On Not Interpreting the Roar
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University of Windsor Scholarship at UWindsor Electronic Theses and Dissertations Theses, Dissertations, and Major Papers 10-5-2017 On Not Interpreting the Roar Simina Banu University of Windsor Follow this and additional works at: https://scholar.uwindsor.ca/etd Recommended Citation Banu, Simina, "On Not Interpreting the Roar" (2017). Electronic Theses and Dissertations. 7236. https://scholar.uwindsor.ca/etd/7236 This online database contains the full-text of PhD dissertations and Masters’ theses of University of Windsor students from 1954 forward. These documents are made available for personal study and research purposes only, in accordance with the Canadian Copyright Act and the Creative Commons license—CC BY-NC-ND (Attribution, Non-Commercial, No Derivative Works). Under this license, works must always be attributed to the copyright holder (original author), cannot be used for any commercial purposes, and may not be altered. Any other use would require the permission of the copyright holder. Students may inquire about withdrawing their dissertation and/or thesis from this database. For additional inquiries, please contact the repository administrator via email ([email protected]) or by telephone at 519-253-3000ext. 3208. ON NOT INTERPRETING THE ROAR by Simina Banu A Creative Writing Project Submitted to the Faculty of Graduate Studies through the Department of English Language, Literature and Creative Writing in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts at the University of Windsor Windsor, Ontario, Canada © 2017 Simina Banu On Not Interpreting the Roar by Simina Banu APPROVED BY __________________________________________________ J. Mboudjeke Languages, Literatures and Cultures __________________________________________________ L. Cabri English Language, Literature and Creative Writing __________________________________________________ S. Holbrook, Advisor English Language, Literature and Creative Writing August 22, 2017 AUTHOR’S DECLARATION OF ORIGINALITY I hereby certify that I am the sole author of this thesis and that no part of this thesis has been published or submitted for publication. I certify that, to the best of my knowledge, my thesis does not infringe upon anyone’s copyright nor violate any proprietary rights and that any ideas, techniques, quotations, or any other material from the work of other people included in my thesis, published or otherwise, are fully acknowledged in accordance with the standard referencing practices. Furthermore, to the extent that I have included copyrighted material that surpasses the bounds of fair dealing within the meaning of the Canada Copyright Act, I certify that I have obtained a written permission from the copyright owner(s) to include such material(s) in my thesis and have included copies of such copyright clearances to my appendix. I declare that this is a true copy of my thesis, including any final revisions, as approved by my thesis committee and the Graduate Studies office, and that this thesis has not been submitted for a higher degree to any other University or Institution. iii ABSTRACT My project interrogates the way English acts like a brick wall for non-native speakers. I draw from my personal experience as an immigrant and combine that with LANGUAGE poetry techniques and translation in order to capture the immigrant experience. I then reflect on what is and is not lost in the process of translation, and what is built anew. iv ACKNOWLEGEMENTS I am thankful to many people without whose help, this project would not exist: Susan Holbrook, my amazing advisor, for supporting and encouraging me through all the highs and lows of this project Hannah Leadley, for long drives, San Pellegrino, and always helping to show me something I couldn’t see before Amilcar Nogueira, for loaded fries and new perspectives on where each poem can lead Hannah Watts, for chats on experimentalism and coffee on defence day Louis Cabri, for helping me cultivate a passion for exploring all the subtle intricacies of language Nicole Markotic for giving me the push I needed into grad school, and for running an incredible creative writing workshop My wonderful external reader, Jean-Guy Mboudjeke My parents for believing in my poetry And fellow writers of 26-592/3 for inspiration, support, and laughter Thank you v TABLE OF CONTENTS AUTHOR’S DECLARATION OF ORIGINALITY iii ABSTRACT iv ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS v EMINESCU TRANSCREATIONS 1 A poem, exasperated, speaks candidly to its poet 2 What is love? Nevermind, what is 4 Un singur dor 5 A far tomb 7 From the strainer 8 Tomorrow, adagio 11 When armadillos 13 When the voice itself 15 Why in my