Telephone Issue 1: Uljana Wolf by Telephone Books

telephone Issue 1: Fall 2010

TELEPHONE Issue 1 Edited by Sharmila Cohen & Paul Legault Copyright © 2010 by Telephone Brooklyn, NY www.telephonejournal.org German poems originally published in falsche freunde kookbooks © 2009 Cover Art: Nick Sumida Flip Book: Eliza Hartley

CONTENTS Issue 1: Uljana Wolf editors' note

COHEN & LEGAULT

On Telephone:

A Message from the Editors

The game of Telephone would not be fun if the initial phrase ended as it began. Things are misheard. Things change. That's the point. With a variety of poets and translators, this journal is designed as an opportunity to bask in the general shiftiness of translation. In this inaugural issue, we are featuring five poems from Berlin poet Uljana Wolf 's falsche freunde collection, which seem particularly suited to kick off this project, as they are driven by false cognates and celebrate the "untranslatable." Every contributor approached the original poems as a jumping-off point, with some following closely by the text and others creating entirely new work. Just as it goes in the game, no matter how far the "translations" stray, they can all be traced back to the original. We hope that this journal serves as a home to foreign poetry, as a tool for developing new work, and as an experiment in translation.

WOLF

bad bald

bet ~ t

brief

am anfang bald, und bald am ende wieder: unsere haare, und dazwischen sind sie nicht zu fassen, nicht in sich und nicht in griff zu kriegen, weder im guten noch im bad. stattdessen morgens zu berg (take a bet?) und nachts out of bed (siehe ad). am besten h채ltst du sie als igel, der hat noch jeden hare besiegt. liegt aber eine str채hne im brief, gar eine lange, halte sie unverf채nglich an die wange.

BANG

best bad

bet/t

briefly

we start with soon and end with soon a second time; meanwhile, our hair at best cannot be held, not in nor of itself, nor can it be grasped in the hand of good or bad. instead in the morning on the way up the mountain (nehmen sie eine wette an) and at night aus bett heraus (see adv. for in what way) you can reasonably hold it as you would a hedgehog caught and conquered, similarly that single long strand found in a letter you can for a moment and with impunity press it against your cheek.

BECKER

although I won my bet that you'd be brief in bed, it's (still) bad bald in the beginning and bald in the end: and in between our hair is untouchable, unwilling to be held or pulled, not in the gutter, not in the bath. instead, mornings on the mountain (riskier etwas?) and nights aus dem bett, (cf. your hair auf dem kissen). best to maintain it like a f lat-top who licks every buzzed fuzz. but a strand of hair lies in the letter, what's more, a long one. hold it to your cheek, nsa.

BERNOFSKY

bad bald

bet ~ t

brief

in the beginning bald, bald at the end once more: in between, this hair is hard to grasp, tricky to pin it up or down, for better or for bed. standing on end instead (make a bet?) and at night out of hand (see the ad). perhaps best to crop it hedgehog close: he always gets his hare. but should you find a strand within a letter, long or brief, press it sweetly to your cheek.

bald

bet ~ t

brief

start off bald, and soon again youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll end up badly: unsure hair is all that comes between, i neither get our hair by hand or understanding but in grief so far so good so wet, weder im guten noch im bad. Alternatives to mornings upon mountains (care to make or place a bet?) spending one night out of bed after another (see ad). better off to hold the tortoise in your hat, for he has beaten every hare. should he ever like to stray at length, even to your briefs, i say hats off! just hold him innocently to your cheek, unstartled, no retort, just hedge your bets.

CARD & EWING

bad

COLE

bad bald

bet ~ t

brief

bald at the beginning and all too bald again: in between a close shave. i cut off my herr on a bett, or was it in the bad, for better or for worse. i bald in bed. but that was the end of bad herr days, rebellious lovelocks, me cowed and licked by wirbelwhorls, the question: where to part? all that locktâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;away. all for the best. and bald, bald as an eagle I will soar. all too briefâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;a letter f lutters past, out falls a lock, missing me, a herrâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s breath.

