en unlu american sairlerinden birisidir, siirlerinde sikca kullandigi istiare ile taninir en unlu eseri the emperor of ice-cream`dir.
marxist estetik kaygu
su olan bir kaygusuz abdal
idir kendileri. cok baba siirleri vardir. paul auster 'in sair olmus hali gibidir. thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird
en populer siirlerindendir.
"only in the imagination can the absence of imagination be imagined" demiş olan şair.
dile getirildigi anda elden ucup giden en 'dogrudan' yasantilamanin, en 'sahici' varolusun intikamini dilin kendisinden bizzat siir araciligiyla alan, son derece kederli, tehlikeli bir sair. (bkz: the snow man
) (bkz: siir dile orgutlu siddet uygulamaktir
simdilerde yuzyilin en buyuk amerikan sairlerinden biri olarak kabul edilse de,olumunden sadece bir yil once toplu siirleri yayinlaninca dikkat ceken sair.
75 yasinda öldu ve o yil pulitzer odulu
nunde sahibi oldu.
dugumleri sozcukler olan bir dokumaci
olarak anildi. siirlerinin bulanik oldugu ileri suruldugunde ise soyle bir aciklama getirdi wallace;
, akla neredeyse tamamen karsi koyabilmelidir.''
dille oynamaya bayilan,siir teknigi zitliklar uzerine kurulu tehlikeli bir kalem...
i was myself the compass of that sea:
i was the world in which i walked
and what i saw or heard or felt came not but from myself;
and there i found myself more truly and more strange
dizelerinin sahibi olan şair
(tea at the palaz of hoon
amerikalı modern şair. 1950'lerin ortasında ölmüş ve bir dönem gazetecilikte yapmıştır. şiirleri sadece güzel ve anlamlı kelimelerin bir araya gelmesiyle oluşmamıştır. onlara bir de ruh vererek ölümsüzleştirimiştir.en sevdiğim ise...
twenty men crossing a bridge,
into a village,
are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,
into twenty villages,
or one man
crossing a single bridge into a village.
şiir tutkunkları ve profesyonel şiir çevirmenlerinin affına sığınarak çevrimek ne hadime ama ne anladığımı yazmak isterim.
yirmi adam bir köprüden geçip
bir köye giden,
yirmi adamdır yirmi köprüden geçip
yirmi köye giden
ya da tek bir adamdır tek bir köprüden geçip
bir köye giden.....
she sang beyond the genius of the sea.
the water never formed to mind or voice,
like a body wholly body, fluttering
its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
that was not ours although we understood,
inhuman, of the veritable ocean.the sea was not a mask. no more was she.
the song and water were not medleyed sound
even if what she sang was what she heard,
since what she sang was uttered word by word.
it may be that in all her phrases stirred
the grinding water and the gasping wind;
but it was she and not the sea we heard.for she was the maker of the song she sang.
the ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
it was the spirit that we sought and knew
that we should ask this often as she sang.if it was only the dark voice of the sea
that rose, or even colored by many waves;
if it was only the outer voice of sky
and cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
however clear, it would have been deep air,
the heaving speech of air, a summer sound
repeated in a summer without end
and sound alone. but it was more than that,
more even than her voice, and ours, among
the meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
on high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
of sky and sea.
it was her voice that made
the sky acutest at its vanishing.
she measured to the hour its solitude.
she was the single artificer of the world
in which she sang. and when she sang, the sea,
whatever self it had, became the self
that was her song, for she was the maker. then we,
as we beheld her striding there alone,
knew that there was never a world for her
except the one she sang and, singing, made.ramon fernandez, tell me, if you know,
why, when the singing ended and we turned
toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
the lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
as the night descended, tilting in the air,
mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
arranging, deepening, enchanting night.oh! blessed rage for order, pale ramon,
the maker's rage to order words of sea
words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
and of ourselves and our origins,
in ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.