Poems by Tania Pryputniewicz/ Poemas de Tania Pryputniewicz

Collage by Corinne Stanley / Contact: cjstanley22@gmail.com

About Tania Pryputniewicz

A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Tania Pryputniewicz is the author of the poetry collection November Butterfly (Saddle Road Press, 2014). Her poems have appeared in America, We Call Your Name: Poems of Resistance and Resilience, NILVX: A Book of Magic (Tarot Series), Nimrod International, The Rockvale Review, San Pedro River Review, Whale Road Review and at SWWIM online. Her work is forthcoming in Climbing Lightly through Forests: A Poetry Anthology Honoring Ursula K. Le Guin (Aqueduct Press, 2021).


Starting in 2011, Tania began to attend summer writing retreats with A Room of Her Own Foundation at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico where she taught classes based on mask-making and reflection to explore blogging, workshops drawing on art, poetry, and paper dolls to celebrate mentors. Tania also created exercises combining tarot cards and journaling to provide creative direction in consults for writers and artists. In 2015 she attended AROHO as the Marg Chandler Memorial Fellow where she presented, “Mothers and Daughters: Secret Catharsis in Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior,” and taught “Writing Through Fear: Free Your Butterfly.”


Tania’s workbook, Heart’s Compass Tarot: Discover Tarot Journaling and Create Your Own Cards is forthcoming from Two Fine Crows Books in 2021. She teaches poetry and tarot journaling at San Diego Writers, Ink and through Antioch University’s Center for Continuing Education. She lives in Coronado, California with her husband, three children, one blue-eyed Husky and a formerly feral cat named Luna.

Acerca de Tania Pryputniewicz

Graduada de los Talleres de Escritura de la Universidad de Iowa, Tania Pryputniewicz es autora de la colección de poesía November Butterfly (Saddle Road Press, 2014). Sus poemas han aparecido en America, We Call Your Name: Poems of Resistance and Resilience, NILVX: A Book of Magic (Tarot Series), Nimrod International, The Rockvale Review, San Pedro River Review, Whale Road Review y en SWWIM en línea. Su trabajo será publicado en Climbing Lightly through Forests: A Poetry Anthology Honoring Ursula K. Le Guin (Aqueduct Press, 2021).


Comenzando el 2011, Tania comenzó a asistir a los retiros de verano con la fundación A Room of Her Own en Ghost Ranch en Nuevo México, en donde enseñó el arte de la creación de máscaras y reflexiones sobre la exploración a través del blog, talleres sobre dibujo, poesía y figuras de papel para celebrar a los mentores. También creó ejercicios combinando tarjetas del tarot y el hacer diarios para otorgar una dirección creativa a escritores y artistas. En el 2015 asistió a AROHO como el Marg Chandler Memorial Fellow en donde presentó, “Mothers and Daughters: Secret Catharsis in Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior,” y “Writing Through Fear: Free Your Butterfly.”

El libro de Tania, Heart’s Compass Tarot: Discover Tarot Journaling and Create Your Own Cards será publicado por Two Fine Crows Books en 2021. Enseña poesía y diaros de tatot en San Diego Writers Ink y a través del Centro de Educación Continua de la Universidad de Antioch. Vive en Coronado, California, con su esposo, sus tres hijos, su Husky de ojo azul y su gata llamada Luna.


I try to read the name of your perfume

I dodge unmasked walkers on the Silver Strand,
rebreathe stale breaths beneath the pajama fabric

of my mask. Toddlers in oncoming strollers
stare. Yesterday, unmasked, I could have smiled

at them. Sunlight slips over the kestrel sculpture
made of spoons in my father’s house. Anderson Cooper

shows viewers the divot in the haircut he gave himself. Cuomo
broadcasts sweating from basement quarantine. We binge-watch

Joe Exotic, Fleabag, Ozark. The coyotes on the Russian River
yip by night, prehistoric silver sips. People in Marin

howl now too, I’m told. I pull tarot’s Tower card, the Lovers
next. Chile, Iceland, Denmark, India, San Diego, Mexico

and Maine: Facebook Live, Snatum Kaur’s morning circle, guitar
in her arms. We chant, we sing from home: 700, 800, 1k the counter

counts, thread of heart emojis like a diver’s bubbles on the screen,
our upraised palms to sky. For Father on a ventilator. For Auntie

who won’t ever see one. For Grandma living with her two dogs
in Texas. For the pregnant mother in ICU. For the twelve pages

of Boston obituaries. For the ER doctor who took her life. Three
times we hold our breath, once for the self, once for the circle’s

every prayer, a third time for time itself, all beings, every heart
beating despite suspended breath. I dream in perpetual zoom,

gallery view. I see you, propped on pillows, your dresser behind you.
I try to read the name of your perfume, the spines of the books

on your shelf, forget to unmute my audio when my turn to speak,
my house shrunk, a wooden star afloat on a sea the red tide churns

bioluminescent blue, a tsunami’s curling wave at every sill.
I hold my breath, raise my palms to the ceiling, and sing.