DONNELLY

The Applicant [1] Born without and in no time without it all over again, whatever it was that fell in the interim falling between the one and the other stalls of unhaving what fell through the fingers others had drawn through it absently there (the first a withoutness of never having had, the second of never to have it again) when we look to the animals, when we look through the evidence, when I turn to face the committee, what appears

FITTERMAN

FOR THE MONEY [1] bad bald nine cents brief am anfang bald, und bald am ende wieder: unsere haare, und dazwischen sind sie nicht zu fassen, nicht in sich und nicht in griff zu nine dollars and ninety-six cents im bad. stattdessen morgens zu berg (take a bet?) und nachts out of bed (siehe ad). am besten hältst du sie als igel, der hat noch jeden hare besiegt. liegt aber eine strähne im brief, gar eine lange, halte sie unverfänglich an die wange. Glossary: bad=bathroom bald=soon bett=bed brief=letter The first „bald“ is English and refers to three dollars and fourteen cents of our hair when we are born. The second „bald“ is German and

FITTERMAN

basically says: soon we’ll be bald again. The idiom „nicht zu fassen“ also means: „unbelievable!“ (and: twelve cents ungraspable, unmanageable, i.e., our hair). „weder im guten noch im bad“ refers to the German saying „im guten wie im boesen“ (for better or for worse), except that „worse/bad“ is now taken directly as the German word: Bad = bathroom = for better or for bath. „Igel“ = hedgehog = the name for a very short, male, rather military haircut. Also, „hare and igel“ (Hase und Igel) refers to the Grimm fairy tale (Hare and Tortoise in English), in which the hedgehog always beats the hare in the race, but here, referring to the problem of how to manage one’s three dollars it basically says that this haircut (igel) takes care of all these problems (hare/hair).

GALLAHER

bad bald

bet ~ t

brief

soon at the start, and soon at the end again, of our hair, and between the two there’s no holding, not alone, and not to be fought, either in good or in [bad]. instead, the morning mountain ([take a bet]?) and [in the bed] at night ([see] the ad). at best you’re the one holding the hedgehog close who still has any [hare] defeated. but there’s a strand in the letter, even if it’s a long strand, consider it harmlessly to your cheek.

bald

bet ~ t

brief

In the beginning hareless and unhared again in the end: our hareâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;even a dachshund can do nothing against it, neither by itself nor wearing its war claws, neither in good weather nor while it rains cats and dogs. In the morning it pitches a tent (in bad) and at night it gambols in the bathtub like an advertent bettwetter. It fell out to have been bested and halted by an eagle, who then had to bear a hat to bear ahead because it became a bald eagleâ&#x20AC;Śwhat a bad hare day! In brief, it lay around here on the strand like an unopened ladder and gargled, can you catch the hare by the cheek, it canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ear.

OSTASHEVSKY

bad

SCHWARTZ

bed

better

brief

on capture there are scalpings and soon again, it’s the end. this horror of hair is unbelievable —no longer fastened and out of our control. in good or bad, we climb the morning mountain (out of bed with gold in our mouths)—a hedgehog is always best at the peak, but a rabbit in the hand only has so much worth. a stray hare comes by mail. a strand held delicately on the cheek.

WEIĂ&#x;

[not good] [not hairy] [not not in bed] [not long] Soon and soon and in between something's at it again. HAIR: Don't touch me. THEMSELVES: I can't. THEM: Neither can we. NEITHER: But I can. Take a mountain, for example, or just take one. GOLD: Put me in your mouth. HEDGEHOG: Hold me as tight as I would hold you if only I had hands. HAR E: If I had hands I'd stop running. If your hair had hands it would want to touch you on the cheek, on the other hand.

WOLF

last lied log

list lump

BECKER

the song lied, the last tricky dirt-bag in my throat sits a node which translumps every song into a lie. when I shout: it was him, not me, he rolls an angry splinter on my tongue. boy, I mutter, you're a load, then he says: you're the last. after that I'm mute, but I know he'll hang on, he makes malicious lists for every hack, and why not, he interprets every poem as an attack.

BERNOFSKY

last lied log

list lump

in my throat there sits a lump that clumps every lay into a lie. if i cry out: it’s he who lies, not i, he gleefully loads a log upon my tongue. young man, i grumble, i grow weary of this fun, whereupon he: as do i. falling silent then, i know he’ll go on laying snares, taking every last clearing of the throat as a start—and should he not?—that’ll end a poem.

log

list lump

in my throat there hides a lump that dresses every song in rags. clearly, i explain: it wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t me but him that lied. i cannot stand to listen as he pulls the wool over my plainest song and drags it from my tongue to growl just out of sight, the gall! i smile as i hum, you are a blight, then he: and you, the limit. Silence follows, but i know he wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t relent for long, as sure as you are listening he lies in wait for every erhem i regale him with that he, why not, interprets as reprisal, poetry, permitting only of the sigh a siege, als einen anschlag auslegt, ein gedicht.

