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John Ashbery

John Ashbery -The love interest-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
The love interestJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) We could see it coming from forever,then it was simply here, parallelto the day?s walking. By then it was wewho had disappeared, into the tunnel of a book. Rising late at night, we join the currentof tomorrow?s news. Why not? Unlikesome others, we haven?t anything to ask foror borrow. We?re just pieces of solid geometry: cylinders or rhomboids. A certain satisfactionhas been granted us. Sure, we keep coming backfor more?that?s part of the ?human? aspectof the parade. And there are darker regions penciled in, that we should explore some time.For now it?s enough that this day is over.It brought its load of freshness, dropped it offand left. As for us, we?re still here, aren?t we? La historia de amor La vimos venir desde siempre,luego ya estaba aquí, en líneacon el paseo de aquel día. Para entonces, éramos nosotroslos que habíamos desaparecido, en el túnel de un libro. Despertando en la madrugada, nos unimos al flujode las noticias...
John Ashbery -The chateau hardware-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
The chateau hardware John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) It was always November there. The farmsWere a kind of precinct; a certain controlHad been exercised. The little birdsUsed to collect along the fence.It was the great ?as though,? the how the day went,The excursions of the policeAs I pursued my bodily functions, wantingNeither fire nor water,Vibrating to the distant pinchAnd turning out the way I am, turning out to greet you. La ferretería campestre Ahí siempre era Noviembre. Las granjasEran una especie de distritos; se había ejercidoUn cierto control. Los pájaros pequeñosSolían congregarse sobre la cerca.Ocurría el gran ?como si?, el cómo iba el día,Las excursiones policialesMientras yo proseguía mis funciones corporales, deseandoNi agua ni fuego,Vibrando hacia el remoto pellizcarY volviéndome como soy, volviéndome a recibirte.
John Ashbery -Song-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
Song John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) The song tells us of our old way of living,Of life in former times. Fragrance of florals,How things merely ended when they ended,Of beginning again into a sigh. Later Some movement is reversed and the urgent masksSpeed toward a totally unexpected endLike clocks out of control. Is this the gestureThat was meant, long ago, the curving in Of frustrated denials, like jungle foliageAnd the simplicity of the ending all to be let goIn quick, suffocating sweetness? The dayPuts toward a nothingness of sky Its face of rusticated brick. Sooner or later,The cars lament, the whole business will be hurled down.Meanwhile we sit, scarcely daring to speak,To breathe, as though this closeness cost us life. The pretensions of a past will some dayMake it over into progress, a growing up,As beautiful as a new history bookWith uncut pages, unseen illustrations, And the purpose of the many stops and starts will be made clear:Backing into the old affair of not want...
John Ashbery -The task-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
The task John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) It is the blankness that follows gaiety, and Everyman must departOut there into stranded night, for his destinyIs to return unfruitful out of the lightness That passing time evokes. It was onlyCloud-castles, adept to seize the past.And possess it, through hurting. And the way is clearNow for linear acting into that timeIn whose corrosive mass he first discovered how to breathe.(...) La faena Se están preparando para volver a empezar:Problemas, nuevo gallardete en lo alto del mástilEn un romance aseverado. Por la hora en que el sol comienza a cortar lateralmente a travésDel hemisferio occidental con sus sombras, sus ecos de carnaval,Los territorios fugitivos se amontonan bajo nombres separados.Es la blancura que gana a la juerga, y todo hombre debe partirAllá afuera hacia la noche varada, pues su destinoEs regresar sin provecho de la liviandadQue evoca el tiempo al pasar. Fue sóloCastillos de nube, hábil en capturar el pasadoY p...
John Ashbery -Self-portrait in a convex mirror-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
Self-portrait in a convex mirror John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) As Parmigianino did it, the right handBigger than the head, thrust at the viewerAnd swerving easily away, as though to protectWhat it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams,Fur, pleated muslin, a coral ring run togetherIn a movement supporting the face, which swimsToward and away like the handExcept that it is in repose. It is what isSequestered. Vasari says, "Francesco one day set himselfTo take his own portrait, looking at himself from that purposeIn a convex mirror, such as is used by barbers . . .He accordingly caused a ball of wood to be madeBy a turner, and having divided it in half andBrought it to the size of the mirror, he set himselfWith great art to copy all that he saw in the glass,"Chiefly his reflection, of which the portraitIs the reflection, of which the portraitIs the reflection once removed.The glass chose to reflect only what he sawWhich was enough for his purpose: his imageGlazed, embalmed, ...
