Friday, July 14, 2017

ДАЛАЙН ЭРГИЙН ИМПРОВИЗАЦ | SEASIDE IMPROVISATION

Рийчард Силкэн

Хоёр гараа аваад би чамд өгөх ч гарыг минь чи
                                                           хүсэхгүй байгаа тул би буцааж аваад
                буруу газарт, буруу шуун дээрээ тэднийг бэхлэнэ. Хашаанд харанхуй,
шохойдсон хананы хажууд улаан лооль,
                                                ширээн дээрх ном Испаний тухай,
                                                                                         цонхнуудыг будаж, тас хаасан.
Өнөө шөнө чи цасан титэмт хотуудын тухай
                бодоход чинь цонхоор шувуудыг харан тоолох мэт
                                                                                                 чамайг би ширтэнэ.                            
                                           Чи аз жаргалыг хүссэн. Үүнд чамайг буруутгашгүй ч,
баяр хөөрийн тухай тасралтгүй чалчих ам тэнэг мэт сонсогдох ч,
        хэл л дээ,
чи энэ болгонд хайртай, чи зовоогүй гэж хэл дээ.
                                               Чи тооцоолсоор, асуудал үүсэхийг хүлээсээр.
                 Далайн эргийн хотхон. Цахилгаан хашаа.
Шохойгоор тойрог зур. Үл тасрах гэрлэн гурвалжинд
                  зогсож байна гэж төсөөл. Бууж өгөхөө төсөөл. Хэнд ч хэрэггүйгээ төсөөл.
Зам дээрх чулуу цай арай болоогүйг хэлнэ.
                  Гар дахь чулуу хэн нэгэн ууртай байгааг илтгэнэ. Доторх чулуу чинь
ёроолдоо арай ч хүрээгүй.


Орчуулсан Н. Анараа


***


By Richard Silken

I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't
                                                                        want them, so I take them back
               and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
                                               the book on the table is about Spain,
                                                                                          the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of the cities under crowns
               of snow and I stare at you like I am looking through a window,
                                                                                            counting birds.
                                               You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
        but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
                                               You do the math, you expect the trouble.
                The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
                                          of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
                 a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit the bottom.


Thursday, July 13, 2017

БЭЛТГЭГЧ МӨНХИЙГ ЯРИХ НЬ | THE FLUFFER TALKS OF ETERNITY

Д. А. Пауэлл

Чиний төсөөлснийг л би эргүүлж өгч чадна.
Чин үнэнээ хэлэхэд би сүнсгүй. Чамайг амандаа
Хийхэд энэ ам минийх биш. Энэ ам гэрэлгүй нүх,
Хий сүүдрийг багахан л оруулах гэрэл зургийн 
Камерын өчүүхэн зай.

Босгосон нь би. Чамайг босож, бас
Буухыг би харсан. Цуг хугацаа маань
Тоолшгүй их байсан ч капистрано хараацай мэт 
Тойрон чи эргэж ирсээр. Чамайг би ойлгодгийг
Чи мэднэ. Чичрэлт бүрийг, зууралт бүрийг.
Чинэрсэн, ааштай эрхтнийг чинь.

Чиний гар хэзээ ч байж чадахгүй зүгээр л 
Үл цуцах гар, би. Ямартаа ч тавихад чи бэлэн.
Чаддаг бол чамайг би дуусгана, 
Алчуураас чинь илүү зүйл байна.

* Fluffer - порно киноны эрэгтэй жүжигчний эрхтнийг хөхөж бэлтгэгч.

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа

***

By D. A. Powell

I can only give you back what you imagine.
I am a soulless man. When I take you
into my mouth, it is not my mouth. It is
an unlit pit, an aperture opened just enough
in the pinhole camera to capture the shade.

I have caused you to rise up to me, and I
have watched as you rose and waned.
Our times together have been innumerable. Still,
like a Capistrano swallow, you come back.
You understand: I understand you. Understand
each jiggle and tug. Your pudgy, mercurial wad.