CARD & EWING

last lied

DONNELLY

The Applicant [2] is a corridor, lit like a throat, a lump in the carpet knotted like a song that can’t be quelled, that can’t be called audible, that can’t be called song, work of dubious authorship, iffy, burdensome, possibly a form of silence after all, a kind you find on the radio, an accidental gap between tracks that, after you watch it hatch on air, you take to show the upper hand is yours in matters both like and incomparable to this.

last eight dollars log

lump

in meiner kehle sitzt ein lump, der jedes lied zu einer lüge umverklumpt. wenn ich ruf: er wars, nicht ich, der log, rollt er mir grollend einen holzklotz auf die zunge. junge, brumm ich, du bist eine last, dann er: und du das letzte. darauf schweig ich, doch weiß ich, er bleibt dran, legt arge listen an, für jeden räusper, den er, und warum auch nicht, als einen anschlag auslegt, ein gedicht. Glossary: last=a burden lied=song list=deceit/trick log=past tense of luegen, to lie (tell a lie) lump=a rascal In German, we don’t say „a lump in one’s throat“ but „kloss“ or „frosch“ (a dumpling or

FITTERMAN

FOR THE MONEY [2]

FITTERMAN

a frog in one’s throat). To say, then, in German, that one has a LUMP in der kehle means to have twelve dollars and fourteen cents. To say in German „du bist das letzte“ is literally: you’re the last thing (i want to see or deal with) but, in colloquial speech, it’s more like: you’re bullshit/you’re worthless/you suck etc. „legt arge listen an“ (bad/terrible lists) plays, of course, with the English meaning „to make lists,“ but also with the German word „Arglist“ (malice, cunning).

log

GALLAHER

last lied

list lump

in my throat there’s a [lump] that makes each song into a lie. i say that it was the lump, not me, that lied, and it rolls, a block of wood on my tongue. boy, i hum, you’re a burden, then: and you’ll be the last. after, i shut up, but i know it stays tuned, and listens for the wicked parts, for every cough, and why not, as an attack interprets a picture.

HARVEY

Lost Lyrics of the Lumpen Log Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a lump lodged in my throat, a rascalclod who rewrites every song as a clump of lies. If I call out, know that it was him, not me, who rolled out falsehoods like a log on the tongue. Boy, I buzz, you are a burden, then he: you are lost. I keep quiet, though I know heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s monitoring me, making angry lists for every cough, every clearing of the throat, which is when his plan of attack (and indeed why not) takes the unexpected form of a poem.

SCHWARTZ

scalawag that old toad in my throat sounds like death. he lies in my windpipe and logs luegen auf die lippen. that is, i am generally a klutz when it comes to keeping my mouth shut; a block of wood hangs off the tip of my tongue. i try for active silence, but i know he is in there, waiting to call out. toady, you are the last.

WEIĂ&#x;

[load] [lyric] [lark] [lie] [louse] Ahem. MOUTH: There's a throat in my neck. LOG: I'm not going to take anything lying down. PINOCCHIO: I am a woodwind instrument. BOY: <buzzing noises> The song goes. You are a burden. Stay tuned for more information. THROAT-SINGER: W hy can be a reason. A CLEAR ING: Listening spreads. ONSLAUGHT: I'm going to be happening. Now I'm happening.

WOLF

unterstand understand unterstand

understand unterstand understand

BECKER

the shelter of the understory primary partner! how I found a home, more like a bunker, at the train station, after a long stint of standing under, surrounded by humming rails. how the brawl of the train liberates me: as soon as I hear it, that's what I write. does it move you (how I drift)? over there, on the dead-end track, grass stands between the wooden planksâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;I'll say green instead of schwer zu greifen. at the edge of the platform we can practice the underbite. report, for example, on track number two, dawn's crack.

BERNOFSKY

unterstand understand unterstand

understand unterstand understand

dearest friend! after a long journey i found refuge at the station, a barely stationary one, the tracks a-thrum. what solace there is in this din of rails: i scarcely hear these words i write. my erstwhile ear has taken f light. between the cross-ties grass is growing, letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s call it green, for the rest hard to grasp. at platformâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge one might practice understanding. let me report for example, on track two, the faintest dawning.

