bergen poesifest
opplesning fra A Book of a Hundred Hands
pågående arbeid (2002)
oversettelse ved Fredrik Nyberg
08:11 min:
real audio (2,4 mb)
mp3 (2,9 mb)
edu forfatterside
such rich hour
oh
try
noon
numen
it's alive she says (pdf-fil)
très riches heures du duc de berry
utskriftsvennlig format
Cole Swensen (f. 1955) har gitt ut 8 diktsamlinger siden debuten med It's Alive She Says i 1987. Hun har også oversatt en rekke franske poeter til amerikansk, deriblant Pierre Alferi og Pascalle Monnier, som gjestet Bergen Poesifest i 2000. I de siste utgivelsene har hun arbeidet med den vestlige kunsthistorien. Try (University of Iowa Press, 1999) baserer seg på billedkunst fra særlig tidligrenessansen. Oh (Apogee Press, 2000) har den europeiske operaen som utgangspunkt. Mens den foreløpig siste boka, Such Rich Hour (University of Iowa Press 2001), er basert på et illuminert manuskript fra 1400-tallet, Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. Her følger Swensen sosiale, politiske og vitenskapelige aktiviteter i overgangen mellom middelalder og renessanse. I alle disse bøkene skriver hun fram noe som kanskje kan kalles meta-ekfraser. Stemmer tilhørende figurer i bildene, resepsjonshistorien, betraktere og poetologiske refleksjoner møtes og går til tider over i hverandre. Diktene er ofte svært elliptiske, både semantisk og grafisk – leserens blikk må bevege seg over siden slik diktets blikk beveger seg over bildene. I en kommentar til Try skriver hun at «One of its recurrent themes is the position of the viewing-subject in relation to the depicted subject – who is the subject of the narrative implied in so many of these works.» Hennes nåværende prosjekt har arbeidstittelen A Book of a Hundred Hands. Der forholder hun seg blant annet til håndskrifter, skissebøker og fysiologiske tekster i et forsøk på å presentere hånda fra så mange perspektiv som mulig. (PBA)
The Hand as Anchor
Diktene som presenteres her er fra A Book of a Hundred Hands.
__________________________
Raked sun. Or there did it lodge. Or rock. Or did it stone? It to stone. The scarred just
that yet insists:
follow this
who still believes
the architecture of a ship is derived from that of the human body or perhaps only
the hand
caught, and the whole body stopped. It's a shame.
-----------------
The Hand as Historical
If a fossil hides, it hides from itself-that else that is, that human
compass of the hand, its own
composite home-its hour, in fact, and the graph
that is the palm; just look what falls within
The human hand fits
that falls within
(which lands, I said, which knows its way) was day
before the latter was invented; all is lost
I said, what spine is this? or better put, what animal
with five spines (Who survived?) A fossil is a photograph of chance.
-----------------
The Hand as Ideogram
In a dark purple sky behind the lightning field, alive
Michaux:
Later the signs spoke to me
And they were hands
murmur without end
The hand is not human
and no word adheres
held out, half_language
half_man, in bright migration
We once recognized them.
-----------------
The Hand that Caresses
after Alphonso Lingis
Glean sheet
that is soft and flees
gliding just above the surface
constructs a second skin of close attention
The hand cannot tire in the face
of another, a hand floats or hovers
detached from the wrist, my hand fits your face precisely What recognizes
the suffering of the other is a movement in one's hand. The man on the balcony
reaches out to point at the people silhouetted against the horizon in a long thin line.
-----------------
The Hand as Origami
First Position: Crane
Second Position: Freighter. The winged lion comes later. This is the church and this is the people who walked across a land bridge and ever since
however flesh, there's a turning in the bird
a burning egg
I thin with sandpaper; that's land down there,
liminal.