TOM PICKARD [10.261]

Tom Pickard   Poeta, nacido en 1946, en Newcastle upon Tyne , Inglaterra fue un iniciador importante del movimiento conocido como el renacimiento de la poesía británica .Trabajó en radio y realizó documentales.  De 1963 a 1972 dirigió las lecturas de poesía en Morden Tower -en la que leyeron Allen Ginsberg, Robert Creeley y Ed Dorn- y de 1963 a 1973 llevó adelante la libería Ultima Thule.

BIBLIOGRAFÍA

POESÍA

High on the Walls, Fulcrum Press, 1967 , Horizon Press, 1968.

New Human Unisphere, Ultima Thule Bookshop, 1969.

An Armpit of Lice, Fulcrum Press, 1970.

The Order of Chance, Fulcrum Press, 1971.

Dancing under Fire, Middle Earth Books, 1973.

Hero Dust: New and Selected Poems, Schocken, 1979.

OK Tree, Pig Press, 1980.

Domestic Art, Slug Press (Vancouver), 1981.

In Search of "Ingenuous," Vancouver, 1981.

Custom and Exile, Allison & Busby, 1985, Schocken, 1986.

Shedding Her Skirts, Bloodaxe, 1985.

Tiepin Eros: New & Selected Poems, Bloodaxe Books, 1994.

OTROS

Guttersnipe (stories), City Lights Books, 1971.

(Editor) Tony Jackson, The Lesser Known Shagg, Ultima Thule Bookshop, 1971.

Serving My Time to a Trade, Paideuma (Orono, ME), 1980.

Jarrow March (political history), Schocken, 1981.

We Make Ships, Secker and Warburg, 1989.

Tiepin Eros, Bloodaxe (Newcastle upon Tyne, England), 1994.

Fuckwind, Etruscan (Buckfastleigh, England), 1999.

Hole in the Wall, Flood Editions (Chicago, IL), 2002.

Thrice and a Half (poems) T. Clark (Brightlingsea, England), 2003.

The Dark Months of May, Flood Editions (Chicago, IL), 2004.

Rosa blanca

me entregaste una rosa blanca 

colocaste la lámpara sobre la estufa 

se prendió fuego 

el I Ching dijo 

trueno sobre el lago 

rayo en Baker Street

encendí la hornalla

y explotó una mecha

resplandor azul

ves

la experiencia entera

es eléctrica

WHITEROSE

you gave me a white rose 

put the lamp on the stove 

it caught fire 

the I Ching said 

thunder above the lake 

lightning in Baker Street

switched on the cooker

and blew a fuse

blue flash

you see

the whole experience

is electric

LÁPIZ

toma esto 

para despertar

y que la serpiente 

desenrosque

el pensamiento 

con gracia

deja que esta herramienta cotidiana 

afine la costumbre

que le dé

a la mano un papel

la conciencia

es

una intervención digital

soné una vez

que una lapicera escribía

tinta iluminada 

como neón

que tus palabras

resplandezcan como la corriente de un río

después de la lluvia

de tanto en tanto 

piensa en mí 

cuando lo sostengas

PENCIL

take this 

to awake

and snake 

unsprung

thought 

with grace

let this common tool 

fine tune custom

make such 

apart of hand

awareness

is

a digital audit

I once dreamt 

a pen wrote

illuminated ink 

like neon

may your words 

glow a river rush 

after rain

sometimes 

think of me when 

you hold it

(Traducción: Matías Serra Bradford)

http://ustedleepoesia2.blogspot.com.es/

Lark & Merlin

Read the Q & A

                         1

a wren,

perched on a hawthorn

low enough to skip

the scalping winds,

sang a scalpel song

seafrets drift

sheer along shorelines

listening to hail spray glass

and wind

and a waitress laugh

in a cafe without customers

I fell to fell thinking

                         * * *

a sullen light through vapor

thins a line of hills

the edge of everything is nothing

whipped by wind

watched on a webcam

bound to a bedpost

gag on my shaft

rose blush of road-kill rabbit

insides out on tarmacadam

                         * * *

cumulus in a tarn

its fast shadow

flees far hills

a wave of sleek grass

skiffs mist

my hand thought of her

a photograph

waiting to happen

                         * * *

this come-to-kill wind

rips at the root

here she comes

and there she goes

rushes bow to rime

I should shut down

close off

stop

if I could

how quick the mist

how quick

                         2

my lover, the assassin,

is beautiful

she has come to kill me

and I concur

just now she sleeps

but when she wakes I’m dead

her eyelids flitter

as I prepare her potions,

her delicious poisons

                         * * *

as she flew past a lick

of her melodic nectar

stuck to my wing,

making flight, for an instant,

sticky

but nothing preening couldn’t fix

                         * * *

she asked about my heart,

its evasive flight;

but can I trust her with its secrets?

and does the merlin, in fast pursuit of its prey,

tell the fleeing lark

it is enamored of its song?

or the singing lark turn tail

and fly into the falcon’s talons?

                         * * *

my heart, the cartographer, charts

to the waterline,

is swept back as the tide turns

wiping the map blank, wave

after moon-drawn wave

but it beats, my heart,

of its own volition

a lark sings winds rush reeds

walking home I stride these tracks

with her tread

the blurred thumbprint

of a smudged moon

                         3

it has gone on for days

strumming rushes

taking up tales,

taking them on

the fall of my foot,

on tufts

a stroke of light along a law lain in under a long cloud

I accrete—lichen to limestone

sphagnum to peat

                         * * *

late shadows gather in the dark

words unwrite

as they are written

unspeak

as they are spoken

songs sprung

from heart and lung

to tongue

unsung

                         * * *

drunk winds stumble over shuffling roofs

shake his sleep who dreams

a lost love

will not

let

go

recurring swirls

of old gold

blown light

you can’t help

but be in it

as it opens

and falls back on itself

unfolds and unsays

I do not want to die

without writing the unwritten

pleasure of water