DONNELLY

The Applicant [3] Dear Committee: I seek permanence in the transitory, dance among the pulling in and out of vehicles whose illtempered music distracts me as I ask. In five years I see myself director of a small concern between thresholds of grass, my name on its plaque, hymns of unending praise in lieu of f lowers, come quick I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feel my otherwise impossible grasp, tell my family they were in my heart and on my lips as I

understand unterstand understand

dear friend! how i found shelter at a train station after long trails, more like something to stand under, around me humming rails. how the sounding of the trains cleans me out: i just hear what i write. can’t what i do beguile you? there on the holding track grass stands swishing swells—i’d say green ansonsten hard to grasp. one could at platform’s edge practice seeing over. report now for example, on perron two slight dawning.

EWING & CARD

unterstand understand unterstand

FITTERMAN

FOR THE MONEY [3] four dollars four dollars four dollars

four dollars four dollars four dollars

teure freundin! wie ich nach langer reise obdach fand, am bahnhof eher ein unterstand, umgeben von summenden gleisen. wie mich das lärmen der züge erlöst: kaum dass ich höre, was ich schreibe. kann dich betören, was ich treibe? drüben auf dem abstellgleis steht zwischen schwellen gras—ich sag mal grün, ansonsten seven dollars. an der bahnsteigkante könnte man auch vorstehen üben. melde zum beispiel jetzt, auf peron zwei, leichtes dämmern. Glossary: This poem plays only with the different meanings of the word „understand/ unterstand"—which is a „shelter, or refuge" in German. The scene is a noisy train station, because, in German, we have the idiom: Bahnhof verstehen (to understand train station = to understand nothing). „vorstehen" means to

FITTERMAN

preside over sth. and comes into play because of the (unspoken) word Bahnhofs-Vorsteher (station master/manager), and, of course, because itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s close to eleven dollars. Curiously, the etymology of both the German and the English word verstehen/understand comes from standing somewhere, and yet the German root stresses the idea of standing in front of things (vor-stehen), whereas the English comes from standing in the midst of things.

GALLAHER

unterstand understand unterstand

understand unterstand understand

dear girlfriend! after a long trip i found shelter at the train station, surrounded by humming tracks. i like how they bring the train noise: almost as soon as i hear what i write. can it deceive you, what i’m doing? storage track sits there on the grass between thresholds—i’d say green, otherwise it’s hard to grasp. at the edge of the platform we could also exercise. register now, for example, on platform two, in the dawn light.

HAWKEY

unterstand understand unterstand

understand unterstand understand

dearest friend! oh how i after a long journey found—under a stand in a train station—a shelter, humming in the rails—oh how i am composed by the noise rushing by. i can barely hear what's written—coherence—what's ghostwritten? over there between ties, on the dead-end track, grass—i'd say green, or else hard to grasp. one could also practice other forms of protrusion at a platform's edge. track now for example on ta ke t wo, daw ning slightly.

OSTASHEVSKY

tag tier tier

tier tier ton

Teary-eyed friend! Since you locked yourself in a fort, and put a tag on your hat in the form of a little shield like a calendar with tear-off dates, no one date misses its due, none slips—dammit!—on an untied tie while playing tag. Else write Thursday read thirsty, write Friday read Friedrichshafen, so tall each date tallies to a totality, all frontier like an atoll. And o please tell me who shall count ‘em, or account ‘em: row after row, in meters, in tons, what tier shall tie one and two, set the tone, toll the toll that tolls you but is now tolled. Now tolled. Now tolled.

OTTING

Expensive ladyfriend! How after a long journey I found the weather roof is a story none can stand under, not even in train stations. Not even at the summit, glattes Eis, Nietzsche's paradise. How HE lost the alarm of the trains: scarcely do I hear this, what am I writing, can you befool, beghoul what I am tribing? Over on the the absinthe glass between waves of grass — I say paint it green, or it hops over yr Verstand. On the train's cant you could also stand tall. You could blend now, for example, both Perons, easiest two light twilight.

