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Alice Notley

From In the Pines

  • 1 Remember What I Came Here to Do
    to This World Very Little Actually
    | Translations: de
  • 2 Lady Poverty | Translations: de
  • 3 From In the Pines | Translations: de
  • 4 IN THE CIRCUIT | Translations: de
  • 5 The Secret | Translations: de
  • 6 [I stand here in whose eyes]
  • 7 [Woman with antlers]
  • 8 [Like a scratchy record]
  • 9 Millions of us
Language: english
Translations: german (Mein alter Freund. Könnt ich es so heftig nennen? )
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From In the Pines

               My old friend. Could I call it that, so fierce? A visage in the
orange flash.
               It eats you. Because you think that you're people.
               I have a necklace of bloody teeth for this cure. Teeth of many
martyrs; the stars above the barren town.
               Move in waves. Crickets sing too. See the empty haunt here,
it eats you.
               But how many of death's teeth have I stolen? It doesn't have any
left. Pass through the image of death.
               He's taken your name. I had no name.
               Do not remember me, unreal lord. You are wrong about
everything.

                            There's a cure
                            in each instant
                            if you can keep it
                            from ending.

               Don't think what the songs think now. I hear her hypnotic voice,
the blood on my hair.
               Soon be over. Sorrow will have an end. No don't think what the songs think. Just think how they sound.
              Don't answer if you can. And he walks with me and he talks with
me. Where the sister dwells, with the flame jaguar.
              Is this the debt to beauty? The whole conception was bloody.
              Heap of silver and turquoise. My magic.


                            If you change you
                            show it indifferently. Crickets
                            don't change the federales' ways.
                            Crickets
                            don't even know the federales.

               Cross the silver mesh path there.
               Turn off the law.
               I'm not part of your growth chart, saying this life is compelled.
I have the unconditioned, in a heap in my pocket. She says in her bloody monotone.
               Where is the change?
               It's in you.

                            It's
                            my magic
                            no one's.


                                                   *   *   *


               I'm wading in shallow water. Wade in the water. Lift your skirt.
I've done this so many times.
               How did you learn it?
               It's in my genes. It's in my global genes.
               There were once jaguars everywhere around here. There will be animals in your deaths, won't there?
               I'm talking directly to you.
               I'll greet my defect my soul, with this animal, part of the folk.
               If I find your soul do you want it?
               I see it everywhere, past the death visage.
              If I find your soul do you want it? Do you even know? Do you
even know what part of you you are?


                                                   *   *   *


                            Big medallion
                            the gold you invested
                            a precision of sorrow

                            cut out to be a face
                            you almost remember.

               It floats within.
               On the road of the souls, the jaguar and I. Through the deserts
of dying words, and spirits thick as bats.
               Plow on through Corolla Pass, to meet my love. See the souls
around me everywhere. One of them is you.
               I know who I was, says the soul. I don't try to remember it.

                            It's the promised line
                            Not the promised land
                            What you recall
                            That's all.

               He has a big face; his eyes are closed. I wouldn't want to go back,
he says.
               I don't blame you.
               What will you return with, then?
               A fair deal, I say.
               When I died, he says, everything was unresolved. That's always
the case with deaths. There is no official cause of death, is there?
               Yes, there is, but it isn't correct.
               I had what you have now, he says.
               That's not why 1 came. Or is it part? I should bring back a soul.
It's my work, after all.
              Shades crowding round the bloody jaguar; shades crowding
round my blood-red hair.
              Then I see her. Young, eyes closed.


                            I see my
                            own soul.

                            How do you know?

                            It stands between
                            the king and queen
                            of swords.

               There are no rooms here. There are no beds. Where is there rest?
I ask.
               That's not the right language, he says. There's plenty of rest here.
As I once told you there'd be.
               She's resting, you know. She needed some peace, he says.

                            I see my
                            own soul there
                            heavily guarded

                            by others.
                            As always.

               This is an ancient procedure. I know that she doesn't want to die. Though her land is condemned. My own soul doesn't want to die.
               The hoot owl sings; the jaguar grins.
               I'm taking her back, I say. And I reach for her hand and lead her
from between the king and queen.
               Then I face my old love, no one.
               I gave you the illness, he says.
               It doesn't matter, love, I say, leaving.

