domingo, 30 de noviembre de 2014

RON PRETTY [14.152] Poeta de Australia


Ron Pretty

Ron Pretty es un poeta australiano, editor y profesor. Nacido en 1940

Ha sido profesor de escritura en la Universidad de Wollongong y la Universidad de Melbourne, así como en las escuelas, colegios y una amplia variedad de organizaciones de la comunidad. Fue mentor de muchos poetas australianos. Editó la revistas Scarp: Nuevas Artes y Escritura y Blue Dog:. Poesía de Australia

Ron Pretty fue fundamental en el establecimiento de la Fundación Australia Poesía. Fue galardonado con el Premio de NSW Premier de Poesía y fue nombrado miembro de la Orden de Australia por sus servicios a la literatura de Australia. 

Bibliografía 

POESÍA

The Habit of Balance. Five Islands Press 1988
Bald Hill with Gliders. Five Islands Press 1991
Halfway to Eden. Hale & Ironmonger 1996
Of the Stone: New and Selected Poems. Five Islands Press 2000
Where the Heart Is. Picaro Press 2009
Postcards from the Centre. Profile Poetry 2010
Grace Notes and other poems. PIcaro Press 2012
What the Afternoon Knows. Pitt Street Poetry 2013

NON FICTION

Creating Poetry. Five Islands Press 1987, 2001
Nicole: another chance at life. (with Kaye Bowden). Five Islands Press 1993
Practical Poetics. Five Islands Press 2003

como EDITOR

Outlook: an anthology of poems for senior students. Longman Cheshire 1992
Anthology of the Illawarra. Five Islands Press 1994
Cry Out! An anthology of street poetry (with Ann Davis). Five Islands Press 1996
The Argument from Desire: the 1999 Newcastle Prize Anthology. Five Islands Press 1999
Blue Like Tea: an anthology of poems from the Wollongong workshop . Five Islands Press 2000
Wild About the Roof. Wollongong Poetry Workshop 2001
Poems for all Occasions. Five Islands Press 2002
Two Spaces of Poetry: poems from Australia & West Bengal 2006
The Road South: an anthology of contemporary Australian poetry. Kolkata: Bengal Creations 2007


COMETA

Sombras vespertinas. Afuera en la pradera
un niño solitario con su cometa, una estrella en el cielo a la luz del día:
la arqueada cuerda de los sueños presiona contra
Will, que no la deja en libertad. Esta es su ciudad,

su  kelpie negro baila a su alrededor, sus compañeros
esperan en la parada del autobús, con botes de spray
listos para marcar su territorio. Will no tiene ninguna prisa,
los virajes del cometa y los descensos en picado en el aire

como un halcón que retorna a su brazo al anochecer.
No quiere volver a casa; sabe que su madre está fuera,
haciendo realidad su última fantasía. Cuando sale la luna,
el cometa de Will cabecea, y sólo

sombras de su sueño le guían, confinado, como
un halcón enjaulado, en calles acordonadas y sin salida.

Versión de Carlos Alcorta



Respect

And then there's Steve, black sheep of the everyday,
who would not change his life for any other.
He loves his room at the Albert Clarke Hostel,
would not swap for any poncey house or bungalow
in which some wanker family lives.

He had that once, and kids now scattered who
never visit. That's fine by him. His profile's
not on Facebook, only on police files state to state
for nothing much, he says, just a bit of dealing pot,
a fight or two, or telling the fuzz to get fucked
whenever they try to take him down.

Stopped for drunken driving in an unregistered car
and ordered out, he smiles, 'Say please!' 'Get out
the car,' the cop repeats. He refuses, repeats
his own demand, and finds himself in cuffs
and bruised in the back of a van. All he wants
from life, he says, is stitched in scars on face
and body – from cops or mates whose women
he steals, the freaks he sells his deals to or the pricks
who threw him off the train for being off his face.

But for all his stays in Long Bay gaol, those
psychotic episodes on pot or ice or horse,
he loves his mum as only a prodigal can,
and she loves him for his tinder arms and frail legs,
the wheezing breath in his pigeon chest.
She just wishes he'd remain a slurred voice
on the other end of the phone. She loves
his loyalty, his feverish affection, but is always
terrified he'll visit – with his beard reaching to his chest,
the tats on arms and scars on face and body,
whenever he arrives, he cuts a fearsome figure
in the quiet country town she lives in.

For forty years the cops have beaten him
to pulp for one crime or another;
but now they seldom raid the hostel
where he holds court, perhaps expecting
- hoping – someday soon will be his last.

But Steven skin-and-bones has no regrets
and fewer wants: he has some pot to deal
and every now and then a woman to take to bed
by his blazing drug-fueled eyes. The others in the hostel
tread warily around him for a fuse so short,
a carelessness of consequence that none there now
would care to cross him. At last he has the only thing
he's ever craved or fought for in this life.






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