Delving Yardbarker is the nom de guerre of the creator of “Reading Ulysses in Montana.” As with Luvgood Carp, it gives me pleasure each time I say “Delving Yardbarker.”

Sonorous, compressed, quirky, inventive, mischievous, literate, subversive, diverting, intriguing, outrageous, prolific, impudent, fearless… Which of these adjectives sticks? All of them capture something of the look and feel of Delving Yardbarker’s “Reading Ulysses in Montana.” Perhaps one I’ve left out is entertaining. That, above all, oftener than not. 

Here are snippets of “Climb It, Change!”. For me, putting them in an acquired tongue concentrates the mind.

Ginger stood and lifted the stifled rifle to the top of the Eiffel Tower’s lowest setting to the right of the neighborhood watch party…
Se puso Ginger de pie y levantó el rifle sofocado hasta el máximo de la configuración mínima de la Torre Eiffel justo a la derecha de la fiesta de mirones del barrio…

George said he didn’t mind as long as the fleet of empty dignitaries fluttered a fortune of mints into the storm drain of restraint…
Dijo George que no le importaba con tal de que la flotilla de dignatarios vacíos hiciera caer aleteando un dineral de caramelos de menta al desagüe de control…

George stood up and helped Ginger grind the rifle against the top of the Eiffel Tower, but the snow started to fall, and the French snow globe had shattered into a number of poems that refrained from all the mornings of the world catching up with them by breakfast in light of all tomorrow’s parties…
Se puso George de pie y le ayudó a Ginger friccionar el rifle contra la cima de la Torre Eiffel, pero la nieve empezó a caerse, mientras que el globo de nieve francés había estallado en un sinfín de poemas, los cuales se abstuvieron de que todas las mañanas del mundo los alcanzaran para la hora del desayuno a la luz de todas las fiestas venideras…

I know, I know. But it’s impossible to experience the untranslatable without breaking the eggs.

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