La Nonna Americana Conosce una Spia di Wuhan

La Nonna Americana Conosce una Spia di Wuhan

Nelle radure
i fantasmi sono insiti in
care cose non finite

Hanno finito di pulire
il sangue dal Salone di bellezza

La voce della nonna
urla nella notte:
dov’è il mio amico di penna, ma sì

La nonna è morta.
anche il suo parrucchiere–
per video due funerali
e l’autopsia è fatta
nessuna tossina del tipo ordinario.

A tutti manca una nonna.
Molti sapevano del cinema divertente della nonna
– erano tempi strani.

La nonna aveva un amico di penna cinese
uno studente straniero di medicina
passando la USMLE
passando il TOEFL e tutto il resto.
La sua amica ora è un dottore
ora uno scienziato.

Molte volte
La nonna era giù in una profonda tristezza:
Qualcosa sulla Grande Depressione,
la guerra e il massacro di nuovo.

Così tante urla nella notte:
“Dov’è il mio amico medico di Wuhan?”

C’è così tanta bellezza ancora
nel mondo donchisciottesco: il
fiori e disegni
sulle borse del corpo.

Nonna ci ha detto
i giorni non arrivano mai alla leggera
quando la notte travolge
prima dell’elegante pianto

Che bellezza in un mondo triste
mia nonna diceva sempre, lo è
solo decorazione, e lei stessa
essa preferiva i disegni floreali
su borse della spesa chic

Lascia che i progettisti si impegnino nel compito
per fare delle belle borse per il corpo
salire a lode, e sì
dalle prime luci del cavaliere dell’alba
oh hey riesci a vedere le nostre azioni?
nella corona del sole
particelle di tramonto e sventura.

A tutti manca la nonna.
Molti la conoscono, alcuni
la conoscevo. Sono stati tempi strani.

La nonna raccontava storie selvagge.
Molto divertente. Lei era
non distante mai
indipendentemente dalle regole

La nonna si è accoltellata a morte
con una forbice in un salone di bellezza, e
il proprietario è stato colpito a morte mentre
la pistola di un poliziotto viene afferrata.
È il solito

La nonna mi ha lasciato
delle lettere
dall’amica di lei stessa, ora medico.
La nonna adorava il
cara amica misteriosa di lei di
Wuhan. Lei stessa ha detto
l’amica di se stessa lavorava in un laboratorio.

Ho una corrispondenza
scritto in cinese; Ho anche la luce nera che
mi ha chiesto di comprare per lei.

Le lettere arrivarono lentamente
a volte attraverso Hong Kong
e Singapore, ma a volte
attraverso il Kirghizistan e l’Uzbekistan

La nonna adorava quella ragazza,
la Studente Wuhan

Poco prima della sua morte, lei stessa
mi ha ricordato la natura della scrittura:
avere lo scopo
non era importante: osservare la bellezza di
calligrafia cinese
perché non era quello il punto

Era importante leggere
l’invisibile scrittura segreta
scritto tra le righe.

Leggi al buio
lei disse.

Sono continuate nuove lettere
a venire dal
ragazza Wuhan mancante.

Li ho letti al buio
con la luce nera.

Apparentemente, la ragazza da Wuhan lo è
paziente zero per il mondo;
la stanno cercando

Hanno finito di pulire
il sangue dal Salone di bellezza

Speculation on Conlangs

    Not all the evolutionary changes in the meaning of words are logical or efficient any more than the evolution of the species is. The whims of history make for a messy process of wars, of extinctions, and renaissance that change words.
    I’ve discovered that linguistics has a lot of specialized jargon which I don’t entirely understand that describes this process. However, I might find it useful even if it doesn’t match the way I describe words for my conlangs — I often call things with my own jargon that doesn’t match theirs. Oh well. Anyway, let’s see. Sometimes a word starts out with negative connotations but after being used in different contexts with different groups and people starts to take on more positive meanings until it becomes a positive word. In linguistics, this is called “Amelioration,” and is rare, but a word being given more and more bad implications is common and it’s called “Pejoration.”
    I think a conlang could provide an opportunity to organize differently. Amelioration — Pejoration cycles could be interesting to look at. Looking at the amelioration of the word “nice” is interesting. You wouldn’t think so but it used to be a nasty word originally — it was something about common people not knowing anything and so from the Latin to not know, the common person was ignorant or “nice” and then it gradually changed in a positive direction:

nice- not know (Latin) –> ignorant –>stupid (Middle English) –> [coy]etc. –> fastidious –> fine, subtle.

