In Review

Day 27 NaPoWriMo 2020

(Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash)

In Review

The twinkle in those eyes drive me insane, I conclude in review
Between dream and wakefulness, in my bed, I’m glued in review.

A historic question: can forty-three be topped in ineptitude and malice?
Along comes forty-five, surpassing with his turpitude. In review.

Uncertainty is usually beyond control, it’s about unknown unknowns.
Beware of those who do nothing but speak in certitude, in review.

A virus going pandemic may seem like an isolated event, but
plantery interconnectedness makes it a prelude in review.

What could be done differently, what could be said differently,
in silence I do the math, in my head I brood in review.

The flame ignited, burns bright, even as a gust of wind makes it
flicker from time to time. Is this one of those moods in review?

Those who serve on the front line, whether they think it is their jobs,
their duty, their choice, deserve a great deal of gratitude in review.

Your promises are a ‘Mirage’ that play with my emotions
This time is different, I thought, yet you elude in review.

Notes: Day 27 of NaPoWriMo 2020. The prompt for today is:

“…challenge you to write a poem in the form of a review. But not a review of a book or a movie of a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020 (I think many of us have some thoughts on that one!)”

Not entirely on-prompt, as I did not pick a single subject, which usually hard to do when writing a ghazal.  But I did incorporate review as a refrain (radif) weaving into a ghazal and ruminating about many things.  Wrote this in bits and pieces, and unfortunately, without much of a review. So hopefully it is coherent!

Pale Cast

Day 21 NaPoWriMo 2020

(Photo by Aashish Vaidya)

Pale Cast

The subconscious mind intends

A potent, but merciful, rosy scene

 

Nearby, the desk portrait decays in blue light,

My soul freezes at every lore That Man concocts

And my face goes raw.

 

The camera captures my chiseled face in forest

But my last photograph doesn’t flatter

even in profile.

 

Now tuned into pandemonium bereft of data

 

misguidance makes even the sun ebb

In a pale cast.

 

Cast normalcy

aside and doubts linger.

 

Notes:  Day 21 of NaPoWriMo 2020.  Today’s prompt:

“….asks you to make use of today’s resource. Find a poem in a language that you don’t know, and perform a “homophonic translation” on it. What does that mean? Well, it means to try to translate the poem simply based on how it sounds. You may not wind up with a credible poem at the end, but this can be a fun way to step outside of your own mind for a bit, and develop a poem that speaks in a distinctive voice. As an example, here are the first four lines of a poem by the Norwegian poet Gro Dahle….”

I picked a poem Underneath Me in Romanian by Domnica Drumea.  Here’s the original:

sub mine se întinde

o pată mare şi roşie

nu mai pot trăi decât cu lichide

mirosul frigiderelor pline cu mâncare

îmi face rău

închisă în camera fără ferestre

mă las fotografiată din faţă

şi din profil

tu n-ai iubit pe nimeni niciodată

mă ghidez după sunete ca un orb

îmi păzesc castronul

castronul meu gol

şi lingura mea docilă

 

Here’s my first translation which was pretty jumbled up:

What the mind intends

a potent mercy rosy

near my portrait decay blue light chide

My soul frigid every lore feline cue man cares

In my face raw

In chisel face in camera in far forest

My last photography didn’t flatter

Is the profile

 

Tune in, albeit pandemonimum a bit per no men niche data

misguidance dupes the sun at its ebb

In my past cast null

Cast null my goal

See linger my do silly

 

Here’s the actual translation by Anca Barbulescu:

underneath me

a big red stain spreads

I can only live with liquids

the smell of fridges full of food

makes me sick

locked in the windowless room

I let myself be photographed from the front

and from the side

you never loved anyone

I guide myself by sound like a blind man

I guard my bowl

my empty bowl

and my docile spoon

 

It seems, Maureen’s (Thorson) gone back to 2013 NaPoWriMo prompts for many of the inspiration for 2020 prompts.  So if you’ve made it this far, here’s my 2013 NaPoWriMo poem on the same prompt.  I looks like I picked Gro Dahle’s poem in 2013.  In re-reading the poem, I think I like how it turned out.