a book of poems by Han Ha-un, a nomadic Korean poet with leprosy, and he was so impressed that he began writing himself. He was a witness to the devastation of the Korean War. He volunteered for the People’s Army, but was rejected because he was underweight.  Many of his relatives and friends died and, during the war, he was forced to work as a grave digger. He became so traumatized that he poured acid into his ear to shut out the war’s noise, leaving him deaf in one ear.


He became a Zen Buddhist monk in the 1950s, and returned to secular life sometime in the 1960s. He has since then been considered as the preeminent Korean poet of the twentieth century and beloved cultural figure who has helped shape contemporary Korean literature, Ko Un is also a novelist, literary critic, ex-monk,  former dissident, and four-time political prisoner. His verse―vivid, unsettling, down-to-earth, and deeply moving―ranges from the short lyric to the vast epic and draws from a poetic reservoir filled with memories and experiences ranging over seventy years of South Korea's tumultuous history from the Japanese occupation to the Korean war to democracy.


 Presenting the Griffin Poetry Award, poet Robert Hass described Ko Un as “one of the heroes of human freedom in this half century, a religious poet who got tangled by accident in the terrible accidents of modern history. But he is somebody who has been equal to the task, a feat rare among human beings.”


Man's incapacity for dialogue is the theme of this poem


Ref : Un, Ko. First Person Sorrowful . Bloodaxe Books




Thursday, January 3, 2019

Breakfast (Dejeuner du Matin)





Breakfast

by Jacques Prévert

Translated by Lawrence Ferlinghetti


He put the coffee

In the cup

He put the milk

In the cup of coffee

He put the sugar

In the café au lait

With the coffee spoon

He stirred

He drank the café au lait

And he set down the cup

Without a word to me

He lit

A cigarette

He made smoke-rings

With the smoke

He put the ashes

In the ash-tray

Without a word to me

Without a look at me

He got up

He put

His hat upon his head

He put his raincoat on

Because it was raining

And he left

In the rain

Without a word

Without a look at me

And I  I took

My head in my hand

And I cried.



This poem by Jacques Prévert, a much loved French Poet (above all the man who wrote screenplay for “Children of Paradise”, one of the top ten films in World Cinema),  was written in 1946, one year after the end of World War II. It  reflects the nihilistic tone of many people after the war. Having suffered a humiliating invasion by the Nazis, French citizens felt disillusioned and displaced after their liberation by the United States in 1944 and at the end of the war in 1945.

Reflective of this disillusionment, the scene of this poem reveals an estranged husband and wife. They sit as one would with a stranger in a cafe at their breakfast table. In a series of clipped sentences all of which are described in past tense that often denotes a definite beginning and end—the wife describes her husband's clipped and impersonal actions, performed without any recognition of her. She describes in singsong fashion these mechanical motions of her husband, who sits across from her without appearing to take notice of her.

This poem does not contain a direct conflict. Rather, it contains a situation that obviously comes after some form of conflict, where the man who is eating his breakfast is choosing not to talk to the speaker of the poem. We watch with mesmerized attentiveness the man at breakfast time methodically pouring out a cup of coffee, drinking it, and then smoking a cigarette before leaving. Suddenly the angle is reversed, to reveal for a moment his companion, who bursts into tears. The psychological tension of their relationship is heartrendingly visible only at the end.

 Apparently nothing could be simpler, and no expert knowledge of the wider world of literature is needed for making sense of this scene. Closer analysis reveals, however, a precisely calculated pattern of repetition that creates tensions that are all the more unbearable because there is no punctuation and so the reader is forced at every stage to make impossible decisions about the way fraught situations are to be structured. At first glance, Prévert’s poetry can appear to be naive, but his verbal dexterity reveals that he knew the meaning of the old adage that the truest art is artistry concealed. 


Friday, December 28, 2018

Coffee Break



Coffee Break


By Kwame Dawes

It was Christmastime,
the balloons needed blowing,
and so in the evening
we sat together to blow
balloons and tell jokes,
and the cool air off the hills
made me think of coffee,
so I said, “Coffee would be nice,”
and he said, “Yes, coffee
would be nice,” and smiled
as his thin fingers pulled
the balloons from the plastic bags;
so I went for coffee,
and it takes a few minutes
to make the coffee
and I did not know
if he wanted cow’s milk
or condensed milk,
and when I came out
to ask him, he was gone,
just like that, in the time
it took me to think,
cow’s milk or condensed;
the balloons sat lightly
on his still lap.


Kwame Dawes is famous Ghanian-American poet and current Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets

I was touched by this poem that speaks about our transitory life. It takes only a coffee break to turn us into a lifeless one.

Saturday, December 1, 2018

Tactics and Strategy



Tactics and Strategy 
By Mario Benedetti
Translated by Louise B. Popkin


My tactic is

        to watch you

get to know who you are

love who you are



my tactic is

             to talk to you

and listen

build a permanent bridge

out of words



my tactic is

to find a place in your memory

I don’t know just how     or

where and when

but to find my place in you



my tactic is

                to be open

knowing you are too

and never sell each other

false goods

so that between us

there will be no secrets

                      or distances



my strategy

on the other hand

is simpler and more

                       enduring



my strategy is

that one of these days

I don’t know just how    or

where and when

finally        you’ll need me.



Benedetti (1920 - 2009) is regarded as one of Latin America’s most important poets of the 20th century and one of Uruguay's most prolific writers. He excelled in all literary genres: novels, short stories, poems, plays, essays, political articles, and polemical songs.

I loved this poem. The poet speaks of tactics and strategies to woo his lover. But  they are not devious or manipulative. They are soft tactics and strategies rooted in honesty and sincerity. 





 Source :  "Witness: The selected Poems of Mario Benedetti" translated by Louisa B.Popkin.