REVERSE
der allerede begyndte i går
og fortsætter i dag og i morgen
med mig som Nelly Jane, dvs. sprechstallmeister
Lørdagsprogram:
16.00 Readings
Josefine Graakjær Nielsen (DK)
Frøydis Sollid Simonsen (NO)
Shadi Angelina Bazeghi (DK)
Cecilie Lind (DK)
17.15 Panel event / Multilingual poetry –
Uljana Wolf (DE)
Cia Rinne (FIN)
Shadi Angelina Bazeghi (DK)
Cecilie Lind (DK)
17.15 Panel event / Multilingual poetry –
Uljana Wolf (DE)
Cia Rinne (FIN)
Eugene Ostashevsky (RUS)
Yoko Tawada (DE/JAP)
Caroline Bergvall (FR/NO)
Moderator Martin Glaz Serup (DK)
20.00 Readings
– Uljana Wolf (DE)
TEXTER SOM LOKKEMAD:
digt af Uljana Wolf:
V [vase]
a vase is a vase is a vase und das gilt, scheints, für jedes wort das tiefer ist als breit. bereit? ornament is not a vase although it comes with one. word is some people come in what they think must be a vase, for they deflower it. what a lack of depth, and wit. ornament, ornament, i’m tired of your bored lament. you need a lover who would write a vase a letter: dear vessel, you’re not a word.
digt af Eugene Ostashevsky
DJ Spinoza Does Not Fight the Begriffon
Said DJ Spinoza to his friend MC Squared:
digt af Monicá de la Torre (helt wack sat op):
On Translation
Not to search for meaning, but to reedify a gesture, an intent.
As a translator, one grows attached to originals. Seldom are choices so purposeful.
At midday, the translator meets with the poet at a café at the intersection where for decades whores and cross-dressers have lined up at night for passers-by to peruse.
Not a monologue, but an implied conversation. The translator’s response is delayed.
The translator asks, the poet answers unrestrictedly. Someone watches the hand movements that punctuate the flow of an incomprehensible dialogue.
They’re speaking about the poet’s disillusionment with Freud.
One after another, vivid descriptions of the poet’s dreams begin to pour out of his mouth. There’s no signal of irony in his voice. Nor a hint of astonishment, nor a suggestion of hidden meanings, rather a belief in the detritus theory.
“Se me aparece un gato fosforescente. Lo sostengo en mis brazos sabiendo que no volveré a ser el mismo.”
“Estoy en una fiesta. De pronto veo que el diablo está sentado frente a mí. Viste de negro, lleva una barba puntiaguda y un tridente en la mano izquierda. Es tan amable que nadie se da cuenta de que no es un invitado como los otros.”
“Anuncian en el radio que Octavio Paz leerá su poema más reciente: ‘Vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . .'"
“Entro a un laboratorio y percibo aromas inusitados. Aún los recuerdo.”
The translator knows that nothing the poet has ever said or written reveals as much about him as the expression on his face when he was asked to pose for a picture. He greets posterity with a devilish grin. To the translator’s delight, he’s forced to repeat the gesture at least three or four times. The camera has no film.
Yoko Tawada (DE/JAP)
Caroline Bergvall (FR/NO)
Moderator Martin Glaz Serup (DK)
20.00 Readings
– Uljana Wolf (DE)
Cia Rinne (FIN)
Eugene Ostashevsky (RUS)
Yoko Tawada (DE/JAP)
Caroline Bergvall (FR/NO)
21.45 – 22.45
23.00 Concert SPY IN THE MESS (DK) 24.00 DJ Diskantlyd
Eugene Ostashevsky (RUS)
Yoko Tawada (DE/JAP)
Caroline Bergvall (FR/NO)
21.45 – 22.45
Readings
Maja Lee Langvad (DK)
Mónica de la Torre (MEX/US)
Elaine Feeney (IR)
Maja Lee Langvad (DK)
Mónica de la Torre (MEX/US)
Elaine Feeney (IR)
23.00 Concert SPY IN THE MESS (DK) 24.00 DJ Diskantlyd
TEXTER SOM LOKKEMAD:
digt af Uljana Wolf:
V [vase]
a vase is a vase is a vase und das gilt, scheints, für jedes wort das tiefer ist als breit. bereit? ornament is not a vase although it comes with one. word is some people come in what they think must be a vase, for they deflower it. what a lack of depth, and wit. ornament, ornament, i’m tired of your bored lament. you need a lover who would write a vase a letter: dear vessel, you’re not a word.
digt af Eugene Ostashevsky
DJ Spinoza Does Not Fight the Begriffon
Said DJ Spinoza to his friend MC Squared:
Let us go slay the Begriffon!Said MC Squared to his friend DJ Spinoza:
Frightful is the Begriffon and sharp are his claws,
He disobeys rules and cares nothing for laws,
He is full of effects but do they have a cause?
Let us go slay the Begriffon!
Why should we add to the misery of the world?DJ Spinoza:
Even the wicked have feelings!
They shout and they quarrel
Cause they’re anal and oral,
Problems make them immoral—
They’re wicked because they have feelings!
Well, what do you want to do then?MC Squared:
Do you want to watch TV? No!
Do you want to play cards? No!
Do you want to go get a beer? “I’m sick of beer, it’s so fattening!”
Let us go slay the Begriffon!
Are you always so restless because you’re recklessSo the two friends went off to slay the Begriffon. But when they were halfway to the House of Mostly Unlike, DJ Spinoza realized he forgot his sword at home—and you can’t slay the Begriffon with no sword! They had to return for the sword but by the time they did, it was already too late to do anything. They put slaying the Begriffon off for tomorrow and went to sleep extremely content with themselves.
Or are you so reckless because you are restless?
Can’t you even for a moment
Think of how it’ll make you feel in the morning?
Tell me you won’t be a) whining; b) kvetching; c) moaning!
And besides—even the wicked have feelings!
digt af Monicá de la Torre (helt wack sat op):
On Translation
Not to search for meaning, but to reedify a gesture, an intent.
As a translator, one grows attached to originals. Seldom are choices so purposeful.
At midday, the translator meets with the poet at a café at the intersection where for decades whores and cross-dressers have lined up at night for passers-by to peruse.
Not a monologue, but an implied conversation. The translator’s response is delayed.
The translator asks, the poet answers unrestrictedly. Someone watches the hand movements that punctuate the flow of an incomprehensible dialogue.
They’re speaking about the poet’s disillusionment with Freud.
One after another, vivid descriptions of the poet’s dreams begin to pour out of his mouth. There’s no signal of irony in his voice. Nor a hint of astonishment, nor a suggestion of hidden meanings, rather a belief in the detritus theory.
“Se me aparece un gato fosforescente. Lo sostengo en mis brazos sabiendo que no volveré a ser el mismo.”
“Estoy en una fiesta. De pronto veo que el diablo está sentado frente a mí. Viste de negro, lleva una barba puntiaguda y un tridente en la mano izquierda. Es tan amable que nadie se da cuenta de que no es un invitado como los otros.”
“Anuncian en el radio que Octavio Paz leerá su poema más reciente: ‘Vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . . vaca . . .'"
“Entro a un laboratorio y percibo aromas inusitados. Aún los recuerdo.”
The translator knows that nothing the poet has ever said or written reveals as much about him as the expression on his face when he was asked to pose for a picture. He greets posterity with a devilish grin. To the translator’s delight, he’s forced to repeat the gesture at least three or four times. The camera has no film.
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