RADIO PROGRAM
About Bryant McGill
Event Photographs
Various Online Works!
Dictionary of Rhyme
Community Forums
Visitor Comments
Open Publishing Projects
BUYING BOOKS
Free Downloads
Call for Submissions
Contact Information
Autograph Requests
Universality of Suffering
The Golden Rule
Book of Truth
Collected Works
Gift Givers Manifesto
Become the Change
Free Audio Readings
Wife and Daughters
Memorial Dedications
McGill Family History
Rare & Exotic Collectibles
A Few Favorite Quotes
Current Reading List
World Poetry Archive
MySpace.com
Linkedin.com
DeviantArt.com
Social Vibe Charity
YouTUBE.com
Squa.re Lifestyles
Technorati.com
Poker Players Net
NextCat.com
Friendster.com
NowLive.com
Bebo.com
Yuwie.com
Blogspot.com
Hi5 Network
Tribe Hollywood
FuBar Community


Listen - Visit Site - Stations

Become Powerful!

Links & Partners




World Poetry Translation Project


Submit Human Translation | Discuss Poem | Post Poetry | Listen McGill Live

Bored

by Margaret Atwood

All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or pounded
stakes into the ground for rows and rows
of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)
weeded. Or sat in the back
of the car, or sat still in boats,
sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel
he drove, steered, paddled. It
wasn't even boredom, it was looking,
looking hard and up close at the small
details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,
the intricate twill of the seat
cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular
pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans
of dry moss, the blackish and then the graying
bristles on the back of his neck.
Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes
I would. The boring rhythm of doing
things over and over, carrying
the wood, drying
the dishes. Such minutiae. It's what
the animals spend most of their time at,
ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,
shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed
such things out, and I would look
at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under
the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier
all the time then, although it more often
rained, and more birdsong?
I could hardly wait to get
the hell out of there to
anywhere else. Perhaps though
boredom is happier. It is for dogs or
groundhogs. Now I wouldn't be bored.
Now I would know too much.
Now I would know.


American Review | www.PaperLyon.com | McGill Live Radio | Publish
 

  Translations for this Poem
 English  Spanish  French  German
 Italian  Portuguese  Korean  Russian
 Chinese  Japanese    
 

  Poems by Margaret Atwood
  1. A Visit
  2. Bored
  3. Habitation
  4. In The Secular Night
  5. Night Poem
  6. Postcards
  7. Siren Song
  8. Spelling
  9. The Rest
  10. This Is A Photograph Of Me
  11. Variation On The Word Sleep
  12. You Begin
  13. You Fit Into Me
 
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPRSTVWY[ALL] 
  Maggie Estep 
  Mahmoud Darwish 
  Margaret Atwood 
  Marge Piercy 
  Marianne Moore 
  Mark Strand 
  Marvin Bell 
  Mary Oliver 
  Matthew Arnold 
  Matthew Prior 
  Matthew Rohrer 
  May Swenson 
  Michael Drayton 
  Michael Ondaatje 
 

Volunteers needed to translate poetry into different languages. Please help us correct the translation of these poems. We currently have 79,663 translations and are trying to create the largest and most accurate database of world poetry translations. We have started with machine translations which are very inaccurate. Please translate your favorite poem on this site. You will be given credit for your translation and a link to your site if desired. COPYRIGHT NOTICE: These poems have been gathered and submitted by many of people, and from many sources. Most have no copyright. However, some may may have copyrights. We have tried to collect poems that appear on many external sites where the author seems to want to disseminate. If you are an author and do not want your poetry translated into other languages then send a removal request and it will be promptly removed.
 



Where applicable, U.S. & Int'l Copyrights by Bryant McGill. All Rights Reserved. Notices and Fair Use. McGill Trademark Licensed from the House of Gill, Corp Sole.