By Italo Calvino, Julio Cortázar, Fernando Pessoa, Paul Celan, Nicanor Parra, Francis Ponge, Czesław Miłosz, Vasko Popa, Zbigniew H
Editors: Charles Simic and Mark Strand
cover is for reprint; however it is unchanged
A sturdy selection--mainly of poems, but in addition a few decisions from Calvino. Many striking authors, as you will discover from the checklist above. Paul Celan is winner of a Georg Buchner prize, and there's a pair Nobels up there too (Paz and Milosz).
First released in 1976, this unbelievable anthology from U.S. Poet Laureates, Charles Simic and Mark Strand, compiles a range of the best translated literature of the time, showcasing the then-little-known writers who had a profound impact at the present iteration of poets.
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Additional resources for Another Republic: 17 European and South American Writers
Your shoulders are retaining up the realm and its lighter than a child’s hand. Wars, famine, kinfolk fights inside of structures turn out basically that existence is going on and no-one will ever be unfastened. a few (the gentle ones) judging the spectacle merciless will like to die. A time comes whilst loss of life doesn’t aid. A time comes while lifestyles is an order. simply existence, with out escapes. 178 / CARLOS DRUMMOND DE ANDRADE a w: r, A\vr Corona Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we're associates. From the nuts we shell time and we educate it to stroll: then time returns to the shell. within the replicate it’s Sunday, in dream there's room for snoozing, our mouths communicate the reality. My eye strikes right down to the intercourse of my friend: we glance at one another, we alternate darkish phrases, we adore one another like poppy and recollection, we sleep like wine within the conches, just like the sea within the moon’s blood ray. We stand through the window embracing, and folks lookup from the road: it's time they knew! it's time the stone made an attempt to flower, time unrest had a beating center. it's time it have been time. it's time. PAUL CELAN / 181 Aspen Tree. Aspen tree, your leaves look white into the darkish. My mother’s hair used to be by no means white. Dandelion, so eco-friendly is the Ukraine. My yellow-haired mom didn't come domestic. Rain cloud, above the good do you hover? My quiet mom weeps for everybody. around superstar, you wind the golden loop. My mother’s middle used to be ripped by way of lead. Oaken door, who lifted you off your hinges? My mild mom can't go back. Shibboleth including my stones grown massive with weeping in the back of the bars, they dragged me out into the center of the marketplace, that position the place the flag unfurls to which I swore no type of allegiance. Flute, double flute of evening: take into account the darkish 182 /. PAUL CELAN twin redness of Vienna and Madrid. Set your flag at half-mast, reminiscence. At half-mast this present day and ceaselessly. center: right here too exhibit what you're, right here, in the course of the marketplace. name the shibboleth, name it out into your alien fatherland: February. N o pasaran. Unicorn: you recognize concerning the stones, you recognize concerning the water; come, . I shall lead you away to the voices of Estremadura. PAUL CELAN / 183 Psalm N o one molds us back out of earth and clay, nobody conjures our airborne dirt and dust. N o one. Praised be your identify, not anyone. in your sake we will flower. towards you. A not anything we have been, are, shall stay, flowering; the nothing-, the no one’s rose. With our pistil soul-bright with our stamen heaven-ravaged our corolla purple with the red notice which we sang over, o over the thorn. 184 / PAUL CELAN Chanson o f a girl within the colour while the silent one comes and beheads the tulips: Who wins? Who loses? Who walks to the window? W ho’s the 1st to talk her identify? he's one that wears my hair. He wears it a lot as one wears the lifeless on one’s arms. He wears it a lot because the sky wore my hair that yr whilst I enjoyed. He wears it like that out of self-importance. That one wins. Doesn’t lose. Doesn’t stroll to the window. He doesn't converse her identify. he's person who has my eyes. H e’s had them due to the fact gates have close. He wears them like earrings on his arms.