John Ashbery -An additional poem-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
An additional poem John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) Where then shall hope and fear their objects find?The harbor cold to the mating ships,And you have lost as you stand by the balconyWith the forest of the sea calm and gray beneath.A strong impression torn from the descending lightBut night is guilty. You knew the shadowIn the trunk was ravingBut as you keep growing hungry you forget.The distant box is open. A sound of grainPoured over the floor in some eagerness -- weRise with the night let out of the box of wind. Uu poema adicional ¿Cuándo entonces la esperanza y el miedo sus objetos encontrarán?El puerto frío para las embarcaciones de apareo,Y has perdido mientras te colocas por la galeríaCon la calmada y gris selva del mar debajo.Una fuerte impresión rasgada desde la luz descendientePero la noche es culpable. Sabías que la sombraEn el baúl era delirantePero mientras más hambre tienes olvidas.La lejana caja esta abierta. Un sonido de granosPrecipitado sobre el suelo con ...
John Ashbery -City afternoon-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
City afternoon John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) A veil of haze protects thisLong-ago afternoon forgotten by everybodyIn this photograph, most of them nowSucked screaming through old age and death. If one could seize AmericaOr at least a fine forgetfulnessThat seeps into our outlineDefining our volume with a stainThat is fleeting too But commemoratesBecause it does define, after allGray garlands, that threesomeWaiting for the light to change,Air lifting the hair of oneUpside down in the reflecting pool. Una tarde citadina Un velo de niebla protege estaLejana tarde por todos olvidadaEn dicha fotografía, ellos ahora en conjuntoAbsortos gimiendo a través de la vejez o la muerte. Si uno pudiera aprender los Estados UnidosO por lo menos una refinada omisiónQue se filtre en nuestro perfilPrecisando nuestros espacios con una sombraQue sea fugaz también. Pero que celebrePorque en verdad define, después de todo:Guirnaldas grises, aquel tercetoAguardando la luz para cambiar,El aire ...
John Ashbery -Some trees-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
Some treesJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) These are amazing: eachJoining a neighbor, as though speechWere a still performance.Arranging by chance To meet as far this morningFrom the world as agreeingWith it, you and IAre suddenly what the trees try To tell us we are:That their merely being thereMeans something; that soonWe may touch, love, explain. And glad not to have inventedSome comeliness, we are surrounded:A silence already filled with noises,A canvas on which emerges A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.Place in a puzzling light, and moving,Our days put on such reticenceThese accents seem their own defense. Algunos árboles Éstos son sorprendentes: cada unoapareado a un vecino, como si el discursofuera una inmóvil representación.Poniéndonos de acuerdo, por azar, en encontrarnos hoy por la mañana, tan distantesdel mundo como en concordanciacon él, vos y yosomos de repente lo que tratan los árboles de decirnos que somos:que su simple presenciatiene un significado: que muy p...
John Ashbery -What is poetry-
2006-11-28 03:33:02
What is poetry John Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- ) The medieval town, with friezeOf boy scouts from Nagoya? The snow That came when we wanted it to snow?Beautiful images? Trying to avoid Ideas, as in this poem? But weGo back to them as to a wife, leaving The mistress we desire? Now theywill have to believe it As we believe it. In schoolAll the thought got combed out: What was left was like a field.Shut your eyes and you can feel it for miles around. Now open them on a thin vertical path.It might give us -- what? -- some flowers soon? ¿Qué es poesía? ¿El pueblo medieval, con frisosde boyscouts de Nagoya? ¿La nieve que viene cuando deseamos que nieve?¿Bellas imágenes? ¿Tratar de evitar las ideas como en este poema? ¿mas,regresamos a ellas como a una esposa, dejando a la amante que deseamos? Ahoratendrán que creerlo como lo creímos nosotros. En la escuelatodo pensamiento fue peinado: lo que quedó es un páramo.Cierra tus ojos, podrás sentirlo millas a la redonda. Ábrelos ahora...
John Ashbery -Self-portrait in a convex mirror-
2006-05-06 05:30:00
Self-portrait in a convex mirrorJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )As Parmigianino did it, the right handBigger than the head, thrust at the viewerAnd swerving easily away, as though to protectWhat it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams,Fur, pleated muslin, a coral ring run togetherIn a movement supporting the face, which swimsToward and away like the handExcept that it is in repose. It is what isSequestered. Vasari says, "Francesco one day set himselfTo take his own portrait, looking at himself from that purposeIn a convex mirror, such as is used by barbers . . .He accordingly caused a ball of wood to be madeBy a turner, and having divided it in half andBrought it to the size of the mirror, he set himselfWith great art to copy all that he saw in the glass,Chiefly his reflection, of which the portraitIs the reflection once removed.The glass chose to reflect only what he sawWhich was enough for his purpose: his imageGlazed, embalmed, projected at a 180-degree angle.The time of day or t...