I am simply a hand inexhaustible as yours
could never be. You’re nevertheless prepared to shoot.
If I could I’d finish you. Be more than just your rag.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

almost two decades later

what do you remember when you tell me you love me still, a lifetime after, almost two decades and a transition later we both knew i would one day begin? what do you mean when you say you miss what we had then? what do i mean when i say i remember? do we remember the love? but what is love if not a sum total of the feelings and their minute and everyday expressions from morning until night and even while we sleep? is it the sex you remember?  but then, again, sex, as important as it is, is not as important as the certainty of loving and being loved: these liberate one in ways one can never imagine prior to feeling that all-engulfing emotion. what do you remember when you say you love me still? do you remember the pain of the times when i drove you mad, unwittingly, when you drove me mad, quite deliberately? do you remember our peace, our fights, our drunken escapades through the clubs and bars and making out where we could, quite openly and never really caring who watched? we were young, we were allowed to do what we chose to do. we didn't even care that we, the queer, transmasculine couple might get attacked. we never were; we just got awfully curious questions of who gets to be the man in the relationship. we both laughed. what do you remember when you say you love me still? what do i remember when i say i love you still?... does love ever end?... must it?...

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

МУУ МУУХАЙГ ЭХЛЭЭД | WORST THINGS FIRST

Маарк Биббинз

"Баярлалаа" гэх бичгээр дүүрэн тор
дээр минь унасан нь өнөөдрийн минь
урлагийн хэрэгцээг хангав. Соёл гээд ярьвал
ясгүй ганц үнсэлтээр цэцэгсийн шуудуй руу
өшиглөгдсөн жил байсан шив. 
Муу хөгшин, гунигт чөтгөр -
эсвэл боовноос ичигч, хуурамч баатар,
резинэн уургаар өөрийн шоронгийн
хэмжээс бүрийг мөнх төөлөх
намайг тэр өрөвдөө юу даа -

хайран үхсэн модондоо байх шив.
Бусад чөтгөр болжморын сүргийг
хөнжил дээр нялсан нь нэрээ 
доор нь татсаны тэнгэрийн бүрэн бохир 
төлбөр. Миний шагнал: хиймэл шүд,
нүцгэн наран шарлага дээрх стриптийз,
ялзарч буй оддын дууны хуурцгууд.
Ямар нэг зүйл тэд хэлж байвал
онол гэдэг нь таалах зүйл үлдээгүйг 
илэрхийлэх өөр нэг үг л гэнэ.

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа


***

WORST THINGS FIRST

By Mark Bibbins

A bag of thank-you notes fell
on me and that was enough
art for one day. Culturally speaking,
it was more like a year
in the floral trenches, kicked off
with a single boneless kiss.
Poor sad demon in his poor dead tree—
or is it he who pities me, cockshy
quasihero with a latex lasso,
taking forever to measure

the dimensions of his confinement.
Some other demons have smeared a flock
of sparrows on a blanket, the full filthy
price of a sky under which they smoked
their names. My prize is a set
of teeth, striptease at the nude beach,
audio files of decomposing stars
telling me, if they’re telling me
anything, that theory’s just another word
for nothing left to like.

ЁСЛОЛ | CEREMONIAL

Эдуаардо Корраал


                    Хүрэлтийг хүсэх
дэмийрэлдээ
           арьсан дээрх мэнгээ
                    чимхэн, зулгааж 
шүр шиг тасдана.
            Зулгаасаар, чимхсээр
                      хар эрих
гартаа атгав. Залбирал ч
             миний халууныг
                       намдаахгүй. 
Залбирал миний 
             харвинг хайлуулахгүй,
                        гуяыг минь
тураахгүй. 
                     Зэс царайт эр
намайг нэг удаа 
             сайхан гэсэн.
                        Тэнэг,
муу тэнэг эр. 
             Би бүдүүн. Би
                         хэнд ч хэрэггүй. 
Түүний эрхийн үе
             аманд минь
                         дулаан
нааш цааш хөдлөхийг 
             одоо ч мэдэрнэ.
                        Залгиж болохгүй
чихрийн 
                        үртэс
түүний 
             хумс.
                        Цасанд хайрагдахыг 
арьсаараа 
             мэдрэхсэн гээд
                       эрихээ
чанга атгасаар
             хувцасны шүүгээ рүү 
                        орж,
хуримын даашинзинд 
             мөлхөж орлоо.
                        Бурхан минь, 
май.

