"The Heart That was Born a Woman"

“The Heart That was Born a Woman”

If the site is love, women: thighs and the trip to be known,
Limited to specific drugs, environment, is the best conference:
Neglect of the left of the right kind of woman.

If a woman is a lover of legs, legs of my work from someone,
Shoulders and hands are placed in other areas;
Weapons on its feet in case I find out the truth.

If there is widespread thighs and their stories:
Hands and feet, pale flesh, the legs of cattle,
While it is usually on the chest, you will be denied.

If the bone of the situation is called the Lotus
Dogs, goats, oh! oh! elephant in contact jumped from pigs.
Man, this is a herd owned by women in parliament.

If a second said the toilet, and then packed in a different area,
Tuesday, to continue to use his mouth to keep the joy of others,
You can say that many men are sitting together.

If a woman has two legs meeting the type that is water sports,
Other animals and birds, different varieties of the simplest fashion,
You open the heart that was born a woman.

This work was based on "The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana" by Vatsyayana (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/27827/27827-h/27827-h.htm), in particular Chapter VI, “On the Different Ways of Lying Down, and Various Kinds of Congress”. It was translated from English to Hindi to Polish to Estonian to Japanese to Irish to Swahili to Vietnamese then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com/), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"Raven as Written"

“Raven as Written”

He is before the house, and the wood
has been on the table.
One is lying, sitting between them,
and all are easy to use.

Three were crammed into many of the rooms:
"Some wine," she said, "strong voice."
I felt all the traffic, but I have nothing.
"I do not drink," I said.

While I was looking for a great curiosity,
this was his first appearance.
I opened my eyes to hear his hat:
This is the same, you know.

When breathing sleeps, it seems to speak:
Blues are green and watch.
If you were baptized and see him again,
to make bread, this is a knife.

The parties must be silent in time.
The writing, the money, no more.
The answer is that you think you cannot
shake frequently, and live in the ears.

"No, leave it. This is the answer?"
"I am, especially in this relationship."
"I do not."

This work was based on "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28885/28885-8.txt), in particular Chapter VII, “A Mad Tea-Party”. It was translated from English to Vietnamese to Icelandic to Hindi to Finnish to Russian to Catalan to Swahili then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com/), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"The Pearl's Eye View"

“The Pearl's Eye View”

Hideout.
Situation.
Fresh blow.
He told me to watch the sun.
Hanged. Fear of water convicted.
You will be. If you look at him funny.
Or that he dug his nails again!
For these companies, and this map?
The department found that the sun is burning badly.

Ireland my daughter.
Waste of human children.
Dogs are a lot of people my friend.
I speak and my eyes are not
Life and death, I know everything.
I cannot predict or say that they know this.
I do not believe that death is too many shortcomings.
Death is not the final vote on the consequences.

This work was based on "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot (http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext98/wslnd11.txt), in particular Part I, "The Burial of the Dead". It was translated from English to German to Thai to Albanian to Indonesian to Persian to Maltese to Swedish then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com/), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"Poor Donkeys Slipping Half Asleep"

“Poor Donkeys Slipping Half Asleep”

O Lord God, honey, honey, each in his grave
The integrity of pants, I saw him wait
To see whether or not it fits the best paper in France
Unlike the crap you think is sweet on stage
I forgot the last woman waiting for a game
Of adultery – even better than the cat patience
Because they knew that many times it’s the only thing
That occurs, though I love my pregnancy
The smell, my vagina: a small bowl to him
I think he speaks for the rock of Gibraltar
The only way that I would leave holes in me

I know that there is a problem in my house
Or in what I have of the land of music long ago
I never described pampas grass and prosecution
For the disease of older women, who mirror the carpet
In the environment they work in – you think I know enough
To say that I love the fork, but it is, but it is
My man is the dictator that’d make weapons from the drums
He is too flat to the risk of life and body, if he wishes
He's very sunny and spineless because he married women
In the path of view, in his head after a sheep
His big break is not clean sheets, nor I
I clean the inside and I spend much crap:
More water than red or purple, or standards will not sin
The children shake this old bed and curse the demon

Some people do not know that God is always wrong
God would be against God in another world
I thought he was dead for millions of years, for the Lord
That I wondered, because when I was a kid: pussy and guava
You want to change the eyes of my songs
Of friends who kill each other and then bury their wives
And families at home – and women still do not feel much
Too high for the transfer to register my wife at the same time
And instant leaders do not show pictures: I thought that
I have the Jews to remember that my mother supports me
In my room to wash me with soap and milk, mad at the treasures
Of my body, I laughed at jelly in the hands of patients
Oh, I know what I hope is not helping the old and
Oh, I know it is difficult to apply. Money to pay for disease,
I hope to do good things.