"Let's / use some / German words / & stuff. / Unterstehen — be subordinate / to. Another, gimme another / good German / word. They're / all tough / like that / aren't they? Untergang. / I am a shipwreck. / I am a hungry / shipwreck." — Eileen Myles

I STAND UNDER YOU

PEREZ

in you

i understand

shelter

how after shelter found shelter, surrounding found you in the midst of to hold to make lists

SCHWARTZ

Dear Friend, After a long journey, I find myself homeless. A platform at the train station gives me shelter, but I understand nothing here and hear only humming on the tracks. Sometimes, I think that sound is all that keeps me: my surroundings are deceptiveâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;they seem to stand for nothing. Nonetheless, I try and record them: across from me, the grass grows, but green can not be trusted. It must be a trick. There are little ways of figuring it outâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;for example, it would be easy to practice leaning over the edge, just before the train rides through at dawn.

Always,

Your Henchman

WEIß

[underground] [under where you were standing] [under the control of your mind] [under the roof] [under your thumb] After becoming a hobo, I thought about the trains and your preciousnesses. TR AIN 1: The noise of the train. TR AIN 2: Das lärmen der züge. GR ASS TR AIN: W hat am I? GR ASS THR ESHOLD: Green. Despite being unmovable, yonder on the storage track, it's slippery. PLATFOR M: Lean out. PR ACTICE: Give me an example. PLATFOR M 2: That's easy. The sun in the morning.

WOLF

well~~~ e wink

wink

wink~el

wär ich ein uferschneck, or more sophisticated: wentletrap, wühlte mich das meer vor deine füße, doch du suchtest, pulend, stur, dem namen nach in meinem haus die weißen treppen nur, und dunkle winkel. draußen gäb ich, ach vergeblich, mit den fühleraugen winke, algenschminke an der wange, wissend, dies wird niemals gut, das heißt mit wellen enden, bloß ein rauschen bleibt zuletzt in deinem ohr.

BECKER

waves wave at an angle if I were a river-bank snail, oder mehr kultiviert: a spiral stair, the sea would nest me at your feet. still you, in name only, seek (picking, stubborn), the white stairs and dark pockets of my house. outside I would, sigh, sign in vain with my feelers, algae paste glossing my cheeks, knowing this will never be good. that means ending in waves, only a crash lasts in your ear. FIN

wink

wink~el

were i a periwinkle or, more sophisticatedly, wentletrap, iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d wend my way through the waters where you were wading, but all youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d seek in me would be the winding staircase of my name, its spiraling whiteness. outside i would be winking, all in vain, my antennae eyes, an algae blush upon my cheek, knowing all of this must come to naught, ending in a wave and leaving just the sound of distant surf to well within your ear.

BERNOFSKY

well~~~ e

DONNELLY

The Applicant [4] blew the interview. Cracked window over a chest too baroquely open for business. Mollusk of rancor in a throat saying should’ve let him do the talking. Should’ve left them a foretaste of the whole amalgam. W hat doesn’t kill me makes me wonder. W hatever it was must have tramped off an afternoon laughing so hard it forgot what I looked like with my hat down and left me ghost of infinite back rent to pay.

wink

wink~el

were i a periwinkle, or yet more obscure: wentletrap, the ocean would roll me at your feet, but you sought, shelling, bullish, in name only the white steps in my house and dark angles. outside iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d give, ach in vain, wink-signs with my feeler eyes, algae make-up upon my cheek knowing this will never be good, meaning to end swell, just a roaring remains in your ear.

EWING & CARD

well~~~ e

FITTERMAN

FOR THE MONEY [4] thre~~~ e one one dollars wär ich ein uferschneck, or more sophisticated: wentletrap, wühlte mich das meer vor deine füße, doch du suchtest, pulend, stur, dem namen nach in meinem haus die weißen treppen nur, und dunkle winkel. draußen gäb ich, ach vergeblich, mit den fühleraugen winke, algenschminke an der wange, wissend, dies wird niemals gut, das heißt mit wellen eight cents, bloß ein rauschen bleibt zuletzt in deinem ohr. Glossary: welle=wave winken=to wave (to someone) winkel=angle, corner einen wink geben=to give a hint (not: wink at someone) The German name for a periwinkle is „Uferschneck.“ Yet another English winkle bears

FITTERMAN

a name that is surprisingly German, namely wentletrap, which is very close to the German: Wendeltreppe = w inding/circular staircase. Thus, if the you in the poem is searching for angles and corners in the name of the I (wentletrap), it is searching in vain. Therefore, while the you is winkling inside (German: pulen), the little winkle on the outside is giving hints with six dollars (she is „winking“ and she gives „winke“ in German at the same time) and she is also crying (algenschminke=seaweed make-up all over her cheeks, algenschminke also rhymes with winke), knowing that things are not well and will therefore not end well, only end in waves (German: wellen) again.

