EthicalDative

The very title of Vijay Sheshadri’s volume of poems, reviewed by David Orr, has the jewel-beam of poetic crystal to it. I keep rolling it on my tongue, as if it makes some kind of sense of the moment. Orr’s phrase about “coiling and liquid” conversation adds crackle to the verve.

The essence of Seshadri’s writing is conversation, and that conversation is coiling and liquid, not diffident.

I’ll meet if you really want to meet.
Me reuniré contigo si de verdad lo deseas.
I’ll even meet in some small café or some
Incluso en cualquier café pequeño o algún
park across the way. But I won’t meet for long,
parque por ahí. Pero no me reuniré largo rato,
and not for a minute will I look at you in your isolation,
ni por un minuto voy a mirarte en tu aislamiento,
your human isolation. Looking at yours makes me look at mine
tu aislamiento humano. Mirar el tuyo me obliga a mirar el mío
—
transparencies of each other are they, yours and mine —
transparencias uno del otro son, el tuyo y el mío —
and I don’t have time for mine, so how could I have time for yours?
y no tengo tiempo para el mío, así que ¿cómo voy a tenerlo para el tuyo?

(The quoted verse is from Orr’s review. The intercalated translations are mine.)

(David Orr, “A Poet Who Mesmerizes by Zigs and Zags, Hopping From Idea to Idea,” NYTimes, 11-25-20)

(c) 2020 JMN

David Orr reviews Vijay Sheshadri’s volume of poems “That Was Now, This Is Then” (Graywolf Press).

Reviewers who are poets are especially equipped with spicy pronouncements.

Poetry has a long, proud history of acting as if readers don’t exist. Often this is a good thing… But, of course, to act as if the reader doesn’t exist is exactly that: to act.
La poesía tiene una historia larga y orgullosa de fingir que no existen lectores. Muchas veces es cosa buena… Pero claro, fingir que no existe el lector es precisamente eso: fingir.

To write as an ironist, especially today, is to risk that the reader loses patience with hedging, backtracking, spirals of cleverness. But sometimes the layers of the onion ensure the purity of the tears.
Escribir como ironista, sobre todo hoy día, es arriesgar que el lector pierda paciencia con evasivas, cambios de opinión, espirales de ingenio. Pero a veces las capas de la cebolla aseguran la pureza de las lágrimas.

(David Orr, “A Poet Who Mesmerizes by Zigs and Zags, Hopping From Idea to Idea,” NYTimes, 11-25-20)

Morsels of meaty gristle to chew over and suck the juices, swallow or not.

(Translations are mine.)

(c) 2020 JMN