Volumes of Kit Kelen’s poetry have been published in Chinese, Portuguese, French, Italian, Spanish, Swedish, Indonesian and Filipino.

For the last decade Kelen has been facilitating the translation of Chinese poetry into English and of Australian poets into Chinese, projects which have so far produced a dozen large scale bilingual anthologies. These projects involved bringing poets and translators to Australia (notably to Bundanon, the University of Western Australia, and Kelen’s Australian home) to workshop with poets being translated. They have likewise involved hosting poets for workshops and meetings in Macao, and elsewhere in China. Apart from parallel-text anthologies Kelen has notably co-translated two volumes with the late Hong Kong poet Leung Ping Kwan (Ya Si), and four with Macao poet Yao Jing Ming (Yao Feng).

Kit Kelen has also worked with poets and translators to co-translate and publish volumes of poetry from French, Norwegian and Indonesian. A 2012 volume, Notes for the Translators, collected the work of 142 Australian and New Zealand poets, together with advice from authors on how their particular works might be translated into any language.

As an editor and anthologist more generally, Kit Kelen has published the work of hundreds of poets from around the world, but especially from China and Australia.

In 2008, he co-edited with Agnes Vong the first English-language anthology of Macao poetry, containing the work of more than 120 Macao poets, some writing in English, many translated from Chinese and Portuguese. In 2009, his critical volume City of Poets – Exploring Macao Poetry Today appeared to accompany the 2008 anthology.

Books of Kit Kelen’s poetry have appeared in translation in

  • Chinese
  • Japanese
  • French
  • Italian
  • Portuguese
  • Spanish
  • Swedish
  • Norwegian
  • Indonesian
  • Filipino

Working especially with authors, Kit Kelen has collaboratively translated books of poetry, into English, from

  • Chinese
  • Portuguese
  • French
  • Norwegian

Below find samples from books of Kit Kelen’s translated poems:

la poésie

vient d’une surface
malaisée à remarquer
comme les tâches passées sous silence
au motif de vouloir prendre un verre
ce n’est jamais inattendu
jusqu’à ce que nous voyons que le mur est là
ces hommes bâtis comme des masses
portant la poésie sur leur dos
cognant  tête contre  brique
jusqu’à ce que le message soit clair

poetry

comes from a shallow place
so easily missed
like marks passed over
for want of glasses
it’s never unexpected
till we see the wall is there
these men shaped like sledgehammers
with poetry on their backs
bashing head against brick
till the message is clear

dalam surga

segala aksara
tak pernah tertulis
segala pikir terlalu naif
atau terlalu cerdik untuk terpikir
semua akan baik-baik saja
semua akan baik-baik saja
selalu terucap
saat mendekati akhir selesai
dalam surga
suara gemericik
air mengalir lembut
di neraka
tetes keran bocor

in heaven

the text of every letter
never written
all thoughts too naïve
or clever to think
it’ll all be alright
it’ll all be alright
that’s what they say
when the end is near
in heaven
the gentle sound
or water running
in hell
a dripping tap

poesi

kommer från ett grunt ställe
så lätt att missa
såsom spår förbisedda
i brist på glasögon
den är aldrig oväntad
tills vi ser att väggen är där
dessa män i form av släggor
med poesi på sina ryggar
drämmer huvuden mot tegel
tills budskapet gått fram

 

och flörta hela vägen till graven

varför sluta där?

det finns en söt tjej i exekutionsplutonen
i sitt hjärta ler hon och vinkar
fast hon måste vara allvarlig för sitt jobb
men jag vet att vi kommer att ta igen det senare
se där till vänster
hon kommer att sikta mot hjärtat
men fälla en tår
vid närmare granskning
se där – de är alla söta tjejer
det betyder att de siktade rätt
jag befinner mig på den andra sidan

我游過了

鏡子的泥潭
常常冒出頭
奄奄一息的夥伴
在他的非人性中垮掉
夠不著我估算的距離

 

I swim through

the mud of the mirror
and often haul out
the breathless fellow
collapsed in his impersonation
failing to meet my measure

再沒捱巴掌的臉

每天早上
向你的敵人吐痰
一整天
製造威脅
當面咒罵
那個流氓
不留情面
這樣的話
你永遠會有一個

run out of cheeks to turn

every morning
spit on your enemy
all through the day
make threats
curse the rascal
to his face
take no quarter
this way
you will always have one

不是揮手,而是求救

當國家想起我
好感入侵
我們的童年
死者在地下列隊行進
我走了多遠?
我將走向何方?
讓我想起升起與升起
漫長的一天
我們都把它
浪費在追逐錢幣上
帶著袋鼠
像懸在山頂的繩套
在遠處被陽光照亮的廚房
幾個年代過去了
廚房裡的麵包在呻吟
要在我們的身體裡穿流
在金黃的谷麥之夢裡
再次搖

not waving but drowning

when the nation thinks of me
what fondness kick in
our childhood together
the dead in their subterranean marches
how far I’ve come?
and where will I venture?
reminds me of the rise and rise
this one long day
we’ve spent
following the penny
with the kangaroo
like a hoop over hills away
in a far sunlit kitchen
decades gone
with bread in its yearning
to pass through us
in its golden wheat wish
to wave once again

idolatria dos antepassados

cheiravam mal nos velhos tempos
tinham os dentes podres
eram estúpidos
tudo servia mal
por isso, maltrapilhos, escangalhavam-se a rir
os seus hábitos eram pavorosos
não admira que não vivessem muito tempo
oh eles sofriam muito
mas tanto era auto-infligido
e eles infligiram-
-nos o seu mundo
claro que não sabiam o que faziam
tão terrivelmente desajeitados
partiam quase tudo o que tocavam
eram como palhaços antes do circo ser
inventado
imagina-os na cama
criando geração após geração
como os teus pais a fazê-lo
mas muito pior
infinitamente mais feios e mais velhos
oh quão desengonçado
este montar
o molhar do pincel
e é por isso que os idolatramos
porque estamos aqui
estamos aqui

sinong nagsasabing walang buhay ang sanga

sinong tumatawag sa supang
para abutin ang taglamig
gaya ng isang kamay
para kamtan ang ligamgam
na pumasaloob sa gwantes
nang sa gayon ang ibon
ay makaawit

who says the stick is lifeless?

who calls the twig
to reach past winter
like a hand
for warmth
slipped into a glove
so that the bird
will sing?

considerando los usos del mal

el niño se está ahogando en el pozo
oyes los gritos
sabes que hay una cuerda

el conocimiento es como un eco en ti
sabes que es un sueño
y te levantas para esquivar la bayoneta
que llega por tu corazón

dices – ‘no lo hice
nunca hice nada

‘aún la misma oscuridad
en el alma
el papel mural se despega
el viento sonajea
pero siempre el mismo patrón

vista debilitada
sentido del olfato atenuado
cada comida tiene menos sabor que la anterior

no muchos años más en este mundo
el emperador encuentra cada día
que es más sencillo ordenar
las ejecucione

considering the uses of evil

the child is drowning in the well
you hear the screams
you know where there’s a rope

the knowledge is like an echo in you
you know it’s a dream
and you wake to dodge the bayonet
come for your heart

you say – ‘I didn’t do it
I never did a thing’

still the same dark
inside the soul
the wallpaper peels
rattles the wind
but always the same pattern

eyesight weakened
sense of smell dimmed
each meal has less taste than the last

not so many years left to this world
the emperor finds every day
it’s easier to order
the executions