miércoles, 18 de mayo de 2016

NICOLE COOLEY [18.726]


NICOLE COOLEY

Fecha de nacimiento: 1 de octubre de 1966, Nueva Orleans, Luisiana, Estados Unidos
Educación: Universidad Brown, Universidad de Iowa
Creció en Nueva Orleans, Louisiana. Se graduó de la Universidad de Brown y The Workshop escritores de Iowa, y obtuvo su Ph.D. de la Universidad de Emory. Nicole Cooley ha enseñado en la Universidad de Bucknell. Actualmente es profesora en la Universidad de Queens, City University de Nueva York, donde dirige el programa MFA en Escritura Creativa y traducción literaria. 

Premios:

1994 "Discovery"/The Nation Award for her poetry
1995 Walt Whitman Award chosen by Cynthia Macdonald
1996 she received a fiction grant from the National Endowment for the Arts
2006 Writer Magazine/Emily Dickinson Award

Bibliografía:

Poesía:

Milk Dress . Alice James Books. 2010. ISBN 978-1-882295-83-8 .
Resurrection . Louisiana State University Press. 1996. ISBN 978-0-8071-2059-0 .
The Afflicted Girls . Louisiana State University Press. 2004. ISBN 978-0-8071-2946-3 .
Breach , Louisiana State University Press, 2009

Prosa:

Judy Garland, Ginger Love (Regan Books/Harper Collins, 1998)


No ficción:

The Avant-garde at the End of the Century Gertrude Stein, Postmodernism and Contemporary Women Writers . Emory University. 1996.
Jennifer Margulis, ed. (2003). Toddler . Seal Press. ISBN 978-1-58005-093-7 .
Andrea J. Buchanan, Amy E. Hudock, ed. (2005). "Thirteen Ways of Looking at being a Mother and a Poet". The Best of Literary Mama . Seal Press. ISBN 978-1-58005-158-3 .
Catherine Wagner, Rebecca Wolff, ed. (2007). Not For Mothers Only . Fence Books. ISBN 978-0-9771064-8-6 .
Elrena Evans, Caroline Grant, eds. (2008). Mama PhD; Women Write about Motherhood and Academic Life . Rutgers University Press. ISBN 978-0-8135-4318-5 .
"Thoughts on Poetry and Disaster" . Best American Poetry . March 1, 2009.



Spanish translation by Roberto Amézquita

Presentamos un poema de Nicole Cooley, quien mereció el Walt Whitman Award 1995 por su primer libro de poemas: Resurrection (1996). Es autora de libros de poesía celebrados por la  crítica norteamericana, como The Afflicted Girls (2004) y Breach (2009). La traducción es de Roberto Amézquita



Shock

Un repentino golpe, un bulto de grano,  una sorpresa  un montón de hatos significan
                comercio con los holandeses
una espesa masa de tu cabello en el cepillo en la almohada
en mi boca
Cuando una corriente eléctrica atraviesa por todo o por parte del cuerpo
como es que deseo colisionar violentamente contra mí
para lanzar las tropas a confusión cargando hacia ellas mismas
el shock del agua fría  el shock del pastel de boda empujado hacia mi boca
y el pulso del corazón tartamudo sentido
por una mano en el muro del pecho
Un cuchillo en el enchufe de la luz, un hacinamiento,
una pila de maíz sin trillar
¡Qué soy yo sin ti!
Empuja tu cabello hacia dentro de mi boca
Chocarías violentamente conmigo?
Serías una decisión infringida sobre mi cuerpo?
Un manojo sin trillar y sin ataduras, el shock
de  frasco      impacto     colapso
El flash de mi blanca bata de noche
en nuestro oscuro huerto



Of Shock

Sudden blow   bundle of grain   a surprise   a heap of sheaves
meaning trade
with the Dutch
A thick mass of your hair on the brush   in the pillow   in my
mouth
When an electric current passes through all or part of the body
How I wish to collide violently with myself
To throw troops into confusion by charging at them
The shock of cold water    the shock of wedding cake shoved in
my mouth
Stuttering heartbeat felt by a hand on the chest wall
A knife in a light socket
Pile or stack of unthreshed corn
And what is myself without you
Push your hair into my mouth
Will you collide violently with me
Will you be a decision inflicted upon my body
A bundle    unthreshed and untethered
The shock of
Jar   impact   collapse
Flash of my white nightgown in our dark yard


Compendium of Lost Objects

Not the butterfly wing, the semiprecious stones, 
the shard of mirror,

not the cabinet of curiosities built with secret drawers 
to reveal and conceal its contents,

but the batture, the rope swing, the rusted barge 
sunk at the water’s edge

or the park’s Live Oaks you walked through 
with the forbidden man

or the pink-shuttered house on the streetcar line 
where you were married

or the green shock of land off I-10, road leading 
you away from home.

Not any of this 
but a cot at the Superdome sunk in a dumpster

and lace valances from a Lakeview kitchen where water 
rose six feet high inside

and a refrigerator wrapped in duct tape lying 
in the dirt of a once-yard

and a Blue Roof and a house marked 0 and a

kitchen clock stopped at the time the hurricane hit.

Because, look, none of this fits 
in a dark wood cabinet for safekeeping.

This is an installation 
for dismantling 
—never seen again.


Marriage: A Daybook

 From the window the river rinses 
 the dark.  I twist 
 the wedding beads around my neck.  I’ve lost
 my ring, silver and antique, bought from the night market
 in the other world across
 the ocean, color of dull lead,
 color of the pan I scrub and burn
 in the sink.

 *

 Catullus wrote,  I hate and love, and he wasn’t talking about marriage.

 *

 Not talking about the blacked-out
 window crossed with hurricane tape,
 like a movie screen, a page redacted,
 your hand erasing a blackboard
 with an eraser’s soft compliant body.






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