Word: poets
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...writes songs, he composes. He inspires kids to make instead of talking about things.” Now preparing to go to law school, Corriel is not sure if this will be his last year as a resident tutor in Adams. He has issued a challenge to the resident poet, Zachary C. Sifuentes ’97, though, to write six works dedicated to Adams before the end of the year and make what he calls “some lasting contribution of art to the artsy house...
...Hence the vanity of translation;” Percy Shelley wrote, “it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principles of its color and odor, as to transfuse from one language into another creations of a poet.” What the poet is communicating here is poetry’s fascination with presentation, its syntax, sound, rhythm—aspects that depend on its language of origin—so that there is an almost absurdly destructive quality to any translation. Though its semantic meaning can hold...
...with all of these anxieties and prejudices that I approached Edward Snow’s new translation of Rainer Maria Rilke, the early 20th century poet who wrote in German (though he was born in Prague, at the time under Austro-Hungarian control). Before I evaluate the translation, I must admit that I do not speak a single word of German. Accordingly, I will address the book as a reader for whom it was intended: one who does not know the language and therefore needs another to present Rilke’s poetical universe...
Like many, my introduction to the poet was through Stephen Mitchell’s celebrated 1989 translation of Rilke’s selected works. I know this collection intimately, and I’ve even committed a few of Mitchell’s translations to memory. I’ve also read Robert Bly’s 1981 translation, and David Young’s attempt at Rilke’s “Duino Elegies...
...naturally witty with quirky details scattered like confetti, but still managed to brush on the most sincere and melancholic topics like love and disappointment. These skills have persisted in his solo albums, although he has lost much of his wit and he occasionally comes off like an inarticulate confessional poet. In “The Never-Played Symphonies,” Morrissey sings, “You were one / You meant to be one / And you jumped into my face / And kissed me on the cheek / And then were gone.” This track, indicative of a prevalent flaw...