While waiting in a Baltimore hotel lobby, I thumbed through one of its meant-to-be-seen-and-not-read bookshelves. There among old, leather-bound editions of Gibbon's History of the Decline and Roosevelt's Naval War of 1812, I found the collected works of William Cullen Bryant. A romantic, Bryant is known primarily for his poetic naturalism (see, e.g., "Thanatopsis") but he was also a prodigious translator, deciding at the age of 77 to translate Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. But as this was my first introduction to the poet, I knew none of this. Skimming the volume, I was not very impressed, but then I came across a poem that I stopped to read three times in a row. Its title: "The Murdered Traveller."
I've blogged before about the writing advice Robert Bly once gave me, and since then, I've translated pieces by Norwegian poet Julius B. Baumann (1869-1923; here) and Danish writer Ernesto Dalgas (1871-1899). Like Baumann, even though Dalgas is well-recognized in the canon of his country's literature, none of his work exists in English. So, this is my attempt … Continue reading Two translations of Danish writer Ernesto Dalgas
As my regular readers know, I write a lot about Sinclair Lewis. For example, there's the anecdote about him drinking with Gov. Floyd B. Olson, his advice on writing, and how those overseas understood his work. I also write about poetry, and recently I published here translations of Norwegian-American poet Julius B. Baumann. Well, here's where … Continue reading Translating Sinclair Lewis into English (Two Poems)
Many months ago I tried my hand at the pantoum form, using lines pulled from "last letters," to produce a series of poems that are simultaneously haunting, anxious, and desperate. I'm proud to say that on April 20 all four were published in Chicago's Literary Orphans magazine (Issue 24: Audrey). Here's the title poem: “The sun … Continue reading My poetic sequence “The Sun is Leaving the Hill Now” in Literary Orphans
“Only the first ten years matter,” a Minnesota State Prison inmate told John Carter, and "[w]hether or not the first ten years are all that matter, there is no doubt that the first six months are by no means six little drops of time.” It was 1905 and as the 19-year-old Carter listened, he settled … Continue reading John Carter of Minnesota: The “Convict Poet” Who Won His Freedom
Some of the best advice for a young poet is to learn translation. It's the advice Pound gave to Merwin, and it's the advice Bly gave to me. So, always one to try new things, in the winter of 2014-15 I began translating the work of Norwegian-American poet Julius B. Baumann (1869-1923). Reading up on the … Continue reading The Poems of Julius B. Baumann: Five Translations
As part of a project I'm doing on the state of contemporary writing, author Mik Everett mailed me a copy of her book Self Published Kindling: Memoirs of a Homeless Bookstore Owner (2013). After reading it, I'm excited for what our generation has to offer the literary world. As Everett so clearly illustrates: we're one of dreamers and as we set out, so much of what we have to say will be about how we maintained this spirit while navigating the world given to us by our parents. (And if you've paid any attention to the news at all, it's not a great one). Written while living out of a broken-down RV in a Wal-Mart parking lot, Self Published Kindling is about Everett's experience running a Longmont, Colorado, bookstore that stocked exclusively self-published and regional books. Though the first store of its kind in the nation, Everett quickly discovers that few writers read and even fewer readers want books you can't find in a Barnes and Noble. She tries to mitigate this through author readings and art crawls, but everyone who comes in leaves empty-handed. Soon she and her partner, John, conclude, "Everybody's just here to pretend they support art" (48). If you're an artist who's ever tried to sell their work, you know exactly what that means.