TONY LEUZZI [19.464]

TONY LEUZZI 

Tony Leuzzi. Poeta. EE.UU.  Ha publicado los libros de poesía Tongue-Tied and Singing (Foothills, 2004), Radiant Losses (ganador del New Sins Editorial Prize en 2009 y publicado al año siguiente) y The Burning Door (Tiger Bark Press, 2014). Es autor también del libro Passwords Primeval (Boa Editions, 2012), una colección de entrevistas con 20 poetas americanos que tuvo una gran acogida de crítica y público. Trabaja como profesor en el Monroe Community College de Rochester (Nueva York).

Tres poemas de TONY LEUZZI de LA PUERTA EN LLAMAS

Hoy queremos compartir con vosotros tres poemas de TONY LEUZZI, del poemario The Burning Door (Rochester, NY, 2014), traducidos por Jorge Rodríguez Miralles y Mario Murgia en nuestra sección de TRADUCCIONES.

http://www.lagallaciencia.com/2016/09/tres-poemas-de-tony-leuzzi-de-la-puerta.html

For every

book

I have read     there

are

more than a million

I haven’t     including those I bought

thinking

a wise man should at least

own if not read them

possession

being the nine-tenths

of something and nearness the tenth

not thinking they’d roost like silent birds

on tall shelves that were once trees.

*

Por cada

libro

que he leído

hay más

de un millón

que no, incluyendo ésos

que compré pensando que un hombre sabio

no debe por lo menos poseerlos,

sino leerlos,

la posesión siendo nueve décimas de algo

y la cercanía la décima,

sin esperar que ellos fueran a posarse

como pájaros silenciosos en los estantes altos

que alguna vez fueron árboles.

*   

                                          

Things stay green

for

such a short time.

Time

is a lousy word

for poems that are all about it

and most

poems certainly are.

Let’s try this again:

Things stay green

for such a short while

then turn disappear and return

in abundance as if “everywhere”

distracts the eye from “ever.”

*

Las cosas permanecen verdes

muy poco

tiempo.

Tiempo

es una palabra inútil

para los poemas sobre el tema

y la mayoría de los poemas

casi siempre lo son.

Intentemos otra vez:

Las cosas permanecen verdes

muy poco tiempo

y después desaparecen y regresan

en abundancia como si "a todos lados"

distrajera el ojo del "siempre."

                                        

*

Report

Welter of feather, absence of wing: from this we find

matter effusive, spirit

elusive—

    as told by the body it left behind.

In other words, nothing new.

What did you expect? Some vertiginous theory

of essence? Or a black claw

stained bright red from tearing apart the gold bird of Form?

*

Relato

Agitación de pluma, ausencia de ala: por esto encontramos

la materia efusiva, el espíritu

elusivo---

como relatado por el cuerpo abandonado.

En otras palabras, nada nuevo.

¿Qué esperabas? ¿Alguna teoría vertiginosa de la esencia? ¿O una garra negra

manchada de rojo brillante

por destrozar el pájaro dorado de la Forma?

(Del poemario The Burning Door. Rochester, NY, 2014) 

*Traducción de Jorge Rodríguez Miralles & Mario Murgia

___________________________________________________

Jorge Rodríguez Miralles (Miami, 1977) es poeta, crítico literario, traductor y activista por la paz y el medio ambiente. Se graduó en escritura creativa por la Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics de la Universidad de Naropa (Colorado) y ha publicado sus trabajos en importantes revistas como Ragazine, The Cimarron Review, Danse Macabre, TheThePoetry, Bombay Gin, Big Bridge o Metropolis. Algunos de sus poemas, traducidos por él mismo al español, fueron publicados por El coloquio de los perros en 2015. Actualmente ejerce la docencia en un instituto de educación secundaria, en el Miami Dade College y en la Universidad de St. Thomas (Florida). En 2014 apareció su libro de poemas Everything/Nothing.

Mario Murgia es traductor, poeta y crítico literario. Imparte clases de literatura inglesa en la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la UNAM, donde actualmente dirige la Cátedra Extraordinaria Virginia Woolf. Es miembro del Sistema Nacional de Investigadores y entre sus más reciente proyectos editoriales se encuentra la publicación del libro Versos escritos en agua: la influencia de El paraíso perdidoen la poesía de Byron, Keats y Shelley. Colaboró con la traducción de tres relatos para la nueva edición de Dublineses, de James Joyce (Nuestros Clásicos, UNAM, 2014).

