Showing posts with label Saturnalia Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Saturnalia Books. Show all posts

Saturday, February 3, 2024

rob mclennan : SO TOUGH, by Jared Stanley

SO TOUGH, Jared Stanley
Saturnalia Books, 2024

 

 

 

 

The fourth full-length poetry title by Reno, Nevada poet Jared Stanley, following Book Made of Forest (Salt, 2009), The Weeds (Salt, 2012), and EARS (Nightboat Books, 2017), as well as the first I’ve gone through, is SO TOUGH (2024), winner of the Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize. Organized as a book-length suite, each page offers a further untitled poem in a sequence of eight line accumulations (but for a singular, one-line poem, mid-collection) that provide a rhythm of meditative slowness. “The green catch of light your eyeglasses get,” the opening poem offers, “basic enthusiasms where the flowering frasses nod in the wind // another cruel ongoingness // fell asleep with a cock-shaped bookmark on my eyes // the sea is off somewhere by itself // previously unimagined inhabitants of spume // blood in your mouth did you taste it [.]” The pacing of this meditation is impressive, holding a steady line through simultaneous layering and pause, a clear breath exhaled in a thoughtful sequence of phrases. “Some half-remembered folk melody cries out,” Stanley writes in the second poem, “for gallon jugs of green river wine : // tastes like grass, fucks you up, cold on the tongue [.]” Through seventy-eight poems and seventy-eight pages, Stanley works across the small details of the natural landscape, articulating the arbitrariness of man-made boundaries between human activity and nature, managing to slow down time enough to hold a sequence of moments, turning each one over before the next one lands. Through SO TOUGH, Stanley offers moments across thinking, geography and landscape, providing them shape and tenor, both attention and as warning against what might irrevocably be lost.

So alone, so tough

so weird at home, so weird in public

on the street a whiff of body spray

blows in off a stranger’s shoulder

the look is human, nameless to nameless

the texture of a luxuriant shoe

if I keep my droplets to myself maybe

Wednesday will be a consolation

 

 

 

 

 

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa, where he is home full-time with the two wee girls he shares with Christine McNair. His most recent titles include the poetry collection World’s End, (ARP Books, 2023), a suite of pandemic essays, essays in the face of uncertainties (Mansfield Press, 2022) and the anthology groundworks: the best of the third decade of above/ground press 2013-2023 (Invisible Publishing, 2023). His collection of short stories, On Beauty (University of Alberta Press) will appear in fall 2024. He is currently pushing a fundraising campaign as part of the rebuilding year for Ottawa’s VERSeFest poetry festival.

Wednesday, May 25, 2022

2022 Griffin Poetry Prize shortlist interviews: Sharon Dolin and Gemma Gorga

Late to the House of Words, Sharon Dolin, translated from the Catalan written by Gemma Gorga
Saturnalia Books, 2021
2022 Griffin Poetry Prize • International Shortlist

interviewed by rob mclennan

The 2022 Griffin Poetry Prize will be announced on June 15, 2022.

Sharon Dolin is the author of six books of poetry, most recently Manual for Living (2016), Whirlwind (2012), and Burn and Dodge (2008), which won the AWP Donald Hall Prize for Poetry.  She is also the author of a book of translations, Gemma Gorga’s Book of Minutes (2019), and a prose memoir, Hitchcock Blonde (2020).  The recipient of a 2021 NEA Fellowship in Translation, she lives in New York City, where she is Associate Editor of Barrow Street Press and directs Writing About Art in Barcelona.

Gemma Gorga was born in Barcelona in 1968.  She has a PhD in Philology from the University of Barcelona, where she is Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Spanish Literature.  She has published seven collections of poetry in Catalan: Ocellania (1977), El desordre de les mans (2003), Instruments òptics (2005), Llibre dels minuts (2006) which won the 2006 Premi Miquel de Palol, Diafragma (2012), Mur (2015); and Viatge al centre (2020).  She is also the author of a prose journal of her time spent in India entitled Indi visible (2018).

I suppose this is a kind of chicken-or-egg question,but what was the process of simultaneously building both a book of translation and a selected poems? Were the poems first gathered for the sake of selection, or for the sake of translation? Were there questions you had to solve that might not have emerged otherwise?

Sharon Dolin: I was already acquainted with Gemma Gorga’s work through my translation of her book of prose poems Llibre dels minuts (2006), which appeared as Book of Minutes in 2019. So when I decided I wanted to continue translating her poems written in lines in 2017, I first began by translating her then most recent book Wall (Mur, 2015), but soon realized that certain poems were more successful in English than others. It then occurred to me that a Selected Poems might be a better idea and so I began to translate poems from her other books. Much of my selection process was by intuition: That is, I read through the poems and decided which ones appealed to me as a reader; then I worked on the translations. If I was not satisfied with the poem in English, I discarded it in favor of another. At some point, I believe early on, I had chosen the title for the collection, Late to the House of Words, a phrase from the poem “Mirror, Mirror on the Wall,” and that choice led me to make sure I translated any poems that were directly concerned with issues of language. Of course, I had already noticed a preponderance of poems that were in love with words, with the dictionary, with the richness as well as the limits of language, so I intentionally highlighted those poems in this Selected Poems. Gemma Gorga was a delight to work with and seemed very happy with the choices I had made for this selection from her six books.

