How to Catch the Fishes of the Sea

***UPDATE***

After being accessed by David Leavitt on the legalities of publishing translations of deceased authors without permission, and out of fear of legal retributions, I have decided to temporarily (hopefully) delete all translations of José María Lima's work on the Instruction Manual until I have official permission to do so.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

- AR 4/26/10


José María Lima was a poet, mathematics professor, and painter born in Ceiba (1934-2009), a place he speaks of as, “What impacted me the most was that my ancestors owned the lands of Roosevelt Roads and those lands were taken away from me." He was raised in an evangelical family but considered himself an atheist.

The journal, Universidad, edited by Juan Ramón Jiménez, published María Lima’s first poems in 1954. Ramón Jiménez wrote as the heading of María Lima’s first poetry collection, “José María Lima, you are a true poet and I am pleasured to have come to this realization for myself.”


José María Lima, poeta, profesor de matemáticas y pintór, nació en Ceiba (1934-2009), lugar sobre el cual comenta: “Lo que más me marcó es que mis antepasados eran dueños de los terrenos de Roosevelt Roads, y me los quitaron.” Crece en el núcleo de una familia evangélica, pero se considera ateo.

En el 1954, publica sus primeros poemas en la revista Universidad, a cargo de Juan Ramón Jiménez, quien le escribe las líneas que luego fungen como epígrafe al poemario: “José María Lima, es usted un verdadero poeta, y me alegro de haberlo sabido por mí mismo.”


Joseph Moore

CircoCirco’s drummer got a poem published. He is a man of many names, so to avoid confusion, you decide who he is. Check out his poem at Muumuu House HERE.


Damaged Review

New review of the Andy Riverbed poetry collection by J.A. Tyler published on Mudluscious. Check that out HERE.


La Cara Oculta

New Cara Oculta tape, Dee Dee Ramone, is out. Contact them HERE for details.

Check out “Señor Eaglebauer”

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Amoricide

New blog documenting the interaction between Rey Andújar and Andy Riverbed as they little by little get Andújar’s latest story collection published in the Riverbed’s English translation. Check out that site, Amoricide, HERE.


Radiation Newsletter Issue #2

Coming Soon!



Copies of Issue #1 still available featuring coverage on Wall-Attacks 1 through 2, an interview with the Culprits, 1-800-RAMONES, How to Wheat Paste, and French Poets attacking the walls back in the day.

Check it out HERE.


New Translations!


Siete versions de la misma cosa

1

Ayer en el autobus estuve sentado al lado de un viejo. Nuestras piernas se tocaban. Por millas nos mantuvimos quietos sin hablar. En una parada, una muchacha nos pasó por el lado. El viejo la observo y me hizo gestos para que yo la mirara también.
“¿Diablo, que jevota, ah?” dijo y me viró la cara y me sonrió vivazmente.
Traté de pensar en algo que decirle.
“Sí,” le dije. “Me encantaría mordele las cejas y pegármelas sobre los labíos. Siempre he querido un bigote.”
El viejo se reacomodó en su asiento y nos mantuvimos con las mirada hacia delante por lo que nos quedaba del camino.

2

La muchacha pasó y el viejo me dió un codazo, invitándome a mirarla.
“¿Y eso, nene? ¿Qué piensas?” dijo.
Le sonreí y le asentí con la cabeza. Después le dije en alta voz, “Sí, estoy de acuerdo contigo y con lo que estás sugiriendo. Quisiera tener sexo con esa muchacha. No sé quién es pero creo que los dos podemos acordar que deberíamos pensar en su cuerpo y en chingarla. Estoy bien bellaco. ¿Y usted, está bellaco? Vamos a juntarnos y pensar en qué le haríamos.”

3

La muchacha nos pasó por el lado y el hombre se aguantó la cabeza con las manos. Su cabeza rebotaba de su falda con cada curva posterior que tomó el autobus durante el viaje.

4

La muchacha nos pasó por el lado. En lo que que ella nos pasaba, temporeramente me bloqueó la vista de la ventana y ya no podia ver el campo que había afuera. Me molesté porque recordé que estaba en un autobus rumbo a algún lugar y ese lugar probablemente requeriría algo de mí que yo podría saber o no saber qué hacer con ese algo, y quien estuviera ahi, aunque solo fuera yo mismo, me juzagaría capaz o incapaz.

5

La muchacha me pasa y se desmonta del autobus y baja por la carretera y nunca la veo de nuevo. Ella nunca pensará en mi en lo que camina millones de caminos en los cuales nunca coincidimos.