Trato de leer el nombre de tu perfume

Me alejo de caminantes sin mascarilla en Silver Strand
respiro, de nuevo, alientos rancios bajo la pijama de tela

de mi mascarillla. Chiquillos en cochecitos se acercan mirando.
Ayer, sin cubrebocas pude haberles sonreído.

La luz del sol se resbala sobre la escultura del halcón
hecha de cucharas en la casa de mi padre. Anderson Cooper

le muestra a los espectadores el agujero del corte de cabello
que él mismo se hizo. Las transmisiones de Cuomo sudando por la
cuarentena en el sótano. Maratoneamos con Joe Exotic, Fleabag,

Ozark. Los coyotes en el Russian River se quejan en la noche,
prehistóricos sorbos de plata. La gente en Marin aúlla ahora,

eso me han dicho. Saco la carta de La Torre del tarot, Los amantes
después. Chile, Icelandia, Dinamarca, India, San Diego, México

y Maine: Facebook Live, el círculo matutino de Snatam Kaur, la guitarra
en sus brazos. Coreamos, cantamos desde casa: 700, 800, 1k el conteo

sigue, línea de emojis de corazones como las burbujas de un buzo en la pantalla,
nuestras palmas hacia el cielo. Por el padre en el respirador. Por la tía

quien no verá uno. Por la abuela viviendo con sus dos perros
en Texas. Por la mujer embarazada en terapia intensiva. Por las doce páginas

de obituarios de Boston. Por la doctora de Emergencias que se quitó la vida. Tres veces
retenemos el aliento, una vez por uno mismo, una vez por el círculo de cada orador,

una tercera vez por el tiempo mismo, por todos los seres vivos, cada corazón
latiendo a pesar de la respiración detenida. Sueño en un zoom perpetuo,

vista en la galería. Te veo, apoyado en almohadas, tu armario detrás de ti.
Trato de leer el nombre de tu perfume, los lomos de los libros

en tu estante, olvido desactivar mi audio cuando me toca hablar,
mi casa se encogió, una estrella de madera a flote en un mar la marea roja

agita el azul bioluminiscente, la ola circular de un tsunami en cada alféizar.
Retengo mi aliento, elevo mis palmas al techo, y canto.


Full Moon Ghazal

The fisherman in the moon drops his net,
diamonds the black sea with his silver net.

Gaps as beautiful as threads in this kind of light,
we’ll always swim closer to his widening net.

Look again: no man, only moon, just undines,
the alms of their silver palms forming a net.

None of us know what we want to catch, love
best the hour of possibility: the empty net.

What to do with what we’ve caught, but heft,
halve, and descale all that glitters in our net.

In my heart all my grunions twist left, then right,
flee, like I, Tania, wish I could flee love’s net.

Ghazal de Luna Llena

El pescador en la luna deja caer la red,
y echa diamantes en el negro mar con su plateada red.

Lagunas tan bellas como hilos en este tipo de luz,
siempre nadaremos cerca de su extendida red.

Mira otra vez: no es hombre, sólo luna, sólo ondinas,
las limosnas de sus palmas de plata formando una red.

Nadie sabe lo que queremos atrapar; mejor
ama la hora de la posibilidad: la vacía red.

Qué hacer con lo que captamos, pero elevamos,
cortamos y quitamos todo lo que brilla en nuestra red.

En mi corazón, todos mis peces se retuercen a la izquierda, a la derecha,
huyen, como yo, Tania, desearía poder huir de la red del amor.


Snowflake Bentley

—For Vermont’s Wilson A. Bentley, 1865-1931, author of “Snow Crystals”

He waited hours in the open barn
for the optimal chill, angle of light

and rate of snowfall needed
to intercept

each single snowflake

on pitchfork’s tine in time
to transfer from tip to swath

of velvet. Then, the rush
to photograph, camera rigged

to his microscope: Pages
of rows of white micrographs

on black backdrop he called miracles
of beauty, ice flowers, the first

to venture no two snowflakes
were the same. Two weeks after

Snow Crystals was published,
walking in a blizzard

-Bentley caught pneumonia

and died.