Gemma Gorga: The book wasn’t conceived as a simultaneous work. Actually, Sharon explained to me her idea of gathering poems from all my previous books and arming a representative anthology. Of course, I couldn’t be more happy and grateful. But, from that moment on, this book was her work: she selected the poems, translated them and wrote a prologue which I think is key to understand the collection. But, as you can see, my role during the process has been rather discreet.

Gemma, having yourself done translation work, how was it seeing your own work shift through translation? How involved were you, if at all, with Sharon through the process?

Gemma Gorga: The first impression is kind of vertigo, like living in a recursive world: while I translate a poet, I’m being translated at the same time by another poet. And while I, doing my own translation, have to solve all the tricky aspects inherent to language, I know that my translator will have to solve this same kind of problems.

But, at the same time, I chose not to be too involved in Sharon’s translation process, because a translator needs a lot of space and freedom of movements. Of course, I tried to answer all her consultations, but without interfering too much in the final solution.

What other Catalan poets should one be reading to further expand upon the context of Gemma Gorga’s work more generally?

Sharon Dolin: I do think it’s important to read the poetry of Francesc Parcerisas, who was one of Gorga’s teachers. About other Catalan poets, I defer to Gorga herself.

Gemma Gorga: Catalan poets are, of course, my closest tradition, my immediate reference. Names such as Joan Vinyoli, Maria Mercè Marçal or Màrius Sampere are the dearest to me, since I grew up as a poet under their shadow. This said, since very young age I was eager to know other traditions, so I began to read as much translated poetry as I could. And this turned out a fundamental school.

Gemma, given your engagement with English-language writing, have you noticed an influence upon your writing in Catalan? Or are you able to keep those trains of thought separated?

Gemma Gorga: I see translation as a great school to learn and improve my own writing. We generally think of translation as a constant struggle with “impossibilities”, while I see it as an infinite source of “possibilities”, a place where I find solutions that I have never thought of before. Being bilingual Catalan-Spanish all my life has taught me to take advantage of the richness that each language contains and has made me realize how interesting it is to build bridges between languages. So I don’t want to keep those trains of thought separated; after all, they are heading to the same place.

Thursday, May 5, 2022

Susanne Dyckman : Elizabeth Robinson’s Apprehend: A Reflection

from Report from the Robinson Society, Vol. 1, No. 1

 

 

 

 

This is not a review.  This is about an experience.  This is about what happens when I read Elizabeth Robinson’s poetry.

I want to talk about the writing, but first note my close and enduring friendship with Elizabeth.  We have read our work together and written collaboratively over many years. We know one another’s families and have community in common. That said, I want to put those significant truths aside as I think of her writing and how I engage with it.  

Elizabeth is a prolific writer.  Choosing a favorite book of hers is much like choosing a favorite child, which, of course, can’t be done. So it is easiest to focus on a single book, Apprehend (2003), a volume based on fairy tales. It is one I pull from my bookshelf often.

I do not memorize much, have never been very good at reciting by heart.  But Elizabeth’s line “a small thing fits into a small hand” (Treasure Chest, pg. 50) is a phrase I carry with me.  A tender line, that small thing and small hand, a moment of softness to keep. 

Yet in this volume it is not a small thing that fits, but everything.  Immediately following that line, continuing it, is the word “clutched.”  A harder sounding word, a holding tight.  And in these poems, everything is clutched, turned over and inside out and examined. “Things sent down seep from one conclusion to the next” (Treasure Chest, pg. 49).  The spirit, the environment, the body, beauty, and disfigurement are all equal inhabitants of her poetic world.  I am as likely to find who she, the poet, calls God high in a nest in a tree, or in lowly vermin, or detached fingers, or in a tentative kiss, as in that word itself.  And wonder how they can all be so equally embraced. 

Wonder, a result of being enthralled by the leaps that, within the context of the work, all make sense.  The underlying spirit of the language propels me forward.  What is next?  I am not always quite certain, on first reading, what that will be, but it doesn’t matter. I quickly learn to trust. The surprises, the displacement, and, after being temporarily in a wilderness, the resettling.    

Even with repeated readings, the work holds me. The “small hand” of Elizabeth is a generous one.  I am with the spirit of her words as they hover, making a place for me to linger.  “Here we are moved toward battle and warped glass/but moved by/our Lady, the ship, who prefers delicacy.” (Asea, pg. 36). As I travel through the quiet intensity of this poetry, I am always astonished.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

Susanne Dyckman is the author of two full length volumes of poetry (equilibrium’s form, Shearsman Books, and A Dark Ordinary, Furniture Press Books) as well as number of chapbooks, including two published by above/ground press.  Her work (both collaborative and individual) has been published in a number of journals, the latest being Fence, Denver Quarterly, and parentheses. She has taught undergraduate and graduate level writing courses, and for five years hosted a summer poetry reading series. She lives in Albany, California.  

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