Sunday, February 15, 2009

The Riverbed Translated Ra Gabriel

Gato, poema, y notas

no era gran cosa
las hojas de arce se estaban volviendo
un rojo almibarado y caían
a la cera
gente caminaba sus perros
en la cera
cargando sus bolsitas
carros paseaban
un avíon proyectaba su cuchillo atraves la gelatina
del cielo
gatos jugaban en
el patío
changos nidaban en
las muletas de arboles
viejos

no era gran cosa
hasta que las gomas se resbalaron

Notas: es una cosa increíble. Una reliquía de verdad. El padre, un hombre de aparencía gracioso de Londres, había tenido una esposa de Indonesia que siempre corria por to laos casi desnuda. Piel terrible. Ella se desaparecío un día. El dijo que no entendíamos como ella no podía bregar con los EEUU. Ya no importa. Ellos vivían en la casa al lado del mío, pero no tan grande. El mío es el mejor de la calle. Su esposa nueva volvío pa Texas despues del accidente. Ella era mona—mas de mi gusto que la Filipina—pelo corto, nariz pequeño, pecas, y dientes grandes. Me gustan dientes grandes y fuertes en una mujer—le da caracter. Su nombre era Kathy, con una ‘K.’ Me sentía mal por ella. Ella vino una noche pa darme algunas de sus cosas antes de que empaquetara y se largara. Me dejo el gato del nene. Ahora tengo tres, cual es una jodienda, pero no podía decir que no. Le quise preguntar que se quedara conmigo—que se mudara. Yo la sentía tan necesitada. Ella perdío todo que le importaba. Pero volvío a su hogar. Pa Texas. Lo increíble fue que encontraron el poema en la ruína. Me lo dío con el gato, Rusty. Dijo que lo publicara, asique aqui esta para que todos lo lean. Ese maldito accidente. Esas hojas resbalozas.

- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed


Cat, Poem, and Notes

it wasn’t much of anything
the maples were turning
syrupy red and falling
at the sidewalks.
people walked dogs
on the sidewalk
carrying their little bags
cars ambled past
a plane cast its knife across the jelly
in the sky
cats were playing in
the yard
crows brooded in
the crutches of old
trees

it wasn’t much of anything
till the tires slipped

Notes: it’s an amazing thing. A relic really. The dad, a funny looking man from London, he’d had an Indonesian wife, always running around half-dressed. Bad skin. She disappeared one day. He said we couldn’t understand how she couldn’t take the U.S. Not important now. They lived in the house next to mine, not quite as big. Mine’s the best on the street. His new wife moved back to Texas after the accident. She’s cute—much more my type than the Filipina wife—short hair, small nose, freckles, and big teeth. I like big, strong teeth in a woman—gives ‘em character. Kathy was her name, with a ‘K’. I felt really bad for her. She came over one night to give me some of her stuff before she packed up and left. She left the boy’s cat with me. Now I have three, which is a handful but I couldn’t say no. I wanted to ask her to stay, with me—move in. She seemed so needy. She lost everything that mattered. But she went back home. All the way to Texas. The amazing thing is they found the poem in the wreck. She gave it to me with the cat, Rusty. Said to publish it, so here it is for all of you to read. The damnedest thing that accident. Those slippery leaves.

- Ra Gabriel


Jesus de chavito

mujer vende a díos en el
metro. gabanes embriagados
le dicen que este no es
el lugar para su jesus.
jesus esta en el tren,
ella dice. jesus es el
chófer. tipa, por lo menos di que
jesus esta en la vía,
piensa el poeta.
jesus es el deseo
para decirle que se lo empuje,
murmura el cínico—
en lo que ve porno en su ipod—
un borracho apestoso
se para:
“¡mis pantalones estan desgarrados
he roto mis zapatos!”
el cínico grita, “¡asique tu eres
jesus! ¡mujer, vete pal otro carro!
¡llevate este jesus apestoso contigo!”

- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed


10¢ Jesus

woman sells god on the
subway. tipsy suits
tell her this is not
the place for her jesus.
jesus is on this train,
she says. jesus is the
driver. at least say jesus
is in the tracks, lady,
thinks the poet.
jesus is the desire
to tell her to stuff it,
whispers the cynic—
while looking at porn on his ipod—
a smelly, ripped-pants, drunk
stands up:
“my pants are ripped
I’ve ripped my shoes!”
the cynic yells, “so you’re
jesus! woman, get to the next car!
take this stinky jesus with you!”

- Ra Gabriel


Sabiendo que su país tenia una mierda de sistema legal

Un asiático
medio
moron trato de dar cara
una vez
asique mató
su novía
porque ella aceptó
que su
bichito
no funcionaba.

- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed


Knowing his Country had a Weak Legal System

Some half-wit
Asian
dude tried to save face
once
so he murdered
his girlfriend
cause she accepted
his
ding-a-ling
wouldn't work right.

- Ra Gabriel


Quisíera que todos bajen sus armas

a.
viendo mis poemas en pagína
de nuevo,
mi bicho se para
—me distrae,
es un seno y coseno;
una palomilla canta opera
en lo que la agua levanta
pesas. se prepara para doce rondas
con ese acaro cabrón;
fractales verdes y rojos flotan sobre los lagos y
ríos;
canciones populares tienen un cojonal de tracks
mezclao—post
ancientismo = coatlismo.
prometí escribir algo
con substancia pero se me paro el bicho,
tengo hambre y mis ojos me
pican
—¿quién podra causar
que todos los rebeldes
bajen sus
armas,
sus biblías,
sus bolsas de chavos
y manifestos,
si todavía
no hay comida,
no hay agua?

b.
la urna dice que es sobre la verdad,
belleza y
paz.

c.
la red dice que es sobre dinero,
poder y
sexo.

- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed


I could get them all to put down their weapons

a.
seeing my poems in print
again
my cock is hard
—so
distracting—it's a sine and cosine;
a moth sings opera
as water is lifting
weights. it prepares for twelve rounds
with that bad ass dust mite;
green and red fractals hover over lakes and
rivers;
pop songs have 128 tracks
blended—post-
ancientism = coatlism.
I promised I'd write something
meaningful but my cock is up,
I'm hungry, and my eyes are
itchy
—who could get
all the rebels
to put down their
weapons,
their holy books,
their registers,
and manifestoes
when still
there's no food on the table,
no clean-running water?

b.
the urn says it's about truth,
beauty,
peace.

c.
the net says it's about money,
power,
sex.

- Ra Gabriel

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