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа

***

Ceremonial
By Eduardo C. Corral

                   Delirious,
touch-starved,
         I pinch a mole
                   on my skin, pull it
off, like a bead—
         I pinch & pull until
                    I am holding
a black rosary. Prayer
         will not cool
                    my fever.
Prayer will not
          melt my belly fat,
                     will not thin
my thighs.

                     A copper-
faced man once
            called me beautiful.
                     Stupid,
stupid man.
            I am obese. I am
                     worthless.
I can still feel
            his thumb—
                     warm,
burled—moving
            in my mouth.
                     His thumbnail
a flake
                     of sugar
he would not
             allow me to swallow.
                     Desperate
for the sting of snow
             on my skin,
                      rosary
tight in my fist,
             I walk into
                      a closet, crawl
into a wedding dress.
                      Oh Lord,
here I am.

Sunday, July 9, 2017

БИЕ ЧИНЬ ОЙР БАЙХ ЁСТОЙ БАЙСАН | I NEEDED YOUR BODY NEAR ME

Тиймоти Люү

Далай гэдэг юу ч биш, амрагуудыг
салгадаггүй. Зургаан цаг, хоёр хоол,

дунд нь кино, бас дуг хийхэд
нүдний хаалт, чихэвч хэрэгтэй.

Сэрэхдээ цагийн бүсээс илүүг туулснаа
би мэдсэн: бие минь

оронд чинь унтах хэнээс ч илүү дандаа
ойр байсан, чамд—

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа


***

By Timothy Liu

An ocean is nothing, there is no separation
between two lovers. And I knew just what

it took: six hours, two meals with a movie
in between, blinders over eyes, plugs in ears

as I tried to get some sleep. When I awoke,
I knew I’d crossed more than a time zone

for my body was always nearer to yours
than anyone else’s still sleeping in your bed—

Saturday, July 8, 2017

ХҮНДИЙН ХҮЧ БА ТӨВ | GRAVITY AND CENTER

Хээнри Көүл

Хайртай гэхэд чинь чамд ч бас
Хайртай гэж чадахгүйг минь уучил.
Чийгтэй хуруу шиг үгс амлалтаар дүүрэн
Өмнө минь зогсох ч дандаа л хавчиг, харанхуй 
Өрүү рүү зугтаж, мэдрэмжийг минь тэнд 
Дуугүй тамшаан идээд, эртний алт шиг 
Дулаанаар гэрэлтдэг. Ергүүлэх морийг 
Ташуурдах хүнтэй адил таталцлын хүч
Огих хүчээс илүү байгаасай, гадаад ба дотоод
Ертөнц минь бие биеэ сүлбээсэй гэж би хүснэ.
Бодит байдлаас үгс намайг бүү таслаасай. 
Үг надад хэрэггүй байгаасай. Эрх чөлөө мэт,
Үүнээс цаашихь ертөнцийн амар амгалан мэт,
Аяганд ус хийх чимээ мэт мэдрэмжээс өөр
Юу ч мэдрэмжийг бүү өгүүлээсэй.

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа

***

By Henri Cole

I’m sorry I cannot say I love you when you say
you love me. The words, like moist fingers,
appear before me full of promise but then run away
to a narrow black room that is always dark,
where they are silent, elegant, like antique gold,
devouring the thing I feel. I want the force
of attraction to crush the force of repulsion
and my inner and outer worlds to pierce
one another, like a horse whipped by a man.
I don’t want words to sever me from reality.
I don’t want to need them. I want nothing
to reveal feeling but feeling—as in freedom,
or the knowledge of peace in a realm beyond,
or the sound of water poured into a bowl.

Friday, July 7, 2017

ӨНГӨРСӨН ШӨНӨ | LAST NIGHT

ӨНГӨРСӨН ШӨНӨ
Майкл Брөүдэр

Хөнжил, орны даавуунд орооцолдсон үгс,
Хайнга мөрөөрөө хучсан урт даавуу,
Хундага, хос биш аяга тавгааас
Утгыг олж байна гэж өнгөрсөн шөнө зүүдлэв. 