soufflé 16 DIRECTIONAL DYSLEXIA 17 THE RULES OF BREATH-BALL 21 WORDS, MY REFLEXES 25 PICTIONARY 27 TRANSLATING THE ROCK 29 FALSE FRIENDS 36 URECHILE-MI REAMINTESC: Y)EARS 40 !vi READING FACES 52 “ON NOT INTERPRETING THE ROAR” 57 WORKS CITED 71 VITA AUCTORIS 72 !vii TRANSLATING EMINESCU !1 A poem, exasperated, speaks candidly to its poet: Many flowers are in this poutine. Though few bear fruit, all knock at the gate of life from within this death-shake (50% off). I know: It is easy to write nothing. It is easy to write nothing. It is easy to write nothing. It is easy to write nothing. But your heart is troubling. Wishes, troubling. Passions, also troubling. Your mind (troubling) listens to them like similes at the gate of life, extended metaphors at the doors of thinking, !2 all wanting to break into the world. Yet here you’ve drowned me in the gravy. You misread twenty-four entire books as “sleep.” Ah! The sky falls on your head. “Give it to me straight,” you plead. But who will break it to you now? Well, how bout you plant me in the dirt, I’ve had enough. !3 What is love? Never mind, what is a lung? a sea? your trachea? a soufflé? pragmatism? Sears? despair? bate? convent? eyelashes? a nap? A long opportunity. Thousands of ears. More required. Your whole life. There! Shadows of angles. How your heart asks. H earth. Beating your chest. Everything hanging by a word. A tremor of genes. Over day - so many times, and night forever. !4 Un singur dor I have a singer’s door. Afloat, let me be moored in margarine. I mean, on the edge of the sea. This one: Cer senin. Relax, I knitted a bed from young branches. Ten thousand trees fall in my throat: do they make or break? Simon Cowell covers his ears at the thought of my heart. !5 I know we all groan when the sea sings. I will be earth in my solitude. !6 A far tomb Je tombe. Leaving imprisons. Yet here: wind with guinea pig pictures (his name was Jack. I was allergic). And, I leave. Yes, I read. Yes, I think. See, in scissors. Sea, in totes. She, tombée. Pier 1 has a sale on nothing. I read the sign in a Brașov elevator as “do not slam USA.” Hast thou no doors? Lock ’em if you have ’em. Sit dreaming fire. Drip sleep. Ew, falafel. I take a bite and look at thoughts vis-a-vis the basement. The jury uses Crest, on sale, on nothing. No foundation. All of a sudden: a wedding appears. An ellipses. Copper eyes covering my hands. !7 From the strainer Whether you do something, or you do something else: this looks like a garden: zile fără nori. Zzzz & two bees on a flower. And cloud to the right. Homeland!: Germs. Pain. You wouldn’t believe the amount of snails. Once I saw a woman collecting them in a bag. Brașov streets after the rain. A restaurant to the right. They’re not bugs, they’re animals. They will live seven years if you don’t eat them. Why do we love what’s ordinary? Ticks. Ticks. Tocks. Ticks everywhere! Vale: pastoral scene. liniştiri, : a lake, s reflected, still, or someone is fishing. Imagism about a leaf. !8 Diminutive about a house. A native land and something about a spatula. The mountainous lie of a cloud’s forehead. O to see again! Fields, teeming, cigarettes blooming out of the dandelions. I was getting bread: skidding. I turn to see a car run into a man in June. A plastic melodica sounds a bit like the accordion in the same way a paper mâché apple tastes like an apple. The markets threw their fruit at me. A Russian yes, fierce data. O native land: my, my, Some pot, to cook in, smoke, bang, riot. Something about death and a tower of humans. Flower ghetto. !9 A piccolo harmonizes with the silence. !10 Tomorrow, adagio Chorus: Today plus tomorrow minus life (yesterday) plus face paint and feeding the dog Purina (x2). When under trees, wine. When moon, urn. When can (Sprite, or otherwise), do. Re-salt somewhere. Hey, ’morrow, slow down. You seem in altitude. I stare at math in jellybeans paring them into 1s and O, dead leaves. Tea makes me wander: stop sign to stop sign Even more tea makes me still consider death. Tomorrow clips toes onto the rice, !11 evolution having decided we don’t need that fifth. I drink it anyway, wear old jeans and don’t order the cabbage rolls. And once this fly befriended me. More accurately: the glow of my computer. I exploited it for art, made it pose on literature: To The Lighthouse, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Shot on iPhone. Horrified, I apologized, its life already wasted. Chorus x2 Chorus x2 What strings are not rushed cistern. Chorus x2 Chorus x2 !12 When armadillos… When armadillos try to cut my present tense with calm and lung. Cosmonauts, floating, they offer Krispy Kreme. They try to tail today back into the blue. (After all, they argue, so many todays have come out of it.) Rasputin.