GALLAHER

well~~~ e wink

wink

wink~el

i had been a periwinkle, or more sophisticated: a staircase shell, and kicking me in the sea at your feet, you were seeking, shelling, stubborn, after the name in my house the only white stairs, and dark angle. i would give out, in vain, to wave at your eyes, knowing the makeup algae cheek, this is never good, that ends with waves, just as the sound is tricking your ear.

HARVEY

This Wave is a Wave Goodbye If I were a periwinkle—or more loftily put, an übersnail—I’d search the sea under your feet. You nose about for names, trying to read them in each step of the wink-white staircase in my house or the darkest of corners. Outside, with my eye-stalks at attention and algae rouge running down my cheeks, I knew things weren’t going well, that soon the crashing waves would be just a remembered rasp in your ear.

PEREZ

a wave a book a hue

ocean at your feet, shells: our names—after, house, ‘you’ becomes ‘need’ means becomes waves with no end in my ears

is is

SCHWARTZ

winkle were i a civilized mollusk, i would stay at home, snailing up and down the stairs, winking out the window and keeping to myself. instead, i’ve ventured out into the world—antenna eyes onward, waving in the wind. i search every dark corner for clues, but still, nothing points me in the right direction. algae smears down my face—waves crash in the distance —this will not end well.

WEIĂ&#x;

[a wave in the well] [closing one eye on cue] [closing one eye to convey a hidden meaning] [winkle-nook] Were I the princess of snails, they'd call me Lady Wentletrap. FLOTSA M: Life happens inside. THE SEA: Then it builds out. THIEF: There were white stairs on the beach. THE W HITE STAIRS: It's hard to land after living here. They send you from the dark corners into science. MER M A ID: I'll turn my cheeks their alien green. ANTENNA E: I'll look at you, knowingly. GOOD: I don't know if I'm going to occur. I want to end my life like swoosh.

(z)et (z)oo (z)u

WOLF

BECKER

to the zoo herr meister, wir gingen zum zoo, aber er war zu. we wanted to practice baring our teeth, study the longing vocal release of, for example, the zebras, because everything speaks different to each, sometimes so and sometimes zoo. in the end, our hearts halved by the fence, we spotted a sand lizard set. we named them Ginger & Fred. es scheint, sagtest du, sie haben die ganze sache nie beendet. this gave us lots to talk about on the way home.

BERNOFSKY

(z)et (z)oo (z)u

mister, weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been to the zoo, but it was closed. we wanted to practice baring our teeth, to study the voiced musings of the zebras, say, since everything says everything some other way, or two, or zoo. at the gateâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s azimuth or zenith we espied a set of lizards. we dubbed them ginger and fred. it seems, you said, they never called the whole thing off. and this food for thought fed us all the way home.

DONNELLY

The Applicant [5] Dear Committee: W hat a clusterfuck to meet you yesterday a table blinking with mortality. Afterwards a walk in the zoological park to see as others do: a show of toothy mindlessness, a zebra pressed against a fence recalling what confined it. A need to externalize the terms of an inner life as if they werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t out there already. As if the course of human suffering hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t shown itself to be, in effect, pure comedy.

(z)ero (z)oo (z)u

mister, we’ve been to the zoo, but it was closed. wir wollten die entblößung unserer zähne trainieren, studieren das stimmhafte sehnen zum beispiel der zebras, weil alles zueinander anders sagt, mal so und mal zoo. zuletzt entdeckten wir, verzagt am zaun, ein echsenset. wir nannten sie ginger und fred. it seems, you said, they never called the whole thing five dollars and nine cents. das gab uns reichlich stoff für den heimweg. Glossary: This one only plays with the different pronunciations of the letter „z“ (Zet) in German, where it is pronounced hard like „ts“ and in English, where it is pronounced softer, almost like the German s—thus, a Zet in English would be a „set,“ and an English zoo would be „zu“ (closed) in German. Thus, the Zoo in the first line happens to be closed. Thus,

FITTERMAN

FOR THE MONEY [5]

FITTERMAN

also, „Zaehne“ (teeth) corresponds to „Sehnen“ (longing). The „z“ in the word „lizard“ inspired the appearance of a „lizard set“ (echsenset), and their names in turn were inspired by the Cole Porter song „Let’s call the whole thing off “ („you say tomEto and I say tomAto“ etc)—a song about love and two hundred and three dollars.