Чи тэнд байсан. Өнгөрсөн ч чухал биш санагдсан.
Хэлсэн, хийсэн, илэрхийлээгүй ч мэдэрсэн бүгд
Яагаад ч юм холбоотой санагдах тэмдэг бүр,
Ирж буй зүйл, улирал, Ноозэт эрэг рүү 
Ирэх жил аялах нь л чухал санагдаад.

Тэр л нэртэй шүлгийг уншмаар болж сэрээд
Амь аврагчийн сандал дээр хагарч хоосорсон дун, 
Махчин шувууг ажиглах цахлай,
Далайн цаадах гэртэйгээ түүнийг олсон.

Орчуулсан Н. Анараа

***

LAST NIGHT
By Michael Broder

I dreamt of making sense,
parts of speech caught up in sheets
and blankets, long strips of fabric
wrapped loosely around shoulders,
goblets, urns, cups with unmatched saucers.

You were there, and the past seemed important,
what was said, what was done,
feelings felt but maybe not expressed,
signs randomly connected
yet vital to what comes next,
to a coming season,
next year’s trip to Nauset Beach.

I woke up wanting to read a poem by that name,
and I found one with a lifeguard’s chair,
a broken shell, gulls watching egrets,
home an ocean away.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

ГАЗРЫН ЗУРАГ | BODYMAP

ГАЗРЫН ЗУРАГ

зул сараар чи надад биеэ бичиж илгээв.
хайрын тэмдэг гээд газрынхаа зургийг барив.
алтаар гялалзах хурууны үзүүр, торлог цагаан арьс
алгуур нээгдэх цаас мэт шаржигнав. 

энэ бол хүндийн жингээс салах хөөрөлт.
хамгийн сайн төсөөллөөр чинь бүтсэн бэлэг эрхтэн
хөх хараад босохтой адил 
хув шар вискиг ховх сорно.

эргүүлж чамд өөрийнхийгөө бэлэглэе:
үггүй, дуугүй нялх амьтан,
нулимсаар дүүрэн ж-цэг,
бөгс, дал ээлжлэн эргэлдэх
таашаал бас аюул

ялагчид ба ялагдагсад газрын зургийг бүтээдэг юм бол,
эзэнт гүрнүүд африкийг хатангиршуулах ч африк том хэвээрээ юм бол
газрын зургийг ч шинээр зурж болдог. 
миний биеийг шинээр бич.

өдөр бүр уруулдаа би рашаан хүргэдэг.
гуравхан дусал. тэгээд шивнэдэг
намайг өөрчил

газрын зураг нь эрэл хайгуулчид ба колоничлогчдын бүтээл юм бол,
биес хаана эхлэж хаана дуусдгийг, таашаалыг нь хэн эзэмддэгийг нэрлэдэг юм бол,
газрын зургийг нууц зам, нуувчуудыг харуулахаар бас бүтээж болдог юм бол

хоол хүнс, эм тариа, галт зэвсгийн агуулахыг харуулж болдог юм бол,
сүнснүүд маань нисч очоод эргэж ирэхдээ
од гаригст хүрэх замыг аль аль нь зурсан юм бол

миний биеийг надтай хамт шинээр бичилц

чиний эгэм далавчны шивээстэй,
минийх улаан хүрэн "гэр" гэсэн шивээстэй

бие биеийнхээ биесийг хаана шинээр бичихийг би хэдийн мэдэрсэн

энэ удаад түүхийг хэрхэн бүтээхээ ч мэднэ

намайг өөрчил


Орчуулсан: Н. Анараа

***

BODYMAP
By Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarsinha 

for christmas, you write me your body.
for a love token, you offer me your body’s map.
I stroke gold glitter finger tips and satin beige skin
on the crackle of paper unfolding.

here, levitation.
here, a cock you created
out of your best imaginations
that grows hard at a shot of cleavage
like straight up amber whiskey.

