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#2347- Tuesday, December 20, 2005 - Editor: Jerry Katz

This issue is dedicated to Allen Ginsburg and his poem, Howl which is celebrating 50 years since publication. Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac, and the other Beat writers, with radical honesty and freedom and specific pullings from Buddhist teachings, helped to open people's minds so they could eventually receive Buddhism's most nondual teachings as well as nondual teachings from all people and traditions.

The focus of this issue is Gabriel Rosenstock's translation of some of Ginsburg's beautifully striking haikus into a strangely ever-familiar Irish.

CELEBRATE 50 YEARS OF HOWL! DEMAND AN END TO CENSORSHIP

http://www.citylights.com/His/CLhowlcel.html

photo: Allen Ginsberg

Haiku by Allen Ginsberg

and Irish versions by Gabriel Rosenstock

“Talk stand shit

            eat sleep –”

                        flies walking on my nose

“Labhair seas cac

            ith codail – ”

                        cuileoga ag siúl ar mo shrón

“You’re not going to get your money back”

            Everybody laughing –

                        “Any questions?”

“Ní bhfaighidh sibh bhur gcuid airgid ar ais”

            Gach éinne ag gáirí –

                        “Ceist ar bith?”

“What do we mean by Craziness?”

            Dogs bark to each other

                        across the meadow at night

“Cad is brí le Gealtachas?”

            Gadhair ag tafann ar a chéile

                        thar an móinéar istoíche

Not a word! Not a word!

Flies do all my talking for me –

and the wind says something else

Oiread is focal! Deineann cuileoga

an chaint thar mo cheann –

rud eile le rá ag an ngaoth

Buddha died and

left behind a

big emptiness

cailleadh an Búda

is d’fhág ina dhiaidh

folús fairsing

did you ever see yourself

a breathing skull

looking out the eyes?

An bhfacaís riamh thú féin

id bhlaosc análaithe

ag stánadh amach trí na súile?

Looking over my shoulder

my behind was covered

with cherry blossoms

ag féachaint thar mo ghualainn dom

bhí mo thóin clúdaithe

le bláthanna silíní

I didn’t know the names

of the flowers – now

my garden is gone

Ní raibh ainmneacha na mbláthanna

ar eolas agam – ní hann níos mó

dom ghairdínse

A hardon in New York,

a boy

in San Francisco

Adharc orm i Nua-Eabhrac,

buachaill

i San Francisco

Another year

has past – the world

is no different

Bliain eile imithe

tá an domhan

mar an gcéanna

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