GALLAHER

(z)et (z)oo (z)u

[mister, we've been to the zoo, but it was closed.] we wanted to train the falling out of our teeth, studying the long voiced. the zebras, for example, because everything else says to each other, times and times zoo. finally, we discovered, despondent at the fence, the lizard-set. we called them [ginger] and [ fred]. [it seems, you said, they never called the whole thing off] which gave us plenty of material for the trip home.

MOURE

(z)ed (z)oo (z)ee

mister, that’s a zed in the zoo, not a zee, nor the zuider zee, not so bizarre. what’s more, in a zed there’s Ed. that said, we wear woollens and trainers, and you think us Brits coz our feet are well-trained and not sneaky. but why shoes and not shows? zap a bonspiel of zebras, zigzag in the saga, zip to the zócalo, in the ooze or ozone where zen zealotry zooms home like Jingles to Ed. A toast to the Ee, okay I agree! But after you’ve drunk it, don’t get in a car, there’s double-zero tolerance (oo) at the border, so zip up your zipper, zoo’s not very far.

SCHWARTZ

zebras buddy, we went to the zoo and it was packed. we exposed our teeth, but a voice kept telling us not to. the zebras set a bad exampleâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;they are usually of two minds. itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like we always used to say: once mauled and to the zoo. in the end, we discovered that a half-hearted set of lizards can be called anything. although, it seems, it could never be called off. the whole thing gave us so much to talk about on the way home.

WEIĂ&#x;

[not from] [not a] [not the place where they leave them alone] At the zoo, them being the animals at the zoo, it being the zoo, it was closed. MISTER: W hat'll it be? TEETH: To be a train that's been let out. ZEBR AS: There was a kind of zoo once. ZEBR AS: Now there is just this zoo. Everything is its separate everything. We discovered the lizards are not exactly dancing. GINGER: Let's call the whole thingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; FR ED: No. YOU: I like you like them but on the way home.

CONTRIBUTORS MARY JO BANG's most recent book of poems is The Bride of E (Graywolf Press 2009). She teaches at Washington University in St. Louis and is working on a translation of Dante's Inferno. PRISCILLA BECKER doesn't exist, but an ounce of her has been reincarnated in the Brooklyn poet Lørpsliç Bierkegårt. Award-winning translator SUSAN BERNOFSKY is the author of Foreign Words: Translator-Authors in the Age of Goethe. She has translated half a dozen books by the great Swiss-German modernist Robert Walser as well as works by Jenny Erpenbeck, Yoko Tawada, Gregor von Rezzori and others, and is co-chair of the PEN Translation Committee. She is currently writing a biography of Walser and a novel set in her home town, New Orleans. MACGREGOR CARD is a poet, translator and bibliographer living in Queens. His first book, Duties of an English Foreign Secretary (Fence Books, 2010) is a companion volume to Karen Weiser’s To Light Out. With Oliver Brossard he is editing an anthology of New York School poets, for simultaneous publication in English and French translation. He teaches poetry at Pratt Institute (Brooklyn) and works for the MLA Bibliography. ISABEL FARGO COLE grew up in New York City and has lived in Berlin as a writer and translator since 1995. She is initiator and co-editor of www.no-mans-land.org, the online journal of new German literature in translation.