    The differences between words as they evolve in time could be interesting to freeze for definition. I’ve been looking in math for a way to describe the change between evolving words. I thought perhaps a difference equation could be used as an analogy, and for the convenience of a conlang, parameters for a amelioration-perjoration oscillation could be chosen arbitrarily:


It would be nice to use “nice” as an initial condition perhaps:

With this structure you could have a cluster of synonyms and antonyms:
[prefix : “zero” through “five”] || [root-word] || [suffix: oscillation, increasing, decreasing]
    Well, OK, all the formality can be dropped, and a particular etymology in a particular time period is not necessary. However, I think it can be used as an idea jumping off point.
I think the root could be a place holder for a set of synonyms and antonyms in this way:
the odd numbers in the prefix would indicate a synonym. A set of synonyms would be assigned (understood but not written). So the odd prefixes, one, three, five etc., would change the meaning to each of the synonyms.
|one|| ||morpheme-x|| = synonym-one
|three| ||morpheme-x|| = synonym-two

In the same way, even prefixes would change the meaning to the set of antonyms.

Wuhan Girl

Wuhan Girl

Wuhan girl, won’t you come out to light
come out for sighting
come out for citing?
Lab girl won’t you show a tiny crown
yes, dance with a crown, but
dance with a bat to dumbfound

We heard she went to market
early as a target
with a hole in her mask

not such an easy task to escape
if the secret police can make you, Shi
Shì de, qīn’ài de, well duh
just simple to confess and die
with your lab confessor at your side

Wuhan girl, won’t you come out to light
come out for citing
come out delighting, shi! my love
or is it that in “gain of function”
you have died kissing crowns of bats
—————
Shì de, qīn’ài de
Yes, my love
[she duh she nigh duh]
是的,亲爱的

Une traduction du poème intitulé “She’s an Anecdote for Easter”

C’est une anecdote pour Pâques

Nous avons regardé l’écran jouer
dans les Ides des péchés de mars
hydroxychloroquine
et l’azithromycine

en étudiant les oracles de la science
la dame elle-même a adopté un protocole convenu:
études contrôlées randomisées

Il est essentiel d’avoir un placebo
l’hydroxychloroquine n’est pas suffisante

Bien que ludique en plaisanteries aimantes, elle a dit
“étude formelle” est “le truc de Shakespeare”, et
les anecdotes sont pour les imbéciles collants
qui tombent pour des histoires miraculeuses

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycine
anecdote pointillante
un péché

Je l’ai suppliée de le prendre,
et les pièces étaient la chose, mais

les nuages ​​se rassemblaient
la tempête des cytokines approche,
un rapprochement pour
Didier * et Tony **
pas encore

Même s’ils ont dit
elle était trop vieille
pour la vie,
je l’adore elle

Elle avait adoré étudier
quand elle était étudiante
puis trouvé son doctorat Zen
études contrôlées randomisées

Elle a fait des études à l’époque
et elle était alors professeur

Mais elle a embrassé
les tragédies du protocole,
et Didier n’était pas un saint;
celui-ci ni connu pour
truffes ni foie gras.

