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Amtssprache

This week I read how the word ‘lügenpresse’, meaning ‘lying press’, which was used by the nazis to discredit any media outlets which were against them, has experienced a revival in German discourse. Those who use it are emboldened, of course, by the fact that another good translation fo the term might be ‘fake news’, as used by Donald Trump. Confusing people, so that they are no longer certain what is true, is one way to ensure complicity in fascism. When they are confused, too, people often look for a ‘strong’ leader. Making our own moral choices, taking responsibility, thinking – these things seem too difficult. It is much easier to be obedient, although a cursory glance at history tells us obedience is not a virtue.

These are frightening times. Today is the launch of the Extinction Rebellion, an international movement using mass civil disobedience to force governments to respond to the ecological crisis. I have no doubt that in the future those who are arrested will be seen, like Sophie Scholl of the White Rose movement, as heroic, as will those who have taken part in Black Lives Matter demonstrations, or anti-fascism marches in Charlottesville, or anti-fracking action in Lancashire. Those of us who are not so brave must reckon with ourselves. This poem I wrote a few years ago seems relevant.  ‘Amtssprache’ means ‘official talk’ and was a term used by Eichmann during the Nuremberg trials. Asked if it was hard to send those tens of thousands of people to their death, he answered: ‘To tell you the truth, it was easy. Our language made it easy.’

 

Amtssprache

 

So what would you pay to have your family safe

in that house with the garden and the clean running water –

and you walk in and hold them and kiss their faces?

Your life? Too easy, and nobody’s asking.

 

How about the life of an Afghan child,

a city, the birds in the sky?

Would you turn a blind eye? Would you turn off the news?

Would you run the trains to death camps?

 

Of course you would. You do.

You do these things.

 

 

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In the abundance

So the season of flu vaccines and soft play and parent’s evenings begins. My children have taken to their fluffy onesies. This weekend we had friends over for a roast dinner, with rainbow chard and a first crop of Jerusalem artichokes from our wet garden, and I wore my new cords. I’m back at Essex University as a Royal Literary Fellow again, two days a week, leaving the house when it’s still dark and Gruff waves goodbye from a glowing upstairs window. Pret porridge. The walk to the campus from Wivenhoe train station has been making me feel autumnal: grey skies; banks of fern turned to rose-gold; dark sloes; an egret in pale brown water; a flicker of yellow wagtail.

If you want to get into a similarly cosy mood, can I suggest you subscribe to MPT? Our new issue is at the printers as we speak, with this beautifully seasonal cover by Budapest illustrator Ilka Mészely.

Hungary cover

Hungarian poetry is full of mists and cups of coffee, and the issue also contains tributes to Ted Hughes’ translations by Polly Clark, Zaffar Kunial and Tara Bergin, new versions by Mona Arshi and Chris McCabe, and some seasonal poems such as this beautiful haiku by Yasuaki Inoue, translated by Katrina Naomi:

In the abundance
of autumn a baby cries
like a giant fire

 

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My Tunisian Trip

If I haven’t been posting much lately, it’s partly because I’ve had a perfect storm of deadlines – I had to send my first draft of Fierce Bad Rabbits: The Tales Behind our Picture Books to my publishers, my TS Eliot shortlist to the other judges AND the autumn issue of MPT to the typesetter this week!!!

It’s also, I must admit, because I’m not on Facebook any more. This is partly because I think they are morally vile, so don’t see why they should make money off my writing (was hearing only last night how hate speech against the Rohingya has mainly been spread in Myanmar on Facebook), but it is also an attempt to cut down on social media. I’ve always told myself I’m on social media for professional reasons, and as most professional stuff is now on Twitter I realised I was just lurking on Facebook for the gossip and arguments.

Still, I have to admit that, although I’ve barely missed it at all, the events calendar was kind of useful, and Facebook was also the main place my blogs got shared and commented on. Writing them now feels a bit like talking into a void…

Anyway, since I last blogged I’ve been to Tunisia, helping run translation workshops with the British Council for their Majaaz project – we are hoping to have a fabulous Maghrebian issue of MPT next summer. I didn’t explore much as we worked very intensely, but the place where we did the workshops was stunning – all rugs and art and cacti, and the food was amazing: these salads with fruit in them, like tomato and peach, and melon and cucumber, and seafood, brik, crepes, spicy eggs, prickly pear, homemade olive oil, tiny honeyed cakes, mint tea... The company was also lovely, and there was sea swimming, and lots of poetry chat late into the night, and the smallest tortoise I’ve ever seen.

