MAUREEN N. McLANE [10.305] Poeta de Estados Unidos

Maureen N. McLane

Poeta.
Fecha de nacimiento: 24 de diciembre de 1967, Upstate New York, EE.UU.
Educación: Universidad de Harvard, Universidad de Chicago, Universidad de Oxford.
Nominaciones: Premio Nacional del Libro por Poesía, en 2003 ganó el Premio Nona Balakian el National Book Critics Circle a la Excelencia.
Es autora de los libros de poesía: World Enough (2010), and Same Life: poems (2008); and This Blue (2014); as well as the poetry chapbook, This Carrying Life (2006). 
También ha publicado dos libros de crítica literaria, Balladeering, Minstrelsy, and the Making of British Romantic Poetry (2008) and Romanticism and the Human Sciences (2000) y coeditado The Cambridge Companion to British Romantic Poetry (2008).



TODO BIEN

un 'hermoso día'
no pasó nada
y nada iba a pasar
el viento agitaba hojas
que no caían
el bote amarrado no navegaba
& la lluvia caía
sobre la hierba
todo estaba lleno
incluso el vaso vacío

*

una 'hermosa rosa'
ningún signo de mujer
sino el ano suculento de un muchacho
en una lírica persa
llámese ranúnculo
o camelia
no más plegados
que una rosa
cuyos pliegues tu nariz
ahora examina

*

la promiscuidad de
la montaña
cualquier nube puede tomarlo
cualquier sol puede tenerlo
todo vale 
el pacto de hoy
y de mañana

de This Blue: Poems, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Nueva York, 2014
Traducción de Silvia Camerotto


ALL GOOD

a “beautiful day”
nothing happened
and nothing was going to happen
the wind shook leaves
that did not fall
the moored boat did not sail
& the rain fell
on casual grass
everything was full
including the empty glass

*

a “beautiful rose”
no sign of a woman
but a boy’s succulent anus
in a Persian lyric
call it ranunculus
or camellia
are they not more enfolded
than the folded rose
whose folds your nose
now probes

*

the mountain’s
promiscuous
any cloud can take him
any sun have him
it’s all good
today’s assent
and tomorrow’s



ODA

Triste en la cama leías a Horacio 
la oda en la que un amante viejo suplica 
no ser inflamado otra vez 
por un amor perecedero

y una lágrima escapa de su ojo
y una lágrima escapó de tu ojo.
Yo estaba loca por vos y era imprudente
Me alegra amor decir esto

Estaba afligida y te afligía.
Tené cuidado con lo que deseás
me advertiste. No fui cuidadosa
y al final gracias a dios vos tampoco.

Los encantos que narré
las canciones que canté
fueron iluminados por una luz
casi completamente impersonal.

Sin embargo, qué somos sino vehículos
de olas que no percibimos directamente
salvo en esos días en que la luz que se inclina
y nos rodea los cuerpos se convierte en nuestro cuerpo
- los amantes arden en la pira.




ODE

Sad in bed you read Horace
the ode in which an aging lover pleads
not to be inflamed again
by a perishable love

and a tear escapes his eye
and a tear escaped your eye.
I was wild for you and heedless
I am glad love to say this

I was afflicted and afflicted you.
Be careful what you wish for
you warned. I was not careful
nor in the end thank god were you.

The charms I recited
the songs I sang
were lit by a light
almost completely impersonal.

Yet what are we but vehicles
of waves we never directly perceive
except those days the light bending
around our bodies becomes our body
—the lovers ablaze on the pyre

Traducción de Tom Maver




Best Laid

it’s clear
the wind
won’t let up
and a swim’s out —
what you planned
is scotched.
forget the calls,
errands at the mall —
yr resolve’s
superfluous
as a clitoris.
how miraculous
the gratuitous —
spandrels,
cathedrals.
on a sea
of necessity
let’s float
wholly
unnecessary
& call
that free

Source: Poetry (September 2013).




Contact

and sex once
a day a week a
month a year
goes by and one
hyacinth only
returns, frail
blue against the militant
grass that does cover all
in the residential
precinct of the
New England town
its roads long paved
old Indian trails the steps
they took toward
us the first
exchange for a fish
two biscuits

"Contact" from World Enough. 




Every Day a Shiny Bright New Day

it’s good not to drink
it’s good not to piss
in the sink & it’s good
not to think

the clarion ring
of   a glass clinking
with ice good to hear it
fade into a past
you can’t sing

your dumb blues
is over. admit
it was always
borrowed. you paid
no dues you did
no time

but the time spent
sodden. what you thought
I think. your
higher power’s
drunk. god’s
the biggest alky
in the sky

the clouds are whiskey
sours passing by

Source: Poetry (September 2013).







.