© Alice Notley
From: In the Pines
Penguin Group US, 2007
ISBN: 978-1-4406-1977-9
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2014

Translations:

Language: german

Mein alter Freund. Könnt ich es so heftig nennen?

Gesicht im orangen Blitz.
            Es frisst dich auf. Weil du glaubst, dass du zu den Menschen gehörst.
            Mein Mittel dagegen ist eine Kette aus blutigen Zähnen. Vieler Martyrer Zähne; Sterne über der verblichenen Stadt.
            Beweg dich in Wellen. Auch zirpen Grillen. Hier ist dein alter Unterschlupf, schau, es frisst dich auf.
            Doch wieviele Zähne stahl ich schon dem Tod? Er hat keine mehr übrig. Geh durch das Bild des Todes, geh hindurch.
            Er nahm deinen Namen an. Ich hatte keinen Namen.
            Vergiß mich bitte, unechter Meister. Du hast einfach nie recht.
           
                        Alle Augenblicke
                        haben Gegenmittel
                        wenn du dafür sorgst
                        dass sie nicht aufhören.

            Denke nicht, was das Lied jetzt denkt. Ich höre ihre hypnotische Stimme, das Blut in meinem Haar.
            Bald vorbei. Das Leiden wird enden. Nein, denke nicht, was das Lied denkt. Denke einfach wie es klingt.
            Antworte lieber nicht. Und er geht mit mir und er redet mit mir. Wo die Schwester wohnt, mit dem Flammenjaguar.
            Sind wir das der Schönheit schuldig? Die ganze Angelegenheit war blutig.
            Wirres Bündel Silber und Türkis. Meine Magie.
           
                        Falls du dich veränderst
                        zeigst du’s ziemllich unberührt. Grillen
                        verändern nada im Leben der Grenzpolizei.
                        Grillen
                        wissen nicht mal was das ist.

            Überquere diesen Silbermaschenpfad.
            Schalte das Gesetz ab.
            Ich bin nicht Teil deiner Wachstumskurve, will sagen, dieses Leben ist Zwang. Ich habe das Unbedingte, ein wirres Bündel in meiner Hosentasche. Sagt sie in ihrem blutigen Monoton.
            Wo steckt die Veränderung?
            Sie ist in dir.

                        Ist
                        Meinmagie,
                        Niemandes.


                                   •••

            Ich wate im flachen Wasser. Wate ins Wasser. Hebe deinen Rock. Ich hab das schon so oft gemacht.
            Wie hast du es gelernt?
            Ich habs in meinen Genen. Meinen globalen Genen.
            Einmal gab’s hier überall Jaguare. Eure Tode werden viele Tiere in sich haben, nicht wahr.
            Ich spreche jetzt direkt zu dir.
            Ich grüße meine Defekte meine Seele, mit diesem Tier, volkstümlich.
            Wenn ich deine Seele finde, willst du sie haben?
            Ich sehe sie überall, hinterm orangen Todesgesicht.    
            Wenn ich deine Seele finde, willst du sie haben? Weißt du überhaupt ob? Weißt du überhaupt, welcher Teil von dir du bist?

                                   •••

                        Großes Medaillon
                        dein Gold investiert in
                        eine Präzision aus Leid

                        ausgeschnitten als Gesicht
                        an das du dich fast erinnerst.

            Es schwebt darin.
            Auf der Straße der Seelen, der Jaguar und ich. Durch die Wüsten sterbender Worte, und Geister fett wie Fledermäuse.
            Ich jage weiter durch den Corolla Pass, ich will meinen Geliebten treffen. Sehe um mich herum die Seelen. Eine davon bist du.
            Ich weiß, wer ich war, sagt die Seele. Ich versuche nicht, mich zu erinnern.

                        Es war die gelobte Linie
                        Nicht das gelobte Land
                        Die hattest du im Sinn
                        Mehr war nicht drin.

Er hat ein großes Gesicht; seine Augen sind geschlossen. Ich würde nicht zurückwollen, sagt er.
            Ich verdenke es dir nicht.
            Wenn du zurückkommst, später, was wird es sein?
            Ein fairer Handel, sage ich.
            Als ich starb, sagt er, blieb alles ungelöst. Das ist bei allen Toden so. Es gibt keine offizielle Todesursache, oder?
            Doch, gibt es, aber sie ist falsch.
            Ich hatte, was du jetzt hast, sagt er.
            Darum bin ich nicht gekommen. Oder doch? Ich soll eine Seele zurückbringen. Das ist mein Job, so einfach ist das.
           