John Ashbery -Fear of death-
2006-05-06 05:27:00
Fear of deathJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )What is it now with meAnd is it as I have become?Is there no state free from the boundary linesOf before and after? The window is open todayAnd the air pours in with piano notesIn its skirts, as though to say, "Look, John,I've brought these and these:?that is,A few Beethovens, some Brahmses,A few choice Poulenc notes. . .Yes,It is being free again, the air, it has to keep coming backBecause that's all it's good for.I want to stay with it out of fear.That keep me from walking up certain steps,Knocking at certain doors, fear of growing oldAlone, and of finding no one at the evening endOf the path except another myselfNodding a curt greeting: "Well, you've been awhileBut now we're back together, which is what counts."Air in my path, you could shorten this,But the breeze has dropped, and silence is the last word.Miedo a la muerte¿Qué me pasa ahora?¿Y ha sido justo cuando yo he cambiado?¿No existe un estado libre de las fronterasdel antes y ...
John Ashbery -The one thing can save America-
2006-05-06 05:18:00
The one thing that can save AmericaJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )Is anything central?Orchards flung out on the land,Urban forests, rustic plantations, knee-high hills?Are place names central?Elm Grove, Adcock Corner, Story Book Farm?As they concur with a rush at eye levelBeating themselves into eyes which have had enoughThank you, no more thank you.And they come on like scenery mingled with darknessThe damp plains, overgrown suburbs,Places of known civic pride, of civil obscurity.These are connected to my version of AmericaBut the juice is elsewhere.This morning as I walked out of your roomAfter breakfast crosshatched withBackward and forward glances, backward into light,Forward into unfamiliar light,Was it our doing, and was itThe material, the lumber of life, or of livesWe were measuring, counting?A mood soon to be forgottenIn crossed girders of light, cool downtown shadowIn this morning that has seized us again?I know that I braid too much on my ownSnapped-off perceptions of things ...
John Ashbery -River-
2006-05-06 05:16:00
RiverJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )It thinks itself too good forThese generalizations and isMoved on by them. The opposite sideIs plunged in shade, this oneIn self-esteem. But the centerKeeps collapsing and re-forming.The couple at a picnic table (butIt?s too early in the season for picnics)Are traipsed across by the river?sUnknowing knowledge of its workingsTo avoid possible boredom and the stainOf too much intuition the whole sceneIs walled behind glass. ?Too early,?She says, ?in the season.? A hawk drifts by.?Send everybody back to the city.?RíoSe cree demasiado bueno paraestas generalizaciones y ellasLo hacen avanzar. El lado opuestoestá sumido en sombra, ésteen auto-estima. Pero el centrono cesa de hundirse y de rehacerse.La pareja en la mesa de picnic (perono es tiempo todavía para picnics)es recorrida por el conocimientoinconsciente que el río tiene de su propio obrarpara evitar el tedio posible y la manchade una excesiva intuición toda la escena ocurretras una pared de cristal....
John Ashbery -De Imagine Mundi-
2006-05-06 05:04:00
De Imagine MundiJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )The many as noticed by the one:The noticed one, confusing itself with the manyYet perceives itself as an individualTraveling between two fixed points.Such glance as dares dart outTo pin you in your afternoon lair is only a reflex,A speech in a play consisting entirely of stage directionsBecause there happened to be a hole for it there.Unfortunately, fewer than one haif of one per centRecognized the divined gesture as currency(Which it is, albeit inflated)And the glance comes to rest on top of a steepleWith about as much interest as a bird?s.They had moved out here from BostonThose two. (The one, a fair sampleOf the fair-sheaved many,The other boggling into single oddnessPlays at it when he mustNot getting better or younger.)The weather kept them at their small tasks:Sorting out the news, mending this and that.The great poker face impinged on them. And rejoicedTo be a living reproach toSomething new they?ve got.Skeeter collecting info: ?Did ...
John Ashbery -Scheherazade-
2006-05-06 05:01:00
ScheherazadeJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )Unsupported by reason?s enigmaWater collects in squared stone catch basins.The land is dry. Under it movesThe water. Fish live in the wells. The leaves,A concerned green, are scrawled on the light. BadBindweed and rank ragweed somehow forget to flourish here.An inexhaustible wardrobe has been placed at the disposalOf each new occurrence. It can be itself now.Day is almost reluctant to declineAnd slowing down opens out new avenuesThat don?t infringe on space but are living here withOther dreams came and left while the bankOf colored verbs and adjectives was shrinking from the lightTo nurse in shade their want of a methodBut most of ah she loved the particlesThat transform objects of the same categoryInto particular ones, each distinctWithin and apart from its own class.In all this springing up was no hintOf a tide, oniy a pleasant wavering of the airIn which all things seemed present, whetherJust past or soon to come. It was all invitation.So mu...
