1. And if you were to leave me for my faults 2. I'd not defend my lameness, walking halt 3. and from my trust I would elide your 4. name, I would not do you wrong and speak of you…
Erin Mouré is a Canadian poet and translator of poetry from languages which include, French, Galician, Portuguese and Spanish to English. Biography Her mother Mary Irene was born 1924 in Galicia, Western Ukraine (then Poland) and emigrated to Canada in 1929.(ref) Erin’s father is William Moure born in Ottawa Canada in 1925. Erin is the oldest of 3, having two younger brothers, Ken and Bill. In 1975 Erin moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where she took her second year classes at University of British Columbia in philosophy. After only taking one year of classes Erin left University of British Columbia and got a job at Via Rail Canada where she continued to write poetry and is where she learnt French, Erin still lives in Montreal Canada Writing and Style According to an interview conducted in the early 1990s, Erin has four major influences which led her to become a writer, other than the work of other writers or poets: “Landscape of cars, her mother going to work, her mother teaching her to read, and in a small way losing her sense of touch”[5] Of her more recent work, Melissa Jacques has written: "Erin Mouré's poetry is fragmented, meta-critical and explicitly deconstructive. Folding everyday events and ordinary people into complex and often irresolvable philosophical dilemmas, Mouré challenges the standards of accessibility and common sense. Not surprisingly, her work has met with a mixed response. Critics are often troubled by the difficult and therefore alienating nature of the writing; even amongst Mouré's advocates, the issues of accessibility and political efficacy are recurrent themes."(on Moure's EPC page, external link below). Erin has been nominated and won many writing awards for both her writing and her translation. Some of these awards are the Pat Lowther Memorial Award, Governor General's Award for poetry, A.M.Klein Prize for Poetry.)
Erin Mouré şiirleri
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the poem, that the head tries to excise. At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face…
Tomorrow's hand-locked. Nothing can uncurl its fingers. Artful or touching on artful, it is a suit unworn…
By its wheated thread, it penetrated worked tin, my lips' opening. By its parasite, it penetrated deeply my pectoral cloud, to merge with…
basically driven One of us was scorched by it. It caused even stone to crack open, repeatedly dust…
Dignified is a heartsong here Harsh traverse of the unknown "Better to go down dignified"…
I can t sleep for grief. I can t sleep for longing. I can t sleep for wanting happiness! Mother, how will I live.…
I ll never master the art of poetry. I have these words: sadness and tears! I m not going to put them into lines for…
I m going to walk to the mountain. As if we could meet there! First I must dream the mountain…
I m not pleading any thread of love until I see you. I m not plaiting my hair above…
It was at the fountain where I washed my curls, Mother, and where I did loosen them and me oh lucent…
And so, i took the temperature of the mouth. And so, i took the temperature of the armpit. Washing it first, patting it dry, closing the arm to the body,…
Lisbon is sleeping; the spaces under the staircase breathe like a lung. The loneliness inside horse-drawn vehicles…
My eyes, not seeing you, to all else go blind. Is it you, from far off, blinding me?…
Die Welt ist fort, ich muss dich tragen Paul Celan This pietà is a man…
15 / 28 gösteriliyor