6

Estoy casi dormido cuando el autobus hace una curva y la luz del sol se dispara por la ventana. El hombre sentado al lado mio se vuelve rígido. Apunta con el dedo a la luz de forma cúbica sobre mi camiseta.
“¡Mierda! ¡Que jodienda! ¡Quítatelo! ¡Rápido!” me grita y se inclina hacia atrás apuntando. La luz sobre mi camiseta crece. “¡Quítatelo! ¡Está encima de ti! ¡Que hostia!”
Retrocedo para evitar la luz del sol. Pierdo vista de él porque la luz del sol cúbico me cubre la cara.
“¡Te tiene cubierto! ¡Muévete, por favor!”
Sus gritos se vuelven más como quejas patéticas y sus quejas se vuelven mojadas entre los tartamudos de los músculos de su garganta.

La muchacha pasando es solo una parte de un sinnúmero de cosas.

7

Ignoro al viejo y a la muchacha. Siento un timbre, un rintintín, comenzar dentro de mis oídos. Estoy conciente de este timbre. Es lo único que siento y percibo. Este sonido hace que no pueda escuchar mis pasos cuando me desmonto del autobus. De alguna manera sé que he llegado a mi parada. Camino hacia mi casa. De alguna manera conozco el camino. Alguien me persige a treinta pies de distancia. Tengo miedo, pero no debería. Nadie me quiere asesinar. Trato de abrir la puerta rápidamente. Mi apartamento esta oscuro. Me siento en mi sofa y me preocupo de cosas que no están presentes. Dejo que todos mis deberes giren por dentro de mi cabeza, pero en fin no hago nada. Me siento cansado y por fin listo para dormir. Voy a mi cuarto y cierro la puerta. A mitad de la noche me despierto. No me vuelvo a dormir. En vez, observo con ojos entre abiertos como la ventana en mi cuarto se aclara. Ya es casi tiempo de volver a montarme en el autobús.

- Translated by Andy Riverbed with proofs done by Marina Reyes Franco


Seven versions of the same version

1

I sat next to an old man on the bus yesterday. Our legs touched. We sat still and silent for miles. A girl walked by us at a stop. The old man watched her pass and then nudged me. He motioned for me to look too.

"Whew! Huh?" he turned and smiled at me, face alive.

I tried to think of something to say.

"Yeah I know," I replied. "I'd sure love to bite off one her eyebrows and glue it to my upper-lip. I've always wanted a moustache."

He readjusted himself in his seat and we sat staring forward for the remainder of the ride.

2

The girl passed by and the old man elbowed me hard. Entreating me to look.

"Man, how bout it huh?" he said.

I smiled and nodded. Then I spoke loudly. "Yes I agree with what I think you are suggesting. I would love to have sex with that girl. I don't know who she is but I think we can both agree that we should think about her body and having sex with it. I am aroused. How about you? Are you aroused sir? Let's think about what we'd do. Let's think together."

3

The girl passed us and the man put his head in his hands. His head bounced in his lap with each subsequent turn and bump in the road.

4

The girl passed us. As she passed, she temporarily blocked the window I was looking at, and the field outside. I became angry because I remembered that I was on a bus going somewhere and that somewhere would probably require something of me and I would either know or not know how to do that something and whoever was there if even just me would judge me capable or incapable.

5

The girl passes and leaves the bus and walks down the street and I never see her again. She will not think about me as she walks down the street into the millions of paths we never choose in accord.

6

I am almost asleep when the bus rounds a corner and sunlight shoots through the window. The man next to me becomes rigid. He points to the cube-shaped piece of light on my shirt.

"Shit. Oh shit. Get it off. Quick!" he screams and leans back, pointing. The cube on my shirt grows. "Get it off--it's on you--get it off. Oh shit!"

He crawls backwards to avoid the sunlight. I lose sight of him as the cube covers my face.

"It's all over you--move! Please!"

His yells become more like pathetic whining and the whining gets wet between the stuttering muscles of his throat.

The girl walking by is just one part of an endless number of things.

7

I ignore the old man and the girl. I feel a steady ringing begin in my ears. I am conscious of the ringing. It is all I can sense. It quiets my steps as I get off the bus. Somehow I know it is my stop. I walk home. Somehow I know the steps. Someone is walking thirty feet behind me. I am afraid. But I shouldn't be. No one would want to kill me. I try to put the keys in my door quickly. The apartment is dark. I sit on my couch and worry about things that are not present. I let revolve in my head all the things I have to do, ultimately doing none of them until I begin to feel sleepy. I go to my room and lock the door. Halfway through the night I wake up. I do not fall back asleep. Instead, I watch with eyes half-closed as the window in my room becomes lighter. It is almost time to get back on the bus.

- Sam Pink