in return, I gift you mine:
austere wordless infant
g spot shooting tears
ass stomp and razor blade switch
the pleasures and the dangers

if a map is created by conquerers and the unconquered
if the empire can shrink africa but africa remains how big she is
these maps can be rewritten.
re write my body.

each day I tip tincture to lips,
drip three drips, whisper
change me

if a map is an artifact made by explorers and colonizers
if a map names where bodies begin and end & who will own their treasures
if a map could be made to show the hideouts and secret passageways

the stashes of food and drugs and guns
if we both have written maps to the stars
where our spirit flies out
and then written our return:

rewrite my body with me

you have wings tattooed on your breastbone
where I have the word home in cherry brown

I can already feel where we will make each other’s bodies new

what story will we unfurl this time

change me

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Good news, meh news and no-news

My ex-wife might be joining us for the Pride, am hoping the gig works out that will bring her back to Mongolia. For a moment I realised that I was experiencing, in a flash, all those happy and inspired, and sometimes tough, very tough years that were, all in all, the happiest of my life. 6 years since I saw her last. Often I truly missed her because she was and still is one of less than a handful of people on this planet who ever got me as a soul, as a human. Not as a trans man, though. But we dealt with it as best as we could, came to terms with it in our own ways: Rob moved emotionally and geographically with her personal life, I moved on with my oh-so-real and in-the-body-grounded post-transition life that has been taking me on an endless roller coaster through places and spaces I never thought I would experience - still, I say, it's all for good. When she left Mongolia in early November 2011 to join her then-new partner, we were supposed to have farewell lunch, but we ended up not having it as I demanded the plates back that I was sure she had (my favourite Japanese, dark green and black fish plates), she insisted she didn't have them. I decided that she had broken them knowing how much I loved them, so decided that I wouldn't, after all, see her. Felt fully justified in my decision until years later my mother told me that she was the one who had those plates all that while, that I had actually left them with her in the autumn of 2009. Me and my obsessions with my things... Pretty damn autistic. So yes, anyhow it's time Rob saw what we had dreamt into a reality together back in 2005-2006. Much has happened, much has changed since those days and she will certainly be more than happy to see all of this with her own two eyes.

Meh news: after many months and efforts to make sure my former colleagues are able to understand and continue the work at the Centre, I have finally had enough when I saw that the project proposal sent from the Centre had unacceptably worded meanings that were, most of all, false. I can only do so much without being involved hands-on, but even if that is being rejected for whatever the reasons, I believe it's time to make myself sparse. I am good at quitting things, especially when/if I am not valued. So, henceforth, it's absolutely hands-off. No-news: the final and complete breakup with my ex-boyfriend (the first and hopefully the last one in my life) has led me to start living as cleanly as possible: no junk food, vegetarian diet, a beer or three once every 2-3 weeks, etc. A much-needed change that was in the coming for a long time. An extreme detox of 10 days of water fast, followed nowadays by mostly fasting mode, still (out of mostly necessity due to no regular income as well as my desire to shed the excess emotional and physical weight that had become too much of a burden). Back to basics. Back to extreme basics. There were many times in my life I had gone through life without much except the roof over my head, a daily dose of salted biscuits and unlimited coffee. As basic as that. This time of detoxing and leaning down my life will probably become the norm as I just don't see how I will ever regain whatever I had lost. Something beyond the physical, something of my soul that I was robbed of that, for now, I will continue to search within. Too much has been lost that I can never allow again. No more soul-killing relationships. No more being taken for granted. No more of being denied my truest self which was/is love, but which was denied and forgotten throughout that strife of wanting to be loved so desperately that I kept pinging and pinging till I hit the dead zone for the echoes of things that never were there in the first place. A realisation that it was a dead zone from the beginning. Me and my obsessions with love. Time to keep them as theoretical as possible since in reality there is no love to be had from people. Not even from the so-called best of them. I guess I will live to tell the story, after all. I had my doubts in late March and again in April, but now is the time to put them down in writing.

Crowdfunding!

As many of you know, we are doing an online crowdfunding for the first time in the history of the Centre, and it happens to be for the Equa...