Translation Work From Home – `” JDP “: On the way home with a suitcase,” Omar García Obregón, 4 October 2008

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`” JDP “: On the way home with a suitcase,” Omar García Obregón, 4 October 2008
Translation Work From Home
Year peak of Dr John2005
“JDP”: On the way home with the suitcase (Omar García Obregón) At the fourth day of October 2008, at 11.00 clock in the morning, I arranged a meeting in central London with John D. Perivolaris (JDP), grandson of the late captain of the Greek Merchant Navy with which he gave a name and birthday. John is the current owner of the suitcase that I keep for about a month and bears the initials of his grandfather: JDP The encounter stretched back in time like a stock, not because I had not seen John for years. Our chat was followed by a visit to the Photographers ‘Gallery, the British artist Dryden Goodwin for latest exhibition titled `Cast see’. Accompanied by John, who is a professional photographer, I was in a privileged position, as I stood before the pictures, details of the craft noticed by the untrained eye it for granted. The case began its journey with us through the center of London. We remained in our vain attempt an English translation of the excellent work of the Afghan poet Partaw Naderi, I had the opportunity to meet thanks to localize the London poet and translator Sarah Maguire and the Poetry Translation Centre at SOAS. Partaw Naderi was not on my mind today when I left at home, but John Perivolaris mentioned him to me after one of his poems in a tube, as part of http://tinyurl.com/3ghran Poems on the Underground project ( ). Naderi was now a growing presence in the sense that we failed in our quest to find his poems. This was hardly surprising since they often only through the intervention of a miracle that you can not find anywhere poetry, at a time when the market seems convinced that there is only narrative that is sold. However, we already knew, that it is impossible to buy what is not for sale, and there you have the proverbial dog chasing its own tail. So it happened that two disappointed buyers of poetry Foyles Bookshop leave empty-handed. On the way home I remembered that poem called `The Mirror ‘, written in Kabul Partaw Naderi in 1989: I have a long life verbrachtebeschäftigt in the mirrors of exile SpiegelbildAnhören absorbing my-I’m from the endless conflicts of WeisheitIch I wanted the sense of nothingness begriffenIch always make it my own line, as I have spent most of my life in the mirrors of exile. Until now (a very important `until now ‘, because there are always turning points that lead us blindly into the unknown) I’ve lived in London more than anywhere else. In fact, Cuba, Santa Clara and in particular the situation of my childhood, However, the place where I have spent the least time to end, and whose passport I have never possessed. Naderi leads me to this absorption of reflections that our exile in exile, which assumes a thousand forms, such as a partially severed planarians that family regenerate the flatworms whose segments are many ways they are cut thinking involved. This is one of the metaphors that I use most often, the injuries that our line emerging from the nation that our birth is expecting a concept of themselves as a people, that is, many times, enjoined as in my case, in the very system in which they grow up. But for me the void is never empty. is contrary to everything, as a my favorite poet, José Ángel Valente, which I devoted several years, critical work, as I made my first thesis, which was on its work prepared concentrated. allowed in my case, that a sense of wholeness, the conflict of so many so many communities in exile , diaspora, cushioned cosmopolitanism, and all the other terms that define us by absorption in the mirrors of all those nations who pass through which we grasp, as a citizen, or in other temporary, Gestalten.Unterwegs home with this case, that so many international trips to countries such as Cuba and Argentina, has been in the hands of John’s grandfather, father, Dimitri, I feel that I have been entrusted with an object that I have to be careful. On a cloudy, overcast autumn day in London was my biggest concern that I would be caught during the last mile or so I went home through the surrounding forest. While I was completely lost in thought, the case itself was transformed into a metaphor for other things in a shower of trips I had taken or planned, from what I had never had and from what I have now I should explain myself. my father was both a Isleño (a Canary Island of La Palma) and a aplatanado, In other words, he not only settled in Cuba, but he had that other island adopt as his own country during the Franco era. I also think that when he arrived with every kind of case he has them around the time of gave Revolution (a much abused term) is misplaced, as there is no trace of such a thing at the time I was born. My childhood without case yet rides were off the coast of the island, along its entire length, I was sure to wander in a position , without case, but with what bags or travel bags were necessary within the limits of what was or was not available. When I was five, the first case came thanks to Raúl Torre, a cigar-maker knew that the carpenter, who was a friend of my father was. Raúl a wooden box made with sufficiently