Inspector Kobold, Durs Grunbein, poem

Translated from the German by Michael Eskin, and featured in the 9/27/10 issue of The New Yorker magazine:

Inspector Kobold

Sea horses-who knows
What he was thinking.

Chess pieces made of fruit jelly
Or hand-blown glass?

Photo from chrono.qub.ac.uk

Appearing only in profile,
Sad clowns of the moody sea,

They turn Poseidon's fields
Into a Spanish riding school:

Tiny ocean Lipizzaners.

Only, they don't seem to enjoy the dressage-
Judging by their faces-
These flute mouths, slightly piqued.

 Does the current bother them, the kelp
In which their tails get caught?

Upright in their fish-bone corsets,
Ash-brown waistcoats, on their rounds of inspection
Through the dark algaeous spaces-

Unfazed by the sea urchins' sarabande.

I'm currently reading The Bars of Atlantis by Durs Grunbein, a selection of essays, so I was especially amused by this poem in The New Yorker.  It's true, isn't it, sea horses do usually look a bit surly?

World's End by Pablo Neruda

Translated by William O’Daly

Pablo Neruda never disappoints. There are many great poets but he is one that seems to say so much with so few words. Succinct and concise. That said, World’s End, the final of the series of Neruda collections from Copper Canyon Press, feels different somehow. He addresses larger issues and concepts than his previous collections. In places, his tone feels more defiant. Of course, his picturesque lexicon and love for Chile still pervades, despite the clear sense of disappointment he seems to have placed on himself.

In “The Wars”, he speaks to the scars and remains of war. He talks of the Holocaust, Hiroshima, and the labor camps of Siberia, and despite his familiarity with heartache and violence, he still appears mystified by the waste.

Come here, fallen hat,
burnt shoe, toy
or posthumous pile of eyeglasses
or else man, woman, city
rise from the ash
as far as this weary page,
deprived by the weeping.

Come, black snow, solitude
of Siberian injustice,
frayed remains of pain
when close ties were lost
and the fog of the inexplicable night
overtook the righteous.

He talks about his homeland, Chile, and describes it as a mother whose appearance has changed. Neruda served as a senator at one time, and was active politically and hands-on in his duties.  He could see that for the common people, time had not been kind. In “Ports”:

Seated, she sees the flowing water
of the dark irrigation ditches,
the detritus of the outskirts,
the assassinated gills,
and the stiff dead cats.

In the books, mother country
was the color of oranges and snow,
and through her hair fell
a cascade of cherries.
So it hurts to see her
seated in a broken chair,
among potato peelings
and rickety furniture.

A favorite of mine was “Little Devils”, wherein he describes both individuals as well as political entities and their quest to raise themselves above others, crushing the voiceless with their agendas. He ends it by acknowledging that for all his contributions, he could not create significant change.

I have seen how the rich one
would prepare his character,
the social climber his alibi,
the gold digger her nets,
the poet his inclusions.

I played with blank paper,
each day facing the light.

I am a working fisher
of verses, living and wet,
that go leaping in my veins.

I never knew how to make anything else
or knew how to curb the needs
of the natural braggart


…leave me alone with the sea;
I was born to small fish.

As in the other collections, William O’Daly prefaces the collection and contributes greatly to understanding Neruda’s intentions and state of mind in World’s End. He reveals “If Neruda never allowed disillusionment and heartache to destroy his hope, he credits his powers of renewal, as a man and as a poet, to forgetting (p.XXIV).” O'Daly also identifies and clarifies some of Neruda's allusions to military leaders such as Castro and Stalin, a knowledge that helps the reader understand Neruda's own understanding of world events.

Special thanks to Janet Jones of Copper Canyon Press for the Review Copy.

A Salute to Spanish Poetry, John Howard Reid

100 Masterpieces from Spain & Latin America

This is a diverse collection of poets and their poetry, lovingly translated by John Howard Reid, from the original Spanish or Portuguese. Despite the varying geographical origins, many of the topics are united: the shades of gray in shadows, the play of light and darkness, and the mysterious reflections of water, fog, and mist. Loneliness is a common theme, as is a feeling of desolation. But rather than dissolving into a sea of melancholy, this collection features other poems that illuminate playful charm, delicate romance, and unyielding devotion.

One of my favorites is from Jose Juan Tablada:    

An Alternative Nocturne:

Golden New Yorker nights

Cold walls of Moorish limestone

A champagne foxtrot from Earl Fuller’s Rector Novelty Orchestra

Mute houses and barred windows

Glancing around

Over the silent roofs

The soul is petrified

White cats outlined against the moon

Like Lot’s wife

And yet

For all that,

It’s the same

In New York

And Bogota!

The Moon…!

The art of the collection lies in the translation from the varying languages and their particular dialects and styles. Some of the poets featured are Delmira Agustini from Uruguay, Carlos Oquendo de Amat from Peru, Gustavo Adolfo Becquer and Federico Garcia Lorca from Spain, Brazil’s Olavo Bilac, Argentina’s Leopoldo Lugones, and Julian del Casal from Cuba. Notably, Miguel de Cervantes, author of Don Quixote, is also included with his poem The Gypsy. Sixteenth century poets mingle with modern playwrights in a readable collection that never gets too heavy or depressing, or worse, too scholarly (and therefore inaccessible). The way the poems are linked in the order that they are featured must have some significance, because they seem to lead into each other, giving them a sense of a greater story in play, a novelization of similar thoughts. 

This is a comprehensive collection featuring more than 50 well known and lesser known poets.  I found it fascinating to explore the poetry of poets I would have never discovered on my own.

Special thanks to the translator, John Howard Reid, for sending me the collection for review.

It is available on Amazon.com.