To make it clear, I don’t think there’s anything mystical
about “ghosts” — they are an isness. There’s no secret code
or system of access, and they are there whether you want
them to be or not. They are enjambments within your narrative.
(John Kinsella, from “Clarity,” Poetry, June 2023)

My translation:

Hablando claro, no creo que haya nada místico
en lo de “fantasmas” — son una es esencial. No hay código secreto
ni sistema de acceso, y están allí quiéraslo
o no lo quieras. Son encabalgamientos dentro de tu narración.

A speciality pizza lay hot on the chopping block: Pacific Vegetarian, thin crust. My sister on the sofa needed only a surface on which to rest her plate before diving into the junk food. I said, “You know what? I have a lapboard that should be just the thing. Lemme go get it for you.” She said, “Yeah, that should work.” I strode away only to return in a moment toting the lapboard and affably affirming on the heels of her comment:

“I can’t say but what I’d be unsurprised if it didn’t work.”

My translation:

No puedo decir otra cosa que afirmar que quedaría yo lleno de sorpresa si me sorprendiera el caso de que no fuera solución del problema.

Handing her the lapboard I added laughing, “You know, Nan, I’m not entirely sure what I just said!” And we ate our pizza.

Reflecting on the exchange and the feeling it gave me, I realize that what had bubbled out of me unbidden was a burst of poetic speech. I had emitted language rife with feisty pleonasm that escaped known, sensible boundaries. It was a blip of quantum-level expression able to be in several states at once — not contradictory so much as adversative in a poke-in-the-eye but reconciling way. It compressed so much into such tightly elusive utterance, and gave me such pleasure to say in that particular way, knowing full well neither Nan nor I could any longer unspool its latency into straight statement, and knowing that it didn’t make a damn to her or me that we couldn’t, that it gave me, I say, a quiver of joy comparable to pizza.

You scoundrels who call yourselves poets, I salute you. So that’s what it’s all about! I’ve had a taste of your satisfactions.

(c) 2023 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved