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LOL, as they say! What drew you to translate this particular work? Do you regard translation as an integral part of writing poetry, as something all poets should try their hand at? And for those translators reading this, what do you believe goes into creating a successful translation?

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It also is more like a philosophical dialogue, in many ways, than a play: not a lot of actual action or plot, but a lot of invitation to meditate on trust, betrayal and duty—to oneself, to the state… So it ended up having a lot of intersections with my own work. I think poetry would be a lot better if more poets knew other languages, and had access to other sensibilities than those that English carries with it.

But I do think that all poetry is a form of translation, a translating of fleeting experience and perception into something briefly fixed. None of this is entirely possible, of course. But when people read my translation, I want them to feel they are getting what Sophocles intended, not what Carl Phillips thinks he intended. I do think that my style seeped into my translation—how could it not? Finally, what project s are you currently working on? You mentioned a forthcoming book of poetry; can you tell us about that? This fall, I have a chapbook—my first ever deliberate chapbook—coming out from Sibling Rivalry Press.

The poems came out of a little emotional storm that has since passed elsewhere, as storms do. How do we know who we are or should be? How to love another without compromising the self? The usual easy questions that a life comes down to. Like Like. You are commenting using your WordPress.

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Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Skip to content Carl Phillips. Photograph by Reston Allen.

Time and Water - Asymptote

Courtesy of the Academy of American Poets. Thanks for reading, Riverdo! Glad you enjoyed the interview! Jesse Like Like. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:.

Where the Blue Begins. By George Bradley.

In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins,. On sun-drenched islands known as Tremiti,. In the southern Adriatic, in the wind-blown spray. In the bluest water, just where it begins,. And reflected sunlight jumped and shimmered.

Blue Water - Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

Among the cliffs and overhangs and grottoes,. In the Adriatic, where that sort of thing begins. In the clear blue water that the swells bring by. We came to rest and play and bathe ourselves,. As the pine trees swayed on the bluffs above.

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In the sunny Adriatic, where a way of life begins. We came seeking an immersion, to find ourselves. A bottom profoundly blue, to see it seemed. That water washed as well or sun could so ignite,. Came to see ourselves in a world of dreams,. That words might furnish what place implies,. That place might finish what a word begins. We came seeking clearest water, sunniest sky,. Came, you and I, to see what would be seen.