poetry translation

Ani Dasgupta

Ani Dasgupta was born in Kolkata, India, and holds a PhD in Economics from Princeton University. He is a Professor at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy and the director of MMA’s International Maritime Business Center. He has taught at Penn State, Tufts, and Boston Universities, in addition to serving as the chief economist of a dot-com and being a business consultant and software creator. He is currently working on a book-length project of “trans-creating” several of Sankha Ghosh’s poems.

 

 

Heinrich Heine

Heinrich was born in Düsseldorf, Germany in either 1797 or 1799. In 1831 he took exile in France, where he often struggled financially despite irregular patronage from a millionaire uncle. With freedom of speech he developed an international reputation for the lyricism, wordplay, irony, and excoriating satire of his poems, and was called the last of the Romantics. In 1841 he married Crescence Eugénie Mirat (“Mathilde”), who cared for him during eight years of paralysis; he wrote from bed until his death in 1856.

 

Pierre de Ronsard

Pierre de Ronsard (1524 – 1585) was attached to both the French and Scottish courts in his youth; he was later named royal poet for the House of Valois. He led the group of poets called the Pleiades, who looked to classical poetry for paradigms but wrote in French rather than Latin to encourage the development of French literature. In An Introduction to the French Poets, Geoffrey Brereton writes, “He projected . . . an image of his own century. . . .

 

Terese Coe

Terese Coe’s poems and translations have appeared in Able Muse, Alaska Quarterly Review, the Cincinnati Review, New American Writing, Ploughshares, Poetry, Threepenny Review, Agenda, the Moth, New Walk, New Writing Scotland, Poetry Review, the TLS, the Stinging Fly, and many other publications and anthologies. Her poem “More” was heli-dropped across London in the 2012 London Olympics Rain of Poems, and her latest collection of poems, Shot Silk, was published by Kelsay Books.

 

Able Muse Press Announces Sir Gawain and the Green Knight - A New Verse Translation: Now in Pre-Release


Able Muse Pushcart Prize 2015 Nominations

 
I'm pleased to announce that the following four poems and two stories have been nominated for Pushcart Prize 2015 by Able Muse.

Poetry:

Challenge for a Mounted Tournament in the Form of a Ballet

english translation

Challenge for a Mounted Tournament in the Form of a Ballet

original French poem

Cartel pour le combat à cheval, en forme de balet

Ces nouveaux Chevaliers par moy vous font entendre
Que leurs premiers ayeuls furent fils de Méandre,
À qui le fleuve apprit à tourner leurs chevaux
Comme il tourne et se vire et se plie en ses eaux.

Pyrrhe en celle façon sur le tombeau d’Achille
Feit une danse armée, et aux bords de Sicile
Enée en decorant son pere de tournois,
Feit sauter les Troyens au branle du harnois,
Où les jeunes enfans en cent mille manieres
Meslerent les replis de leurs courses guerrières.

Pallas qui les conduit, a de sa propre main
Façonné leurs chevaux, et leur donna le frein,
Mais plustost un esprit, qui sagement les guide
Par art, obeissant à la loy de la bride.

Tantost vous les voirrez à courbettes danser,
Tantost se reculer, s’approcher, s’avancer,
S’escarter, s’esloigner, se serrer, se rejoindre
D’une pointe allongée, et tantost d’une moindre,
Contrefaisant la guerre au semblant d’une paix,
Croisez, entrelassez de droit et de biais,
Tantost en forme ronde, et tantost en carrée,
Ainsi qu’un Labyrinth, dont la trace esgarée
Nous abuse les pas en ses divers chemins,

Ainsi qu’on voit danser en la mer les Dauphins,
Ainsi qu’on voit volet par le travers des nues
En diverses façons une troupe de Grues.

 

      — [abridged]

 

A Woman and Her Cat

english translation

A Woman and Her Cat

original French poem

Femme et chatte

Elle jouait avec sa chatte;
Et c’était merveille de voir
La main blanche et la blanche patte
S’ébattre dans l’ombre du soir.

Elle cachait—la scélérate!—
Sous ces mitaines de fil noir
Ses meurtriers ongles d’agate,
Coupants et clairs comme un rasoir.

L’autre aussi faisait la sucrée,
Et rentrait sa griffe acérée,
Mais le diable n’y perdait rien. . .

Et dans le boudoir où, sonore,
Tintait son rire aérien,
Brillaient quatre points de phosphore.

 

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