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.

.