What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature that explores experiences and ideas that spark the writing of new poems. In our fifth series, What Translation Sparks, a group of poet-translators share a seminal experience in translation. Each Monday's delivery brings you the poem and an excerpt from the essay.
Can you speak Japanese? No, I cannot speak Yes, I can speak Yes, I can speak but cannot read Yes, I can speak and read but cannot write Yes, I can speak and write but cannot understand I was a good child You were a good child We were good children That is good I was a bad child You were a bad child We were bad children That is bad To learn a language you must replace and repeat I was an ugly child You were an ugly child We were ugly children That is ugly I am bored You are bored We are bored That is boring I am hateful You are hateful We are hateful That is hatred I will eat You will eat We will eat That is a good appetite I won’t eat You won’t eat We won’t eat That is a bad appetite I will make meaning You will make meaning We will make meaning That is conveying language I will use Japanese You will use Japanese We will use Japanese That is Japanese I want to rip off meaning You want to rip off meaning We want to rip off meaning That is the desire to rip off meaning I want to show contempt for language as nothing more than raw material You want to show contempt for language as nothing more than raw material We want to show contempt for language as nothing more than raw material That is, language is nothing more than raw material I will replace words mechanically and make sentences impossible in real life You will replace words mechanically and make sentences impossible in real life We will replace words mechanically and make sentences impossible in real life That is replacing words mechanically and making sentences impossible in real life Rip off meaning Sound remains Even so we search for meaning. The primitive reflex of a newborn sucking a finger one sticks one out The primitive reflex of a newborn sucking a finger I stick out The primitive reflex of a newborn sucking a finger you stick out The primitive reflex of a newborn sucking a finger we stick out The primitive reflex of a newborn sucking a finger that sticks out As for me, meaning As for you, meaning As for us, meaning Is meaning, that is Do not communicate As for me, do not communicate As for you, do not communicate As for us, do not communicate Do not do that, that is communication Meaning ripped apart and covered in blood is surely miserable, that is happiness I am happy meaning covered in blood is miserable You are happy meaning covered in blood is miserable We are happy meaning covered in blood is miserable The blood-covered meaning of that is blood-covered misery, that is happiness
"Real poetry, Itō reminds us, doesn’t only come from a poet simply saying something—it also comes from the ways that the poet resists the ordinary processes of saying. The writer unlocks new potential by subverting, manipulating, and defamiliarizing the patterns that structure our logic and expression. Poems need to be more than a series of simple, ordinary statements strung together."
"The past year has been difficult for many people. The pandemic, the politics, the job loss and the isolation—most Americans have had to find some new coping mechanisms to make it through. Here’s one: erasure poetry."
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