Nous étions passés de
de station en station
dans une vallée préférée de nous
où nous avions d’abord embrassé le jour;
Charlie le chien a gardé des moutons pour nous
et il a aboyé en nous voyant jouer, et
nous avions cherché la rédemption ainsi, mais

Macron est allé à Marseille
disant: “Who knows what”
pour l’oreille de Raoult, mais

Elle, mon amour, a embrassé les protocoles
dans une étude contrôlée randomisée
parce qu’elle est professeur dans l’âme

nous connaissions les pensées des cytokines
étaient dans les nuages, oui, mais les protocoles
étaient divins, montrant
mettez vos orteils dans l’eau

Elle a obtenu un placebo;
elle mourut.
———-
It’s an anecdote for Easter

We watched the screen play
in the Ideas of March sins
hydroxychloroquine
and azithromycin

studying the oracles of science
the lady herself adopted an agreed protocol:
randomized controlled studies

It is essential to have a placebo
hydroxychloroquine is not enough

Although playful in loving jokes, she said
“formal study” is “Shakespeare’s thing”, and
the anecdotes are for sticky fools
who fall for miraculous stories

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycin
dainty anecdote
a sin

I begged her to take it,
and the parts were the thing but

the clouds gathered
the cytokine storm is approaching,
a reconciliation for
Didier * and Tony **
not yet

Even if they said
she was too old
for life,
I adore her

She loved studying
when she was a student
then found her Zen doctorate
randomized controlled studies

She studied at the time
and she was then a teacher

But she kissed
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles or foie gras.

We had gone from
from station to station
in a valley preferred by us
where we first kissed the day;
Charlie the dog kept sheep for us
and he barked when he saw us playing, and
we had sought redemption as well but

Macron went to Marseille
saying “je ne sais quoi”
for Raoult’s ear, but

She, my love, has embraced protocols
in a randomized controlled study
because she is a teacher at heart

we knew the thoughts of cytokines
were in the clouds, yes, but the protocols
were divine, showing
put your toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

Cytokine Storm

Cytokine Storm

The clouds were gathering
the cytokine storm approaching,
a rapprochement for
Didier and Tony
not yet

Even though
she was old
and expendable,
I loved her

She’d loved to study
when she was a student

She did studies when
she was a professor

But she embraced
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles nor foie gras.

We had gone from
station to station
into a favorite valley of us
where we’d first kissed the day;
Charlie the dog herded sheep for us
and he barked at seeing us play, and
we’d sought redemption thus, but

Macron journeyed to Marseille
to say je ne sais quoi to Raoult, but

She, my love, embraced the protocols
in a randomized controlled study
’cause she’s a professor at heart

we knew cytokine thoughts
were forming beclouded, oui
beyond reproach, yet taught
to put toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

Killing Grandpa

Killing Grandpa

Corvidae as the crow flies
it’s a good year to die, ’cause
COVID caw-caw hurrah boo

father died at 72 —
cancer who the grim
blamed on him, though
he suffered.

Might say
I’m 71 from Corona
a county of Queens New York, or
I’m a beer near Flushing Meadows
where they had the World’s Fair, 1964

It’s a good year to die an honorable death.
The Grandchildren are nervous, but
I’ve put together some clean
legitimate businesses for them to inherit.

Yeah, I know they want me dead.
Don’t blame them much…
I remember how I
let them play in the secret tunnels
yeah

it was exciting for them
to play in the tunnels,
and I let them hide in the
safe room so they could
listen to the oosh bang-bang
and smell the gunpowder, the oofh-ow
swoosh, bat-a-tat-tat, ow-arg-uh, thud
zing, zing, chuh-chuh-chud, and muffled
screams, and it was so good to
smell the barbecue of the foiled.

Yeah, a little lie:
I told them their Grandpa
sold toys, and did laundry.

Yeah, kids, I told them
our crew liked
splashing red paint
on manikins:
it’s a war game, and
we always clean up.

Told them:
Grandpa hated dirt, but
he made billion of dollars
washing things, and doing demolition.

They loved Grandpa, and
since childhood they’d
never officially known
I launder money and
sell weapons to clandestine
funny-named groups

Early they heard fairy tales
they were to believe as required:
he didn’t like public dirt
so he washed people’s money
and gave their poor children toy guns
to play with.

Although they stopped believing in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy as young adults
they knew that
the guns and the washing machines
Grandpa controlled with computers.

I heard that Cousin Joe
called the kids
with great news:

he had shortness of breath and a high fever.
heard the kids all gathered for a sneeze party.