John Ashbery -A man of words-
2006-05-06 04:58:00
A man of wordsJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )His case inspires interestBut little sympathy; it is smallerThan at first appeared. Does the first nettleMake any difference as what growsBecomes a skit? Three sides enclosed,The fourth open to a wash of the weather,Exits and entrances, gestures theatrically meantTo punctuate like doubled-over weeds asThe garden fills up with snow?Ah, but this would have been another, quite otherEntertainment, not the metallic tasteIn my mouth as I look away, density black as gunpowderIn the angles where the grass writing goes on,Rose-red in unexpected places like the pressureOf fingers on a book suddenly snapped shut.Those tangled versions of the truth areCombed out, the snarls ripped outAnd spread around. Behind the maskIs still a continental appreciationOf what is fine, rarely appears and when it does is alreadyDying on the breeze that brought it to the thresholdOf speech. The story worn out from tellingAll diaries are alike, clear and cold, withThe outloo...
John Ashbery -Forties flick-
2006-05-06 04:54:00
Forties flickJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )The shadow of the Venetian blind on the painted wall,Shadows of the snake-plant and cacti, the plaster animals,Focus the tragic melancholy of the bright stareInto nowhere, a hole like the black holes in space.In bra and panties she sidles to the window:Zip! Up with the blind. A fragile street scene offers itself,With wafer-thin pedestrians who know where they are going.The blind comes down slowly, the slats are slowly tilted up.Why must it always end this way?A dais with woman reading, with the ruckus of her hairAnd all that is unsaid about her pulling us back to her, with herInto the silence that night alone can?t explain.Silence of the library, of the telephone with its pad,But we didn?t have to reinvent these either:They had gone away into the plot of a story,The ?art? part?knowing what important details to leave outAnd the way character is developed. Things too realTo be of much concern, hence artificial, yet now all over the page,The indo...
John Ashbery -As one put drunk into the packet-boat-
2006-05-06 04:46:00
As one put drunk into the packet-boatJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )I tried each thing, only some were immortal and free.Elsewhere we are as sitting in a place where sunlightFilters down, a little at a time,Waiting for someone to come. Harsh words are spoken,As the Sun yellows the green of the maple tree...So this was ah, but obscurely1 felt the stirrings of new breath in the pagesWhich all winter long had smelled like an old catalogue.New sentences were starting up. But the summerWas well along, not yet past the mid-pointBut full and dark with the promise of that fullness,That time when one can no longer wander awayAnd even the least attentive fall silentTo watch the thing that is prepared to happen.A look of glass stops youAnd you walk on shaken: was I the perceived?Did they notice me, this time, as I am,Or is it postponed again? The childrenStill at their games, clouds that arise with a swiftImpatience in the afternoon sky, then dissipateAs limpid, dense twilight comes.Only is that t...
John Ashbery -Soonest mended-
2006-05-05 17:46:00
Soonest mendedJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )Barely tolerated, living on the marginIn our technological society, we were always having to be rescuedOn the brink of destruction, like heroines in Orlando FuriosoBefore it was time to start all over again.There would be thunder in the bushes, a rustling of coils,And Angelica, in the Ingres painting, was consideringThe colorful but small monster near her toe, as though wondering whether forgettingThe whole thing might not, in the end, be the only solution.And then there always came a time whenHappy Hooligan in his rusted green automobileCame plowing down the course, just to make sure everything was O.K.,Only by that time we were in another chapter and confusedAbout how to receive this latest piece of information.Was it information? Weren't we rather acting this outFor someone else's benefit, thoughts in a mindWith room enough and to spare for our little problems (so they began to seem),Our daily quandary about food and the rent and bills t...
John Ashbery -The grapevine-
2006-05-05 16:43:00
The grapevineJohn Ashbery (EEUU, 1927- )Of who we and all they areYou all now know. But you knowAfter they began to find us out we grewBefore they died thinking us the causesOf their acts. Now we'll not knowThe truth of some still at the piano, thoughThey often date from us, causingThese changes we think we are. We don't careThough, so tall up thereIn young air. But things get darker as we moveTo ask them: Whom must we get to knowTo die, so you live and we know?EscondrijoDe quienes nosotros y todos ellos somosUstedes todo ahora entienden. Pero ustedes entienden,Después de que ellos comenzaron a encontrarnosnosotros crecimosAntes de que murieran pensándonos las causasDe sus actos. Ahora nosotros no sabremosLa verdad de algún inmóvil en el piano, aunqueEllos con frecuencia parten de nosotros, causandoEstos cambios que nosotros pensamos que somos. No nos importa.Sin embargo, tan altos allá arriba.En aire joven. Pero las cosas se oscurecen mientras nos movemosPara preguntarles: ¿a qui...
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