Jerome Rothenberg

Poems and poetics

Jeffrey Angles: A translator's note on the 2010 Kumamoto Renshi (Linked Poetry) Session

 (l. to r.) Jeffrey Angles, Hiromi Ito, Jerome Rothenberg
(l. to r.) Jeffrey Angles, Hiromi Ito, Jerome Rothenberg

During the romantic era, the notion that individuality represented the source of all new developments in the art world came to have enormous cultural influence in the West. Rather than seeing poets, writers, visual artists, composers and performers as temporally bound people working within (and often against) the bounds of their own cultures and prison-houses of language to produce their work, the romantic era tended to view artists as visionaries who dove into the depths of their individuality to present new, personal works that spoke of their vision of the world.

Sunday 15 August 2010

Books & readings in Paris, with a short essay on the French Connection

This posting will find me in Paris, where a series of readings has been scheduled in celebration of three books newly translated into French:


Secouer la Citrouille (Shaking the Pumpkin), translation by Anne Talvaz, Presses Universitaires de Rouen et du Havre


Journal Seneca (A Seneca Journal), translation by Didier Pemerle, Editions Jose Corti


George Quasha: From 'Alternate Lingualities (preverbs),' with a note on 'Self-organized Criticality'

G. Quasha: Axial Drawing (Dakini Series), December 2015
G. Quasha: Axial Drawing (Dakini Series), December 2015

(Six from a series of thirty-four poems)

for Lissa Wolsak

Jerome Rothenberg: From 'Further Autovariations,' three poems, 2016

Reminders of a Vanished Earth



the poem as landscape


the definition

of a place

is more than

what was seen

or what was

felt before    

From 'Technicians of the Sacred (expanded)': Papa Susso, with Bob Holman, 'How Kora Was Born'

This story begins long long long long ago
So long ago that it was a place not a time
There was a man
He was so alone
The only person he could talk to was Africa
Luckily there was a tree nearby
Even more luckily behind that tree
That’s where his partner was hiding
All the sun and all the water were condensed
Into a single tiny block
Which the man planted in the sandy soil
He blew and he blew on that spot
Each time he blew he thought he heard something
What he was hearing was of course his partner singing