It’s a good year to die, and
I know the kids have
a conspiracy to kill me, but

it’s OK.
I welcome them home
to party close-up with me
because they will give me
an honorable death
with shortness of breath, but
they were the only ones
I truly loved to play with.

Per Vestirsi Per La Battaglia

Per Vestirsi Per La Battaglia

La battaglia è persa e
Non ho salvato nessuno.
Se n’è andata con
niente da mettere
e niente da dire
quando l’ho mandata via.

Lei stessa ha detto che è una guerra vuota
e nessuno di noi
verrà salvato alla fine

Come fai a sapere se
il sole splenderà
quando la notte è buia
e la splendida luce cara
quella è lei ne è andata per sempre

Fa così freddo da solo per me
essere nudi nella notte
interrotto da bombe

Perché vestirsi per la morte
quando il sangue perso è caldo

Come posso sanguinare bene
quando lei non mi ama più
e non c’è salvataggio. Onore?

Non penso che sorgerà il sole
e non ho vestiti eccetto per
l’abbigliamento dei ricordi di lei
più belli di lei che erano
————-
To Dress For Battle

The battle is lost and
I haven’t saved anyone.
She left with
nothing to wear
and nothing to say
when I sent her away.

She said it was an empty war
and none of us
will be saved in the end

How do you know if
the sun will shine
when the night is dark
and the splendid dear light
that is she is gone forever

It’s so cold for me alone
to be naked in the night
interrupted by bombs

Why dress for death
when the lost blood is hot

How can I bleed well
when she no longer loves me
and there is no rescue. Honor?

I don’t think the sun will rise
and I have no clothes except for
the clothing of her memories
more beautiful than she was

Seasonings by Rasmus K. Robot

Seasonings by Rasmus K. Robot

They always came together to listen to her
as if from the lips of her soul,
she kissed the words of peace

It is my Flower of poetry
who leads the daily protest

The blessed crowds
bring their flowers
to season the day
with joy sprinkled

It is the season when the flowers explode on the sidewalk
where people surround the Flower, my dear one
and the blessed are kissed with new news of freedom
a season for reason, for progress, a word, but

My flower
was the last to speak,
the last to kiss the crowd when

the flowers were no longer in season
and a winter hail of bullets reigned

A word in the air was lost in a breeze in the
season when the flowers explode on the sidewalk,
yet its spices are still back in the open fields

pain obscures an unstable sun
and the flowers are covered in blood.
Rasmus K. Robot

VIGNETTE OF THE MISSING by Rasmus K. Robot

VIGNETTE OF THE MISSING by Rasmus K. Robot

Let the night be a snapshot for
the joy of the day after, Damsels
wending to endings, but then

Analía is missing
off the trail of Santa, but
things are found.

Snapshot of a girl’s things:
purple scarf in the ice
blood, a shoe, an axe
and a herring;
slay marks elicit
forensic chatter.

Sanguine ice crystals lay in
a few clues of struggle.

Meteor showers streak
like lines of hope in the sky.

At the Lodge, Analía
is found safe and
laughing with Santa.
There are many gifts except

a girl with a purple scarf
is missing a celebration

A moment in the snow
bleeds out in a slurry
of red slush upon a snowbank.
The night is frozen in a moment.
Vignettes of death and joy.

I WILL NOT THANK A SUNNY DAY by Rasmus K. Robot

I WILL NOT THANK A SUNNY DAY by Rasmus K. Robot

I’d have thanked a sunny day
if rain had not befallen a road,

if the rain hadn’t become beautiful
as if she herself had been the rain

and then if the rain had not distracted me,
if hallucinations hadn’t paused and caused:
a vision of a bird on a porch, then I’d have
praised a sunny empty day, but the patter

seemed like an omen, and
I knew I had to take an exit ramp
to visit her ranch with a porch.

In praise of rain, and reigning shelter
you cared for me,
and a sick bird there
still wet, yet I

will not thank a sunny day, but
I’ll love all the chirps and songs of you
in the reigning beauty of rain.