O Lord, I hope the noise bubbles from his bank
Selling pots can only help this bad haircut and a hot girl
Sucking is better, I suspect, it is too heavy to sit on his lap
Instead of the woman who long ago I entered
What adult women operate in the hands of the strike
When I know not only the people who chose to sparkle
Friends to her home, that I suspect we are tombs of the core
And the children laugh at the scholarships they receive

God is here, is back after sixteen years: I am in his hands
So I helped him laughing behind his back, said their faith
If they do not lead children to sleep in nature in the background
Little ears, all yellow skirt, showing Sunday a wet finger
Very dirty with two children who disliked the head and feet
Their hands free hand to punch breathing his nose, his Lord
If people find a little wet drip trying to clear the eye
Not all is evil, is everything you want to continue
Night is half naked when the Jews decide, and they do not eat
I think words are enough for a happy thought of his tongue
To love a new life blood to his beautiful girl
Goodbye, of course, is a recognition of sound
Beautiful Monday, glorious farewell to my friends

This work was based on "Ulysses" by James Joyce (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm), in particular episode 18, “Penelope”. It was translated from English to Slovenian to Italian to German to French to Albanian to Thai to Filipino then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"Opening"

“Opening”

Once again I tried to change the world,
Working with images in order to achieve
An often brutal form of injustice as a sacred trust.
It must be provided, but it may be useful to say:
If it is not clear, I can not avoid this fight
We are not grasshoppers; we want our lives.

Now we can restore the ancient temple of truth.
There is only honesty, honour: my life without it
We are the home of the Plan: Resurrection will succeed
Because their house is a large country – will not last long.
This is an instrument of ambition: my spirit prize.
You may, if they die, a vision, a vision, a man.

This work was based on the Inaugural Address of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 4 March 1933 (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/104/104-h/104-h.htm). It was translated from English to Arabic to German to Korean to Bulgarian to Traditional Chinese to Lithuanian to Indonesian then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"The Death of Jesus"

“The Death of Jesus”

Now, the death of Jesus: I and others should fight for God.
It's a miracle, but close our eyes and breathe: body parts down to the eye.
It was night, when teachers come to know from birth on our roads.
However, hate can not eat; he can not force them to try.
New forms allow any sun to know. I fear teachers. But do not fear me.
Stop God and use a voice. Ready to talk about wolves, because we have guns.
A series of falling glass we see around us. Other pipelines and dreams of profit.
Perhaps a depreciation, for the murder of snow is full of fear.
Weapons? No knife to kill a wolf howling in front of Rome.
Blood will dance with your fingers, follow your fingers deep down.
He and I are a large Bowie knife through security, through the mirror I think.
I do not understand men in the basket, creating a problem.
I cry because I see things have changed: I threw away the sun.
Flash has won the way they should; the left fingers were burned in the blood.
Smile and say, we witnessed the suffering of my heart.
Discomfort and pain with a smile. And a quiet, elegant gentleman died.

This work was based on "Dracula" by Bram Stoker (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/345/345-h/345-h.htm), in particular Mina Harker’s Journal of 6 November. It was translated from English to Albanian to Greek to Ukrainian to Turkish to Simplified Chinese to Vietnamese to Romanian then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

"Weight Against the Wind"

“Weight Against the Wind”

My hands are the hands of school
Against my appeal
Especially birds, the spirit of nature –
The interests of pain itself.

I said it's a disease in humans.
Animals under the conditions, but I still love you.
Then, learn to love another day
To ensure that non-word.
What is life? Hard white sweat
But only white pages.

Many people, like their inner skins –
Difficult to handle and move,
Pure, when ready, ready to eat in their nature.
Common sense and soft hands
Remain hidden in words.
Almost all these criminals, some energy,
Light and love: birds to teach me.

The wind continued to be mined.
Your mother and I love blood and meat –
My favourite trade: those who love ghosts.
Hopefully, the destruction of mountain people
Which centres the silence of his small right and wrong:
All these, I really do not want all the best in the world.
Good taste or bad, I do not want shame or secrecy.

This work was based on "Also Sprach Zarathustra" by Friedrich Nietzsche (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1998/1998-h/1998-h.htm), in particular chapter LV, “The Spirit of Gravity”. It was translated from English to Filipino to Bulgarian to Thai to Japanese to Lithuanian to Hebrew to Maltese then back to English, courtesy of Google Translate (http://translate.google.com), before the resulting parts were reconstituted into the form shown above.

Decapitation Classic

Decapitation Classic is an exercise in automation: a clash of classic and modern, of human and machine. It's about filtering the words of old through the machines of new: through Google Translate. Each 'poem' here is compiled by taking a lengthy stretch of a classic of literature (or some other public domain source) from Project Gutenberg, filtering it across seven languages' worth of machine translation to create a mass of text: half-meaningful, half random. I then sift through the end result for phrases and clauses that take my fancy: in truth it's 'poetry' only because it looks like poetry, and it's 'written by me' only because it's me in control of the final process. It's equally written by famous novelists of centuries past, and more than either it's written by faceless technocrats who work for Google.

The value of the result is, of course, up to you as the reader. I certainly make no claims as to its value or aesthetic success. It just is. But here you have it - a series of what may or may not be poems and that may or may not be written by me... notes beneath each will indicate their ultimate origins and the particular languages they have passed through.

Note: the title 'Decapitation Classic' is itself an example of the process, as I took a brief factual description of the process involved (something I've forgotten like "literary classics translated and cut up into poems") and translated it through a series of languages. What resulted was "Decapitation Classic" - a name, then, that has precisely as much meaning as any of the contents here.