strong fortifications, so that everything could be safe for 45 days, my sister spent away from home while attending camp for the first time would be saved. Later, I will have the same case to inherit two similar camps to attend to first work on the tobacco Vegas in the center of the island, near Baez, and then cut sugar cane in Jutiero had. Meanwhile, my parents had made another wooden case for me, this time with a padlock, where I have my books could hold, as I have always been picky in this regard, the case ended up storing the treasures of the past. a big picture book of verses by Alfonso Sastre, the much later, as a researcher of the theater and censorship, which I used in another context explore would be brochures about the exploits of heroes and martyrs of the independence of the country, and the subsequent political drama, I now closely monitoring all the more cause than ever after a brush with the politics of ignorance, since we avoided the subject at home so as not to embarrass our. This had its disadvantages, such as the time at the beginning of the school year, when Belkis Caballero rounded on me in the middle of a lesson from my second grade teacher, Olga, ask me if I was a worm or a communist informed. I showed my great ignorance by saying quietly that when I did not know was what kind of animal is a Communist, I would therefore choose to be a worm, if only to select something. The reaction was so that Belkis fed me the lion apart with the whole class seemingly in the know about me. The teacher has saved me from an awkward situation for which I am still grateful, and from that moment I decided on a stock political texts, which enable me to what I needed to inform allowed on what would. Consequently, the case turned into a political source of unique information. Less dramatically, the work of the naturalist Carlos de la Torre was also there . a place, my father was an avid amateur naturalist in and outside the boundaries of the case, there was evidence all around the house of his literary tastes: Galdós, with its national implications, and Blasco Ibáñez, among other things, besides the books of science y the grammatical sources of knowledge. The moment when Belkis her question to me most important changes highlighted in the rest of the world. days later, in 1973, started the political transformation of Chile, whose impact was so great in Cuba. Subsequently, after uncaging the Birds at my cousins’ house, prompted, as I was by the political detention of another cousin since 1968, it would be my motto, “Free Luis Corvalan” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luis_Corvalan) be. In fact, the Soviet campaign had been started for his freedom in Cuba, which in 1976, his exchange with the Soviet political dissident, Vladimir Bukovsky (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vladimir_Bukovsky). The case was then changed to an archive of historical materials relating to international politics left (another useless metaphor, unless we define the term every time we use it, but on this occasion I think it’s understandable), which were The only publications that were available to me to be the case among Zeit.Dieser JDP, before his father and grandfather, both sailors, and even traveled to my country which has transported me back to childhood trips to the lack of traveling suitcases, and luggage as a place where we keep some of our most valuable possessions when we do travel. Interestingly, this case also transported me to the things behind when the moment of my departure had left in 1980. Leave Mariel for Key West was the maritime bridge between the two, with one suitcase with me impossible. It was a moment when the nation between us, which we left, `citizens’ and the` comrades who stayed behind had been divided. Many of those who have left me now joined other `citizens of many countries. courses of their journeys were diverse, not because exile is homogeneous, nor are the cuts suffered as part of transcultural processes of emigration for all the same. Just so with a mass exodus, as reported in my case, when more than 125,000 people rely on the same path, with the same means, by sea to acts of rejection (while the eggs thrown at us in order for the price of ten one peso, free from restrictions of rationing). It was the farewell given us by those who were left behind allowed to leave in return for the sin of dissent or for betraying the country, although he, the individual stories that the gaps in the fill history. My family and I left the island with only the clothes on their backs and without papers, identity cards, after they had been seized. We take the point where we would start all over again achieved without case, but the implementation of a life’s work Luggage hinein.Das next time I needed a suitcase was in Miami when I bought a luggage set on rates for a trip to the Middle East, as part of an exchange program with Israel. The first Lebanon war, in 1982, together with my refugee status to to put paid to my plans. I have the same case to use for the first time in 1989, on a trip to Spain, a country that my father after 36 years was re-visit. It is these and other images I, as I set out to revisit the case on my JDP Seite.Text © Omar García-Obregón, 2008Übersetzung © John Perivolaris, 2008




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