Cuando se le preguntó sobre el contenido gay de sus poemas, Tony Leuzzi respondió: 

"Cualquier hombre que admita su atracción por otro hombre se encuentra en una posición marginal en la sociedad. Es 2010 y todavía me encuentro con editores que no publicarán algunos de mis poemas porque son demasiado "explícitos". Una vez escribí un soneto que un editor rechazó basado en su contenido homosexual. Recuerdo las palabras exactas: "Tu soneto es muy impresionante. Pero estamos tratando de que nuestra publicación sea recogida por las bibliotecas universitarias. Lo siento.' ¡¿Qué?! ¿Estás bromeando con esto? Supongo que lo que estoy diciendo es que las representaciones del homoerotismo masculino siguen siendo bastante duras en los círculos de lectura principales. El hecho de que casi un tercio de esta nueva colección de poemas se ocupe directamente del deseo masculino gay es un riesgo. Es político." [ENTREVISTADO POR NOAH MICHELSON]

"Any man who admits his attraction to another man finds himself in a marginal position in the patriarchy. It’s 2010 and I still come across editors who won’t publish some of my poems because they are too ‘explicit.’ I once wrote a sonnet that an editor rejected based upon its homosexual content. I remember the exact words: ‘Your sonnet is very impressive. But we’re trying to get our publication picked up by university libraries. Sorry.’ What?! Are you kidding me with this? I guess what I’m saying is, representations of male homoeroticism are still pretty edgy in mainstream reading circles. The fact that almost one-third of this new collection of poems deals squarely with gay male desire is a risk. It’s political.”

Illumination (from Radiant Losses)

I

climbed

the stairs

to his room

and found him naked,

as promised, lying silently

upon the bed, and the bed itself quite promising.

I

stripped

quickly

and joined him

in the soft, semi-

darkness lit by two thin candles,

where our pale skin flickered in the flickering shadows.

But

when

flame ceased,

and he turned

on the lights so I

could gather back my clothes, I saw

before me, posed like gods, a pair of tall bronze statues.

THE MAN WITH THREE NOSES 

I

would

not have

believed it

had I not seen him

for myself in a small café

along one of the persistently fashionable

streets

of

Paris

where women

wrapped in velvet scarves

and a cool air of elegance

pass like the still but extended wings of silent birds

and

svelte

boys in

close fitting

clothes gaze above their

steaming cups of coffee at a

distant thing—or nothing at all—their red lips parted.

POINT OF VIEW 

A

bald

man in

an over-

sized army jacket

settles upon the scarred surface

of a bench in the park, then sinks slowly into sleep.

A

tall

boy with

tangled hair

bends before the man,

tweaks the lens of his thirty-five

millimeter, steps in once more, is about to shoot

when

he

and the

man are caught—

quickly—by the frame

of another man’s camera

for the “Living” section of the local newspaper.

APOLOGY 

I

am

sorry

I woke you

before you finished

your dream in which you were a goat

and I the blue, luxuriant grass you nibbled on

all

day

and night

each day of

your life in a state

of perpetual contentment

because, apparently, some enzyme in me (the grass)

made

you

restful—

forgetful,

even, of the time

and life’s pressures and absences—

but I am hungry and it’s your turn to cook dinner.

ON RIBERA’S “LA MUJER BARBUDA" 

She

is

not some

frightful hag

with a heavy beard

but a stout man with sturdy hands

and one enormous breast suspended from the center

of

his

chest like

a swollen

gourd soon to be plucked

and hollowed, then carefully strung

with gut for the lyre, on which a bard might weave weird tales—

a

breast

so soft

it startles

the infant at its

nipple into a deep, timeless

silence which resembles (but is not) awe or worship.

SPRING 

One

day

in spring

when the brown

grass was hard beneath

our boots and every breath brought forth

a stream of brief but rolling cloud, we walked the train tracks

past

the

edge of

town. Brian

handed out the beer

and Jorge allotted each three smokes.

Tommy brought his lighter and a guy we didn’t know

named

Pete.

I brought

the silence—

which was needed when

we stopped to stare at gutted cars

and Pete for who knows what yelled “Look!” and started dancing.

from Cadae: The Pi Poems

1

The music

stopped

for a moment

then—

when we began

to savor in its absence silence—

started

again, maybe a bit

louder than before

or maybe

we only heard it

as such, a sudden intrusion

we had previously not noticed

and this is what disturbed us.

2

No matter

where

the city gays

there

confess their scene is

a sad huddle of hopeless bottoms

each one

wishing for some dream top

to plough him senseless—

an Eden

understood only

by those first barred who with an air

of almost tragic boredom insist

their loss is epidemic.

3

Imagine

some

body you would

love

to fuck then try to

find this body somewhere in the world

and while

you look and encounter

as you are bound to

encounter

one disappointment

after another imagine

just how thin and stripped of incident

your life would be otherwise

________________________________________________

Tony Leuzzi is a writer and teacher living in Rochester, NY. His second book of poems, Radiant Losses, won the New Sins Editors’ Prize. In November 2012, BOA Editions will release Passwords Primeval, a book of interviews with twenty American poets.

.