Kit Kelen #17 - the poem strayed (for Anne Kellas)

17

the poem strayed

for Anne Kellas

responding to various pieces, and encouraging all to read The White Room Poems

take any tiger

go cliff clock

(a goat in Blundstones does)

mountain is up

can travel with your own clouds

*

is snow

blank as the vault

of falling

?

shovel it

like flight

*

then down from the forest

here for a home

when gone you're with

then the nothing's again

sermon is a kind of sleep

all there is to say

said

*

everything built

to fall

every word

a moment

further from truth

and the unsaid's still

won't even be forgotten

*

in a monotony of rains how else?

go soul-lessly

because there is none

some of us have never come down

some of us are up there still

*

says echo to whom

writing, look no words now?

some birds smaller than you see translate

are for imagination's sake

*

each poem a mirror

see selves there

time sticks

on a sunless trail

it's all of this making away

in the garden's palette

a swim

Ali Jane Smith – not nice

After Magdalena Ball #13 Metamorphose in Place and Melinda Smith #5 

this is the organ of judgement

it’s not nice being alone here

where mayors and major acts have done their thing-a-ling

pipes stretch up to a coat of arms

and that reminds me of the portrait of the young queen

remembered from the infants school

she's swathed in tulle like a sylphide

and that reminds me of fonteyn's long, trembling thigh

and that reminds me of what it felt like to be good at things

when I was ten

a game of listening and thinking

before natural ability or plain hard work got involved

and that reminds me of so many things I did and saw and heard today

switch off the mixmaster, swirls of butter-coloured batter

gradually recede into the general buoyancy of the mixture

poured and scraped into a tin

and that reminds me

of those heartbreaking pikelets entered in the show

'plate of pikelets, undecorated'

plate after plate of undecorated pikelets

some regular, some blobby, some with deflating holes

sitting uneaten, judged.

Ali Jane Smith – There's only speaking

afterreading Kit Kelen's 'A kookaburra for Ali Jane Smith'

The raven moans.

Moans? The call means something

and it could be

“I'm having trouble with the gladwrap on this discarded sandwich”

or

“Alas, I thought there might be

a broken burger ring left in the bag”.

Sometimes the ham or jam or vegemite on bread

can be released with the kind of thumping

the raven would happily offer mouse or fish

and sometimes there really is something in the silver inside

of a scrunched packet.

The raven cares nothing for those retchworthy squeeze tubes of yoghurt.

Leaves them for the rain to take them to the sea

and the lacerated gut of some creature

that has no need for dairy foods or plastic.

Twa ravens discover a scattering of jatz.

There is a brief and cautious flurry of beaks

and something's settled. Hey down 

derry down, hey down down. One eats

the other waits, uncomplaining. 

Béatrice Machet # 15 ATTRACTING MOTHS (playing with candles and matches)

# 15     attracting moths


in response to Is the moth a portent?

 (https://conversationinpoetry.blogspot.fr/2018/03/2-in-response-to-dominque-hecq-5-smell.html)

Just a try ... I'm no trained visual artist, yet I love to draw and paint and glue and    ...   make experiences that end up with images  ... this time I played with candles and matches.

Kit Kelen #16 = bawdy body

16

bawdy body

after Beatrice Machet's 'il est temps de boire'

https://conversationinpoetry.blogspot.com.au/2018/03/beatrice-machet-14-its-time-to-drink.html

il est temps pour

ton paillard de corps

de boire

a clamber up

and knee sit

sip this

let's do the Aristophanes cartwheel

it's all I'm yearning for

roll on!

birds do

and preen

and coo

first words are between us

they are now

nudge and wink

mon petit chou

be my maîtresse

a Rabelais of rudeness

cloister me a monk

for tickle

and tuneful

the form admired

and led to love

was words become a face

and then you're in forever

which is the livelong day

in the end you itch to ache

and equally rub here

that every animal after sad

caught in the curlicue

sat on the bed

then scamper away

the tree becomes an animal

the animal a tree

like sex remembered - treasure it

because you will be gone

Cui Yuwei #10: After Kit Kelen's "a kookaburra"-A Translated Poem of Cheng Xiangyang

Cui Yuwei #10: After Kit Kelen's "a kookaburra"

A Translated Poem of Cheng Xiangyang

Here is the link of Kit Kelen 15#:

https://conversationinpoetry.blogspot.jp/2018/03/kit-kelen-15-kookaburra-for-ali-jane.html

