Bloomsday in the Bogs

Year 23. 

Bloomsday In The Bogs

I search for your name in the clouds when all this time 

I should have returned to the bogs. To the cranberry bog 

where they rope the ripe berries into a red, pond-wide heart.

To the summer bog on Nantucket where I could have spread

your ashes in the Atlantic, on the North Shore: Quidnet Beach.

I could search for a bog here

 –the aiguamolls–

where I could later join you.

Around the bog thick poplars whisper and shake: a leafy hug.

Over the bog rises a silver mist: heat carrying away winter’s tears.

On the bog dragonflies hover and dip: listening.

In the bog science proceeds: time rethinks morning, math, eternity.

Under the bog the world wonders how it will all end.

Beyond the bog you wait for me: since the beginning.

A Poem in Craft of Care Anthology

 I am grateful to Charley and Claire for selecting a poem of mine to include in the Black Pear Press Craft of Care anthology. "A Recipe for Parenting" is on page 2.

Craft of Care 

Best Literary Translations 2027 nomination by WLT

 I had word today that World Literature Today has nominated my translation of Mónica Ojeda's poem [And Mama Told Me] for "Best Literary Translation of 2027. Huge thank you to Daniel Simon for this honor.

Two Poems from Ecuador

Two Poem Translations in World Literature Today

The November issue of World Literature Today includes two poems in my translation of Mónica Ojeda's Historia de la leche (2nd edition @Candaya in December).

World Literature Today

 #xl8women

Ways of Translating a Poem in The Somerville Times

I have a new poem in today's Lyrical Somerville.

Thank you, Doug Holder!

Ways of Translating a Poem

Also on dversepoets

Day 8008 (Bloomsday)

Day 8008

I roll off the same bed

–grandparents’ wool mattress-

you were carried from naked

in a long black box

the young men struggling

down the four long flights,

your absence still palpable

in the sticky Barcelona morning;

in the bookmarked

Cien años de soledad;

in the table I write on, scarred

in the long ago move, refinished

by the carpinter who replaced 

the floor your chair scratched up,

whom I wave to on the street

every now and then.

 One of my very favorite online poetry journals, Atrium Poetry, has published a poem of mine today.

A Couple of Sundays

Thank you to editors Claire Walker and Holly McGill.

27 Years & Pájaros de Barro

 OR We Are Now in The 27 Club

Pájaros de Barro

Hoy son pájaros de barro que quieren volar –Manolo García

Our hands met in the thick clay

of providence’s two-tongued river.

We made a dam in our haste –

birds of clay from sanctified waters.

Our hands entwined and we carried

those clay birds to the sea; the beach

blew its white sand over us all –

a blessing, a bonding, a benediction.

Our hands wrenched apart – drought

in our two-tongued river drained

the sea, left you dry, me full of salt

water our clay birds could not drink.

Our hands turned into my hands which

have held our clay birds up to each

rising tide. I hold them again, feel

your touch as they empty my hands.

When I Was God - in Molecule issue 12

 

I have a tiny poem in issue 12 of  Molecule - a tiny lit mag.

on page 36 of the online PDF here: https://moleculetinylitmag.art.blog/

De Quincey’s Botany in The Georgia Review

 The Georgia Review Fall issue has published Mónica Ojeda’s Botánica de Quincey, from Historia de la leche, in my translation along with the original. The Delusional Epitaphs poem is online in English and Spanish.

Link to poem

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Bloomsday Again

 21st Bloomsday

                for Pep

Today your death is

twenty-one years old.

An adult.

Today your death could

walk into a bar in Boston

and order a Sam Adams.

Today your death could

play blackjack at Encore

(which is only five, btw).

Today your death could

rent a car, adopt a child,

be a driver's ed instructor.

Today your death is

a college junior majoring

in grief management.

Today your death is

so big it would need

numeraled candles on its cake.

Today your death will

have just fifteen more

years to live.

Poems from Mónica Ojeda's History of Milk in LALT

 Latin American Literature Today issue 27

has published a bilingual spread from Historia de la leche by Mónica Ojeda,

translated by me. There are four poems from across the collection.

Here is the link to the English : LALT

Poetry Northwest Poem of the Week

A poem I translated from Mónica Ojeda's collection Historia de la leche

 is Poem of the Week at Poetry Northwest.

Read on Poetry Northwest

20 Years of Missing You

Dear Pep, 

Your daughter sent me this video this morning, 

while I was thinking what to write for you. She 

was thinking of you, missing you, sending me 

a virtual hug. Your brother took this, added 

the songs. A walk up to Can Nan with your 

nephew and your daughter. Like so many

walks. You found the biggest rovelló ever. 

Twenty Bloomsdays without you. 

Twenty years of missing you. 

Twenty years of you missing her. 

Look at that little girl. You would be 

so proud. 

Love, Kymm 

#143

What I Learned... for Paco, in memoriam

On the last day of 2023's January Writing Hours (thank you Kim Moore and Clare Shaw) I wrote this in response to the first prompt, based on Brad Aaron Modlin's poem "What You Missed That Day You Were Absent from Fourth Grade" - having learned the day before that my friend and half of my favorite publishers had died. Paco, you would not be surprised to find that, as always, it's all about me.

New England Poetry Club Honorable Mention

 The New England Poetry Club awarded Honorable Mention in the Diana Der-Hovanessian Prize, selected by Eric Hyett, to "Papa, you wanted a son" - my translation of a poem from Mónica Ojeda's collection Historia de la leche, (Editorial Candaya, 2020).

Hear me read 

Go here to read the poem at the New England Poetry Club 2022 Anthology page

Sant Jordi #24

    After the Hail 

          for Pep, 24 years later 

The apple tree died while I 

was gone, its bark stripped 

and fallen back to the pot, 

the largest one on the terrace.

Stark, nobby branches choked 

by equally dead morning glory 

tendrils hold sacs of seeds 

stiffly in the April wind. 

Both dead things remain 

to train the thick nasturtium 

stalks with their wealth 

of perpetual sunset. 

Opposite, the barely salvaged 

pine tree pushes its newborn 

needles towards the sun. They

follow east to south to west. 

Among all the dead branches 

in sunburned pots bursting 

with wild garlic, clover, asparagus, 

the surprise of this tall purple iris. 

 🐍🌹📚

Poesía en acción #17

 Better late than never!

Poesía en acción published my translation of two poems from Mónica Ojeda's Historia de la leche, along with the originals. 

Link to poems

There's also a micro interview with me.

Link to micro interview

I'm very grateful to Olivia Lott for the invitation, and grateful to Kate Hedeen of Action Books, who first encouraged me to pursue getting these poems published in English. And exceedingly grateful to Mónica for writing them and letting me translate them.

It's been a weird year and a half, but I'm grateful for a lot of things. Happy Thanksgiving!

🦃

Bloomsday; Dad's obituary; 18 years without Pep

 Dad's obituary was published in the Boston Globe today, as I requested, so that I could also remember Pep, who died 18 years ago. 

There's a page set up for him at Bartlett Funeral Home, who took his body to Harvard, and Globe has another site on Legacy. It's the same obituary.

Legacy site

When Harvard is done, three years from now, his remains will be buried at the family plot in Mount Auburn Cemetery, a very beautiful place to rest.

Fair winds and following seas, Pa.

Translations! Some poems by Carlos Vitale in Words and Worlds journal

 

Words and Worlds have published three poems by Carlos Vitale alongside my English translations in the Summer Issue.

SUMMER ISSUE / SOMMER AUSGABE 2020

This great online journal focuses on the immigrant experience.