Week Three: The Power of Sound
This is a prompt about sound, about mishearing, and letting the brain slur
sound into meaning of some sort. Below
are two poems in Swedish by Ann Jäderlund.
As the timer runs, enact a “translation” based on the sounds or what you
think the sounds are.
Feel the rhythms. Roll the sounds on your tongue. Try two or three “translations” of each poem. One can be complete gobbledygook, but with two others try to introduce some sense into the words you interpret from the sounds. Detect some emotion. Move toward meaning. (If you speak Swedish, please find two other poems in some language you do not speak!)
Feel the rhythms. Roll the sounds on your tongue. Try two or three “translations” of each poem. One can be complete gobbledygook, but with two others try to introduce some sense into the words you interpret from the sounds. Detect some emotion. Move toward meaning. (If you speak Swedish, please find two other poems in some language you do not speak!)
Gråt inte sa min skugga. När vi gick förbi
i skogen. Gråt inte som du känner. Nästan
som en levande formel. Under skuggorna
vita svall. Du är kanske också förlåten.
Lukten av gråtvatten. Ankor och
vattenpupiller.
Vem vill du vara nu? Och nu och nu och
senare åter? Häng med den ödsliga
armen. Häng med huvudet bakåt och gråt.
Again, take some time to look through our colleagues’ posts from the
previous week, and comment on any that intrigue you.
And again, wait until the end of the week to look back at what you’ve done,
and then post one or two of your “translations” that please you.
The purpose here to begin to relax into the pleasure of not-knowing, of non-sense, and into the spirit of discovery required of every act of creativity.
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ReplyDeleteI didn't start having fun with this one until I gave myself permission to depart from the original text whenever I felt like it -- to use the sounds as a starting point but if my mind leapt outward, I could go with it. Got some odd and amusing work out of it. Here are two:
ReplyDeleteGreetings to you, my skin. Now you give fairly and
I discretely. Greetings in someday's coming. Nasty
sun unleavened, formal. Under skin's ornament
life swells. You are constantly almost forgotten.
Lucky to have gravity. Anchors us and propels.
When will you run from us? Oh you Oh you Oh
senator? Hang me then updside down,
armless. Hang me heavenward, backlit and great.
I'm intrigued by my line "under skin's ornament life swells." I'm also intrigued by the idea of addressing the skin. I may use those as a starting point for another ten minute write.
ReplyDeleteI rather like my second one: the imagining that gravity may run away and then we're all left hanging in the sky as moons. Again, I like the idea of addressing gravity. I think with some tweaking and editing, this little poem might be a keeper.
In case you wondered, those first several postings were deleted because they were test posts as Christian and I worked out the technical details.
ReplyDelete