 

Whilst you’re here, if you’re in London I should flag a really lovely MPT event coming up, celebrating Ted Hughes’ Translations, on October the 10th with the amazing Tara Bergin, Zaffar Kunial and Polly Clark. It’s FREE but you need to book here.

This month I’ll also be at the National Poetry Day Future of Translation Summit, the Winchester Poetry Festival, and Aldeburgh Festival – their lovely brochure is out now, do check it out. MPT will be launching our new issue ‘In a Winter City: Focus on Hungary and Ted Hughes’ there, with readers including George Szirtes, and also involved in a seminar on translating LGBTQ poetry with Kostyra Tsolakis, where we’ll try and make a new translation of Vassilis Amanatdis.

 

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Camel Milk

 

Had a wonderful week in Somaliland, attending the Hargeysa International Book Fair to launch Asha’s book The Sea-Migrations. We did two events, and it was one of the first times I’ve heard a poet applauded after every line of her poem! It was wonderful to be part of a Woman and Wisdom event, and to hear traditional womens’ poems sung. I also finally tried camel milk, after years of translating descriptions of it (fresh, with a hay and smoke taste – I was only allowed two sips as it is ‘very strong’). This long read in The Guardian explains how the country is unrecognised at the moment. It’s hard to comprehend when you’re there – the city was peaceful and welcoming, with international guests invited to dinner at the university by Edna Aden (stuffed lamb, fish curry, carafes of fresh watermelon juice) and even to the presidential palace on my final night. The people are entrepreneurial and tech-savvy: goats and camels wander the streets with phone numbers written on them, and I was impressed by the way locals pay for even bus rides by money-transfers on their mobiles.

The trip was a blur of brightly painted shops; qat shacks with piles of green leaves outside; jugs of sweet, spicy tea; dusty breezes; dancing; ceaseless political debate. In the Mansoor hotel, guarded by its giant tortoise, each breakfast delegates from Rwanda, South Sudan and Ethiopia discussed the future of Africa, and I ate my mango and got an education…

(Also managed to reconnect with the cultural zeitgeist on the flight back by watching Black Panther and reading the whole of Olivia Laing’s Crudo.)

Then this weekend it was Port Eliot – sadly wet and windy, but it’s always nice to catch up with the Idlers and I was very pleased to do my first talk about my forthcoming non-fiction title, Fierce Bad Rabbits: The Tales Behind our Picture Books, in the Idler Academy tent – it seemed to go well. I also caught Luke Wright’s enjoyable Frankie Vah show and Martha Sprackland’s set at Caught by the River, and the children seemed to enjoy Morris Dancing and sleeping badly in a leaking tent…

Back to my desk now to start putting together the next issue of MPT, which has a Ted Hughes and Hungary theme (Hungarian submission deadline is 10th of August)

 

 

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Image result for mpt house of thirstWe had a wonderful weekend in Ledbury launching out LGBTQ+ issue, ‘The House of Thirst.’ The title, from a line by Alice Rahon, feels extremely relevant in this heatwave. So many marvels in it, but as a taster how about this poem, ‘Geography’ by Jayan Cherian, translated by Richard Scott? Richard read it so beautifully at the launch – many thanks to Richard, Mary Jean Chan and Jennifer Lee Tsai for making it such a lovely event. If you want to read more, do think about subscribing, it’s only £23 a year.

The weekend was full of other highlights too, including the Ukranian poetry duel; Jericho Brown; this poem ‘Magdalene – The Seven Devils’, by Marie Howe; catching up with friends over cherry cake and cider in hospitality; being given an envelope of nicotiana sylvestris seeds as a souvenir after breakfast in my host’s garden.