            Schatten schwirren um den blutigen Jaguar, Schatten schwirren um mein blutrotes Haar.
            Dann sehe ich sie. Jung, die Augen geschlossen.

                        Ich sehe meine
                        eigene Seele.

                        Woher weißt du?

                        Sie steht zwischen
                        König und Königin
                        der Schwerter.

Es gibt hier keine Zimmer. Es gibt hier keine Betten. Wo findet man Ruhe, frage ich.
            Das ist die falsche Sprache, sagt er. Ruhe gibt’s hier genug. Wie ich dir schon einmal sagte.
            Sie ruht sich aus, weißt du. Sie brauchte ein bißchen Frieden, sagt er.
           
                        Ich sehe meine
                        eigene Seele dort
                        stehen, bewacht

                        von anderen.
                        Wie immer.

Eine uralte Regel. Ich weiß, dass sie nicht sterben will. Obwohl ihr Land verdammt ist. Meine eigene Seele will nicht sterben.
            Das Käuzchen singt; der Jaguar grinst.
            Ich nehme sie zurück, sage ich. Fasse ihre Hand und führe sie zwischen dem König und der Königin hinaus.
            Dann stehe ich vor meinem meiner alten Liebe, niemand.
            Ich hab dir diese Krankheit gegeben, sagt er.
            Das spielt jetzt keine Rolle, Liebster, sagte ich, gehe.

Aus dem Englischen von Uljana Wolf
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(IN THE CIRCUIT)   
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Alice Notley

photo © Alice Notley
* 08.09.1945, Bisbee, United States
lives in: Paris, France

Alice Notley has published over thirty books of poetry, including (most recently) Culture of One and Songs and Stories of the Ghouls, and the chapbook Secret I D.  With her sons Anselm and Edmund Berrigan, she edited both The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan and The Selected Poems of Ted Berrigan.  Notley has received many awards including the Academy of American Poets’ Lenore Marshall Prize, the Poetry Society of America’s Shelley Award, the Griffin Prize, two NEA Grants, and the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Poetry. She lives and writes in Paris, France.

 photo © Alice Notley
Publications
  • 165 Meeting House Lane

    1971

  • Phoebe Light

    1973

  • Incidentals in the Day World

    1973

  • For Frank O'Hara's Birthday

    1976

  • Alice Ordered to Be Made

    1976

  • A Diamond Necklace

    1977

  • Songs for the Unborn Second Baby

    1979

  • Dr. Williams' Heiresses

    1980

  • When I Was Alive

    1980

  • How Spring Comes

    1980

  • Waltzing Matilda

    1981

  • Tell Me Again

    1982

  • Sorrento

    1984

  • Margaret & Dusty

    Poems

    Coffee House Press, 1985

  • Parts of a Wedding

    1986

  • At Night the States

    1988

  • From a Work in Progress

    1988

  • Homer's Art

    1990

  • To Say You

    1993

  • Selected Poems of Alice Notley

    1993

  • Close to Me and Closer...

    (The Language of Heaven) and Desamere

    1995

  • The Descent of Alette

    Penguin, 1996

  • Mysteries of Small Houses

    Penguin, 1998

  • Disobedience

    Penguin, 2001

  • From the Beginning

    2004

  • Coming After

    2005

  • Alma, or the Dead Women

    2006

  • In the Pines

    Penguin, 2007

  • Grave of Light

    New and Selected Poems, 1970-2005

    Wesleyan University Press, 2008

  • Reason and Other Women

    Chax Press, 2010

  • Culture of One

    Penguin, 2011

  • Songs and Stories of the Ghouls

    Wesleyan University Press, 2011

Prizes
  • 1988 Los Angeles Times Book Prize

  • 2007 Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize

  • 2015 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize

Links
  • Alice Notley @ PennSound

    archive of sound & video recordings

    Website
  • Alice Notley @ Poetry Foundation

    biographical essay, many poems & audio recordings as well

    Website

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