In his piano improvisations,
Keith Jarrett returns to the same single

note over and over—yet no two sounds alike—
subtlety of wrist, soft peddle and then none,

his voice audible always

somewhere in the recording,
weeping.

Copo de Nieve Bentley

—Para Wilson A. Bentley de Vertmont 1865-1931, autor de “Cristales de nieve”

Esperó por horas en el granero abierto
por el frío óptimo, el ángulo de luz

y calificó las nevadas necesarias
para interceptar

cada uno de los copos de nieve

con el rastrillo a tiempo
para transferir de punta a hilera

el terciopelo. Luego, la premura
de fotografiar, cámara montada

en su microscopio: Páginas
y filas de micrografías blancas

sobre un fondo negro que él llamaba milagros
de belleza, flores de hielo, el primero

en revelar que dos copos de nieve
no son iguales. Dos semanas después

Cristales de Nieve fue publicado,
caminando en una tormenta

-Bentley enfermó de neumonía

y murió.

En sus improvisaciones de piano
Keith Jarret vuelve a la misma nota

una y otra vez -aún así no suenan igual-
sutileza de muñeca, pedaleo suave y luego nada,

Su voz siempre presente

en algún lugar de la grabación,
llorando.

Spanish translation by Marjha Paulino

Published by bilingualborderless

Bilingual/Borderless poetry

14 thoughts on “Poems by Tania Pryputniewicz/ Poemas de Tania Pryputniewicz

  1. Beautiful imagery. In snowflakes…Keith Jarrett’s tears……and a very real take on masked living these days!
    Wonderful translations. Gracias!!

    Like

    1. Thank you so much for reading the work, Susan. I love the actual micrographs of the snowflakes, such lovely physical images, each so different. Growing up with my musician father, music wove its way into everything. What a blessing to be able to share the work in two languages…I guess three, if we count the language of the soul. Thank you again.

      Like

  2. I enjoyed reading these poems that for me were successful to invoke visual images. The idea that this poet was involved in workshops that incorporated mask making is an interest to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for reading the poems, Sheila. Making physical masks, placing those wet plaster strips on actual face, has been such a powerful experience for me, a form of experiential trust and quiet, trusting the person applying the materials, and then the meditative joy of painting/decorating the mask once it is lifted from the face. I love Corinne’s beautiful collage too, with mask, angel, many types of flight. And then there’s the flight into the languages, translation. A mask is a translation too, of the face, isn’t it?

      Like

  3. Beautiful poems! beautiful imagery of the “net” being cast. I really loved “I try to read the name of your perfume” oh, how we can all relate. It brought me to tears.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sonatina, so lovely to read your response, thank you for sharing how the work moved through you. Moonlight’s net never fails to haunt for me. So grateful for the language of poetry to try to make sense of the vast worlds of change we are experiencing, and so grateful to this blog for allowing me to connect with the rest of us, all of us feeling our way home. Writing the poem is such a solitary act; having the loving eye of translation work, the collage work, and your comment brings me gratefully into community where the sorrow of the times lifts a bit. Thank you Sonatina, Corinne, and Marjha.

      Like

  4. Oh wondrous! Tania and i have collaborated for years, and she has used zillions of my photos in her postings, mini-movies and more. The collage is so Tania, so perfect for this posting. Thank you, all those involved, for a dreamy experience.

    Like

    1. Robyn, so moved to share the poems, translations, and the beautiful collage with you. Corinne, I felt like you reached into my dreamscape and did a “soul reading” translation with your collage. And Robyn, thank you for the love. So blessed to have you stop by here and enjoy the work in both languages.

      Like

  5. These poems are so thought-provoking and filled with inspired imagery. The spatial layout of the stanzas was very effective — leaving the last of a sentence for the beginning of the following stanza forced me to stop and take in the thought expressed through the image in a deeper way. The collage is beautiful and the Spanish version of the poems sings. Thanks to everyone for sharing this collective creation!

    Like

  6. Lea, thank you for your beautiful comments and close tracking of the reading experience. It is lovely to see the poems through your eyes. I love the collage too! I am with you in gratitude for the beautiful translations.

    Like

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