I’m enjoying these long summer days: lollies on deckchairs, helping Cate make jars of perfume. We ordered some caterpillars and set loose a netfull of butterflies (called: Cherry, Watermelon, ‘Nana and Peach). I went to Hampton Court Flower Show with my mum, mother-in-law and daughter, and we looked at halls of dahlias, peonies and roses. I’ve developed a taste for iced coffee. In my writing time, I’ve been working on Fierce Bad Rabbits, my non-fiction book about picture books, and looking at Ladybird fairytales, Meg and Mog and the Flower Fairies.

Later this week I’m heading to the Hargeysa International Book Fair to help launch Asha’s book, then onto Port Eliot where I’ll be reading in the poetry tent and doing my first talk about picture books for The Idler Academy. Hope you’re all enjoying the summer too, and maybe I’ll catch up with you soon on my travels…

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I had a wonderful time in Bucharest last week, discussing MPT and editing as part of a panel chaired by the wonderful poet Magda Cârneci. It was great to catch up with fellow editors James Byrne and Tony Frazer, as well as Neil Astley and Pamela Robertson Pearce from Bloodaxe, and to meet Claudiu Komartin who edits Poesis International, and Lilana Ursu (whose exquisite volume A Path to the Sea was in my handbag for most of the trip, conjuring a Romania of green darkness and ‘the shy red of wild strawberries’.)

The City was enjoyable and fascinating too – lovely beer-halls, frescoed churches, graffiti, Brâncuși. We visited Ceaușescu’s Palace of Parliament, the ‘heaviest building in the world’ according to Wikipedia, absurd in its enormity and banality, 70% empty with gilded, silk-draped conference room after gilded, silk-draped conference room.  I read about how Ceausescu’s government in Romania monitored women monthly for pregnancy, and made contraception illegal for anyone under 45 who had not borne four children (an inspiration for Gilead). We visited the village Museum, with its beautiful, various homes; its celebration of the rural life the Communist Regime tried to eradicate – wooden, tiled, painted, carved, half-buried, thatched; windmills and wells topped by witches’ hats of tiles. We drank good wine and ate stuffed vine-leaves, carp, polenta and smoked sausages.

I flew back and was straight on the train to Huddersfield to participate in The Motley Muse, where it was great to hear Vahni Capildeo, Chris McCabe and Zaffar Kunial read amongst others – and Jay Bernard’s performance of their sequence about the New Cross Fire and Grenfell was one of the most powerful things I’ve seen all year. I also really enjoyed the display of Hughes archive material – this hand-drawn map showing the precise location where Hughes became a poet caught my interest:

ted

Many thanks to Steve Ely and the Ted Hughes Network for organising such a great day. Sandeep Parmar sadly had to cancel, but in her absence I bought Threads, by Sandeep, Nisha Ramayya and Bhanu Kapil – an lyric essay/collaboration published by Clinic. Beautiful and essential.

It was a relief in a way to get home on Sunday and mess around outside with the children (splashing in the paddling pool; making a fairy garden; constructing a ‘den’ out of a sheet and sunloungers). Our peonies are on their last, bright, overblown days; yellow roses have made an appearance. I planted rainbow chard seeds and chucked a few snails over the garden wall.

A busy few weeks now – this Thursday I’m going to be in Oxford, going through the MPT archive at Queens and then onto perform for the Oxford Brookes Poetry Centre ‘Think Human Festival’, at the Crisis Skylight Cafe, Old Fire Station at 7.30pm.  Then Gruff’s half term is upon me. I’m also about to send my second issue as editor, The House of Thirst, with a focus on LGBTQ+ poetry, off to the typesetters. We’ll be launching at Ledbury on July 7th with Richard Scott, Mary Jean Chan and Jennifer Lee Tsai (and we’ll also be partnering on a Ukrainian translation duel organised by Sasha Dugdale that weekend, so it should be a wonderful weekend).

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Translation has been occupying my time this month. I facilitated my final workshop for the Poetry Translation Centre – you can read my blog about it here. I’ve also done a couple of talks, and then there has been preparation for the launch of this beauty, which is out this week (cover image by Sophie Bass):

IMG_1450

Here’s a taster – a blistering poem by James Noel, trans. Serafina Vick called ‘Last Stage’.

If you haven’t already, it would be a great time to start subscribing!

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