lunes, 1 de agosto de 2016

ROBYN BOLAM [19.019]

Robyn Bolam

Robyn Bolam (Publicaba anteriormente como Marion Lomax, su nombre de casada), nació en Newcastle en 1953 y creció en Northumberland, en el norte de Inglaterra. Educada en Newcastle upon Tyne Politécnica y la Universidad de Kent, obtuvo su doctorado de la Universidad de York en 1983 y ahora es profesora de Literatura en el Colegio de Santa María, Strawberry Hill, donde ha enseñado desde 1987. Comenzó a publicar como Robyn Bolam en diciembre de 2000.

Robyn Bolam es un poeta sensible de la sinceridad emocional, paisajes del Norte y referencia literaria, cuya reputación ha desarrollado de manera constante desde sus dos primeras colecciones (publicado bajo su antiguo nombre de casada, Marion Lomax), La chica Peepshow (1989) y Ataque de las fronteras (1996 ).


2007 New Wings: Poems 1977-2007
2003 Eliza's Babes: Four Centuries of Women's Poetry in English
2002 The Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare's History Plays
2000 A Companion to English Renaissance Literature and Culture
2000 The Rover/Aphra Behn
1998 Out of the Blue
1996 Raiding the Borders
1995 'Tis Pity She's A Whore and Other Plays / John Ford
1995 The Rover/Aphra Behn
1992 New Worlds: the 1992 Berkshire Literature Festival Anthology
1989 The Peepshow Girl
1987 Stage Images and Traditions: Shakespeare to Ford
1985 Time Present and Time Past: Poets at the University of Kent at Canterbury, 1965-1985


1993 Hawthornden International Fellowship
1981 Eric Gregory Award
1981 The Cheltenham Prize


La luz cose los árboles
como tapices. Ellos
resplandecen en brillantes algodones
estirados tirantes en un marco.
Una aguja reúne 
el valle en
un pliegue de verde.

El bordado crece
más exuberante cada temporada:
el molino tiene que luchar
para girar entre ramas.
Las chimeneas son bobinas
para vides de rápido enrosque
de telares fuera de control.

Esas desafiantes ruinas
giran en el silencio
alrededor de pájaros chismosos
y un arroyo atareado.
No hay máquinas;
ni voces de mujeres;
pocos remanentes permanecen.

Pero donde los zuecos repiquetearon
hacia sus lanzaderas
en la luz de la aguja
el carril está tejido
con exóticas hierbas
que vinieron con el algodón
y rehusaron irse.

Cacti and Love

I knew the desert without driving to it:
the road went straight through my forehead.
Fat branch stumps of Joshua trees,
like a cross between a cactus and a palm,
stopped a long way short of the clear deep sky.

Cacti reminded me of my mother –
difficult to touch without injury to each other.
But when she was happy, relaxed, no tensions,
her smiles were exotic, unexpected flowers.
Her cacti bear with me and still blossom.

We both needed love: I still need it now,
and hope is everywhere in a desert –
cacti bloom; light lifts us into its space.
We forget alien distance, the lack of water:
cacti and love outlive their owners.

Mutual Dynamics
What makes someone want to spend their days
with something live but not alive – to
wait for every storm to pass before
producing an indoor lightning flash?

Poets have sung the body electric,
talked of poetry’s ‘electric shock’, of
respect for those with a capacity
 to carry the largest ‘voltage of life’.

The best writers are ‘high voltage’ but most
find it hard to create enough power,
from a spark, to cause an electric shock,
so they deem it positive when they do.

While you take care and time to insulate
against  resultant damage, we desire
the full effect without harm – the jolt to
new and strange, the wonder left unexplained.

Wonder also brought each of you here
from childhoods fixing trainsets and cars,
seeking new ways to keep the lights on
or to power the race to the stars.

Smart insulation (in high voltage haiku)

You have to admit
it’s clever – liquid crystals
dispersing to show,

by their colours,
if the voltage is high or low.
Shapes shift between sheets

of glass. When they’re black,
it’s safe and the pane is clear.
Then the colours start

to appear. Pink first;
now envelopes of black, green
and blue post themselves

into position –
a blossoming cherry tree
flexes flushed branches

against azure sky –
not a promise of cherries,
but danger. That’s why

it’s smart to wait while
tree turns to dark night with stars
and windows uncloud.


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