TIMOTHY DONNELLY is the author of Twenty-seven Props for a Production of Eine Lebenszeit and The Cloud Corporation. He is a poetry editor for Boston Review and teaches in the Writing Program of Columbia Universityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s School of the Arts. MEGAN EWING is a great admirer of others' poetry. She is completing a Ph.D. in German Literature at Princeton University. ROBERT FITTERMAN is the author of 12 books of poetry, including four installments of his ongoing poem Metropolis: Metropolis 1-15 (Sun & Moon Press, 2000), Metropolis 16-29 (Coach House Books, 2002), Metropolis XXX: The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Edge Books, 2004) and Sprawl: Metropolis 30A (Make Now Books). Other recent titles include: war, the musical (Subpress), Rob the Plagiarist (Roof Books) and Notes On Conceptualisms, co-authored with Vanessa Place (Ugly Duckling Presse). He teaches writing and poetry at New York University and at Bard College, Milton Avery School of Graduate Studies. JOHN GALLAHER is the author of the books of poetry, Gentlemen in Turbans, Ladies in Cauls (Spuyten Duyvil, 2001), The Little Book of Guesses, winner of the Levis Poetry Prize, from Four Way Books, and Map of the Folded World, from The University of Akron Press, as well as the free online chapbook, Guidebook from Blue Hour Press. Other than that, he's co-editor of The Laurel Review and GreenTower Press. Currently he's working on a co-authored manuscript with the poet G.C. Waldrep, titled Your Father on the Train of Ghosts, due out in Spring 2011 from BOA Editions. MATTHEA HARVEY is the author of three books of poetry and

one children's book, The Little General and the Giant Snowflake. An illustrated erasure, Of Lamb, is forthcoming in 2011. CHRISTIAN HAWKEY is the author of two-full length collections of poems (The Book of Funnels and Citizen Of, both from Wave Books) and two chapbooks (HourHour and Petitions for an Alien Relative). His newest book, a mixed-genre exploration of the life and work of Georg Trakl, was published by Ugly Duckling Presse (September, 2010). His translations from the German have appeared in jubilat, Dichten #10, the anthology New European Poetry, and the Chicago Review. ERÍN MOURE is an award-winning poet and translator from several languages into English who lives in Montreal. She has also translated Chus Pato from Galician, Nicole Brossard from French, Fernando Pessoa from Portuguese and Andrés Ajens from Spanish. Her most recent book is O Resplandor (Toronto: Anansi, 2010). EUGENE OSTASHEVSKY's books and chapbooks of poetry include Iterature, The Life and Opinions of DJ Spinoza and Enter Morris Imposternak, Pursued by Ironies, all published by Ugly Duckling Presse. He is extremely grateful to Uljana Wolf for her translation Auf tritt Morris Imposternak, vefolgt von Ironien, recently released in Berlin by SuKuLTuR. His translations of Uljana in this issue of Telephone attempt to apply the “false friends” method of the original. NATHANIEL OTTING is writing The Wrong Book. His translation of Uljana Wolf 's mein flurbuch / my cadastre appeared from Nor By Press in 2009. He is a sub-sub librarian for minutes BOOKS; The

Robert Walser Society of Western Massachusetts; and Walser and Company, a bookstore in Hadley, MA. CRAIG SANTOS PEREZ, a native Chamoru from the Pacific Island of Guahan (Guam), is the co-founder of Achiote Press (www. achiotepress.com) and author of two poetry books: from unincorporated territory [hacha] (Tinfish Press, 2008) and from unincorporated territory [saina] (Omnidawn Publishing, 2010). DR. UTE SCHWARTZ lives in Viersen, Germany and holds a postgraduate degree in Public Health. She has worked as a medical doctor and performed extensive field research in Central America and Africa on the subject of sexual and reproductive health. In her down time, she teaches yoga, studies literature, and translates poetry. UWE WEIĂ&#x; lives in Dayton, Ohio and has published three books of poetry, most recently, Peer Gynt. His translations and critical work have appeared in Scrutiny, Theater Untergrund, and Drama in the Modern World. The German poet and translator ULJANA WOLF was born in East Berlin, and studied German literature, English, and Cultural Studies, in Berlin and Krakow. Her poems have appeared in journals and anthologies in Germany and all over Europe, as well as in New European Poetry (Graywolf, 2008), Dichten No. 10: 16 New German Poets (Burning Deck, 2008), the Chicago Review, and Shampoo Poetry. She has published two volumes of poetry, kochanie ich habe brot gekauft (kookbooks 2005) and falsche freunde (kookbooks 2009). In 2006, she was awarded the Peter-Huchel-Preis and the Dresdner Lyrikpreis, and in 2008 she received the RAI/Medien-

preis at the Meraner Lyrikpreis, a grant from the Deutsche Literaturfonds and from the Deutsche Ă&#x153;bersetzerfonds. She was also the co-editor of the Jahrbuch fĂźr Lyrik (Fischer Verlag 2008). Wolf lives in Berlin and New York.