#dawn m. cornelio

[bones-ivy-breath]

Text ID:

Do not think all this blue is without pain.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, excerpts from "The Blue Look", in A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

You let your heart go a bit / Like a dog that you call back when he wanders off.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “From all over, she flows...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[linguistlist-blog]

TOC: Translation and Translanguaging in Multilingual Contexts Vol. 3, No. 3 (2017)

2017. v, 132 pp. Table of Contents Articles Entering the Translab: Translation as collaboration, collaboration as translation, and the third space of ‘translaboration’ Alexa Alfer Pages 275 – 290 New possibilities for translation: Care theory as criteria for negotiation Dawn M. Cornelio Pages 291 – 303 Reformulating the problem of translatability: A case of literary translaboration with the poetry of Francisco Brines Steven Cranfield and Claudio Tedesco Pages 304 – 322 http://dlvr.it/Q1KkX1

[soracities]

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Late in the autumn...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio) 

[Text ID: “Late in the autumn, when the rain falls with a soft noise, I like to believe that I’m hearing the sky cry.”]

[soracities]

She knows the depths of sorrow. Nothing else could possible happen to her.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “So many days have passed...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

Crying, soaking in the depths. Glad not to recognize myself anymore.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Nine days at sea as in a church...” (in Diary of an Ephemeral Man), A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

It is good like this: this light on our misery, this beauty near our death. Enough to keep on writing books, painting canvases, loving, and composing music. To try to hold the day against yourself.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “This blue belongs to no one...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

She calls passions shipwrecks, and tenderness the sunrise.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Loves is what she calls these departing sailors and sailboats...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

The warm and grey rain that falls in long, diagonal lines on the sea. The kind that barely wets anything and whose voice is not heard. She seeks no shelter from it, instead, offers her cheek. Because of its softness, she knows she exists.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Loves is what she calls these departing sailors and sailboats...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)  

[soracities]

She surges toward herself, she limps within herself: her idea is her being

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “From all over, she flows...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

The rain, she says, makes a gift of itself, or reminds her of her tender and unknown side, this free movement of a monotonous fall, and this light kind of shower that she no longer is since misery got its hands on her waters.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “Loves is what she calls these departing sailors and sailboats...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)  

[soracities]

And ever after more misery, mixed with more beauty.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “This blue belongs to no one...”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

Soul [...] A word like a corridor. Whispered to no one; it dares not rise to our lips. It is as afraid of language as of the light of day. It has no eyelids. Its tears don't follow, but its pain is precise.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, excerpts from “An Uncertain Church”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, excerpts from Diary of an Ephemeral Man, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[Text ID: "Late in the autumn, when the rain falls with a soft noise, I like to believe that I'm hearing the sky cry."]

[soracities]

[The sea] says nothing, explains nothing, teaches no lesson. And still it is a good idea to lend an ear. Listening to this empty noise is nothing but living, staying within ourselves...

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, “They look at blue but will never know how to say it”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)

[soracities]

...God knows what rock he'll be found on, shivering in his tatters, beached like a clump of algae, charred, black and dry, cleansed of what love he had left.

Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from “The sea is a picture book”, A Matter of Blue: Poems (trans. Dawn M. Cornelio)