In need of translation?

I survived the italian job - a very pleasant evening, even if I missed most of what was said. It might even make for an enhanced enjoyment of a poem to finally hear it in your own language, a little island of rescue amid a sea of sound? I enjoyed talking to Riccardo Duranti; he has an interest in science and he has translated Cormac McCarthy and Patrick McCabe. I particularly liked his remark that the translator is the best critic; nobody will give a closer reading!

I may be in need of a translator myself. After many years I've managed to get on the shortlist for the Strokestown Poetry Prize - english section but the poem is a bit different from what I usually do; among other things it presumes on a fair bit of close reading of well-known Irish poetry. The competition is stiff, and I'm glad to be among them.

That last remark of 'what I usually do' reminds me of Miroslav holub's poem 'Conversation with a Poet' which takes the form of a dialogue. How do you know you are a poet? - I have written a poem! That means you were a poet, and now? - I will write another poem! How do you know it will be a poem? - it will be just like the last one! .......the stadium empties

Happy St Patrick's Day

It's seems years since I managed to set up this blogger account and a couple of people have pointed out the obvious that I haven't actually posted anything since my opening shot (across a critic's bows?) The main reason, of course, is that I keep forgetting my password. Now comes a missive from head office (one of the stately ships of Irish poetry, apparently) that we poets need to put it about more in cyberspace, so here goes with (very late) notice of an event that I'm involved in:

Tomorrow, Friday 29th Feb, I'm taking a leap year leap into the strange world of translation; At 6 pm in the Istituto Italiano di Cultura, there will be a Serata di Poesia (pronounced po-es-SEE-a, I'm told). It will feature 4 italian poets, Andrea Cortellessa, Antonella Anedda, Maria Attanasio and Riccardo Duranti, ably supported by poet/translators Eilean Ni Chuilleanain and Jamie McKendick with a brief supplementary versioning of three Duranti poems by myself. I keep misremembering Mahon's line from the Last of The Fire Kings - something about "striking over the fields not knowing a word of the language". In truth Duranti is an excellent translator of his own work so I'm a bit nervous of what he will think of my versions. There probably should be the equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath, "do no harm". More to follow, if I survive....