Birdcall

Written in Chinese by Cheng Xiangyang

Translated into English by Cui Yuwei

  

early morning      a bird in the magnolia tree calls out first

followed by other birds

loud and low calling sounds mingled

between times      the magpies and crows jump out of the branches

sounding loud

and low

I also learn to call

they're looking at me

as if I'm a stupid bird

《叫喚》

程向陽

  

清晨 是玉蘭樹上的那壹只鳥最先叫的

然後是其他的鳥

高壹聲低壹聲 叫喚

偶爾 枝頭喜鵲烏鴉跳出來

高壹聲低壹聲

在叫喚

我也學著叫喚

它們看我

像在看壹只笨鳥

Cui Yuwei #9-Conversation, after Kevin Brophy’s ‘Kangaroo’

Cui Yuwei #9-Conversation

after Kevin Brophy’s ‘Kangaroo’


Conversation
Cui Yuwei


                              妳的愛
                              像袋鼠
                              在我心裏繁殖
                              它沒有天敵


your love
multiplies in me
like kangaroos
no natural enemy

Cui Yuwei #8: After Nathan Curnow's "Every kid is a poet"—A Translated Poem of a Chinese Girl Poet Jiang Rui

Cui Yuwei #8: After Nathan Curnow's "Every kid is a poet"

A Translated Poem of a Chinese Girl Poet Jiang Rui 

Here is the link of Nathan Curnow:

https://conversationinpoetry.blogspot.jp/2018/01/nathan-curnow-1-versing.html

Glad and Delight

Written in Chinese by Jiang Rui

Translated into English by Cui Yuwei

I write down a word "glad"

mom asking me to turn it into "delight"

does it make a difference?

she says, "delight" sounds better

more of a feminine term

but I still prefer

"glad"

《喜歡和歡喜》
江睿

我寫喜歡
媽媽叫我寫歡喜
有多大差別呢
媽媽說歡喜更好
更像女人
但我還是覺得
喜歡好

Kit Kelen #15 - a kookaburra for Ali Jane Smith

15

a kookaburra for Ali Jane Smith

having scared up dawn long since

sits and waits the wire

just come

shifts one tree

tells smoke

fire spreads

like consciousness

and after excavation

see where the worm was?

now you don't

this was a riddling of the light

down hatch

it's always a kooka presides

own deckchair

and still wound for flight

a start-up business

then we're in session

that's how you can tell

there's only speaking when day demands

here's the portrait sat

this bird is an admonishment

says don't Bogart

bisector of snakes

sky sage

of downward overspec glances

so knowing coiffed

so eye to all

a 3-D blue in feather depths

how pleasant fat sleek pompous

your bright beak

your head of the magic dust

and inkling

full moon of homage

a miracle

could be any year

machine could have come down anywhere

but it falls to us

take up a post

laugh off the day

tall to glory

with the power

yet not so far off

and the garden round

you won't see the maze

all rain-between

the work recedes like waves from

it's all to be arriving then

now the world's spun here 

 *

with a view of the creek today 

 

Béatrice Machet # 14 IT'S TIME TO DRINK

# 14     IT’S TIME TO DRINK (il est temps de boire)

“some objects are empty

meaning we have the opportunity to fill them”

Kit Kelen

 two verses taken from https://conversationinpoetry.blogspot.fr/2018/03/kit-kelen-13-faster-than-shinkansen.html (beginning of part 4)  

A snap like a tick like a ringing finger

it’s time

the sound either consoles or threatens

the imagined clock as a real act

and the steel hand’s movement

sensing what skin and ear will never experience

just like that

a snap and the flesh

a snap and the lips

a snap and its tracks

bare feet

tictacking

like dripping

water

without suspicion

it’s time

for your bawdy body's sake   

to drink

Comme le tic d’un doigt sonneur

claquer : il est l’heure

le son console ou menace

 tel un acte réel le réveil imaginé

et le mouvement de l’aiguille

perçoivent ce que ni peau ni oreille n’expérimenteront jamais

juste ça

un clac et la chair

un clac et les lèvres

un clac et ses traces

pieds nus

qui tictaquent

comme de l’eau

qui s’égoutte

sans le moindre soupçon

il est temps pour

ton paillard de corps

de boire