Collected Poems

Fukushima. 5 Poems by Mitch Grabois Featured at Artvilla.com

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(i)
 
Fukushima
 
Radiation
browns the waters
like spilled cocoa
and creeps across the sea
 
Laying naked on Santa Monica Beach at 2 a.m.
I awake with a start
my tongue burning
the taste of marshmallows
twisting my stomach
 
I’ve taken so many mind-expanding drugs
I can sense what no one else can
 
Homeless, I have only my own life to save
I’ve got to run before my ears turn blue
before my dick falls off
and my descendants turn into
Elephant Men
 
I pull on my jeans and sweatshirt
and take off running
for Nova Scotia
 
(ii)
 
Worse
 
We’re getting worse, worse than the Goths
and Vandals who sacked Rome
and ate all the green and yellow parakeets in Egypt
worse than the Soviets
who ate the peach-faced love birds
 
There are benevolent Nazi women
on the dark side of the moon
with huge boobs
and faces frozen with Botox
preparing our annihilation
 
(iii)
 
Rooftop
 
She’s on a chaise lounge on her rooftop
in Brooklyn
in this Facebook post
 
She’s stretched out
her legs extended straight in front of her
Her body is very white
She’s wearing an awkward looking bathing suit top
or maybe it’s a kind of halter
It’s hard to tell from this angle
 
She’s taken a selfie of her body
There must have been some neck strain involved
Her body is like milk
I can’t see any tattoos
 
She’s lost all her mystery
I can no longer pretend that she’s satanic
I’ve heard she works for a woman’s magazine
something like Better Homes and Gardens
Do they still publish shit like that?
She’s on the roof with the Hispanic neighborhood
spread out below
She smells the good odor of the rotisserie chicken place
the glass all greasy
and all the Mexican beer and sodas
the Mexicans enjoying their swarthy selves
She thinks she’s getting tanned up there
on the roof
but she’s just getting burned
 
Her thighs are thick
I see that now
I don’t mind thick thighs
but I mind women who talk about
how thick theirs are
as if it would ameliorate some of the shame
if they talk about it
in a jocular way
But who the fuck cares if her thighs are a little chubby
after everything we’ve been through in this world?
Anyway, as Michael Ventura said, fat feels good in bed
 
(iv)
 
Cruel Mayan
 
The woman with the cruel face and large breasts
rests on the couch under the jaguar
her legs folded under her
 
and talks on a cell phone
the universal currency
of disengagement and contempt
 
The doors are ten feet tall
but she is only five
the same height as her ancestors
 
who died before they were forty
and whose foreheads were flat
and their eyes crossed
in beauty
 
This woman’s face is rich in cruelty
as if cruelty came in batches of
a million pixels
 
Her cell phone and blouse are lurid pink
her toenails are orange
She is a minor character in a detective novel
who hides a shiv in her ratted hair
 
She studies the screen of her cell phone
like a Sephardic rabbi studying the Torah
 
She studies it like a weatherman
studying swirls of radar
for deadly storms
 
like a mother staring
into her baby’s crib
for signs of polio
or sudden death syndrome
 
like the father of a juvenile delinquent
peering into his son’s face for proof of worth
or worthlessness
 
This woman’s face gets crueler
as I watch
until she forces me to orgasm
without touching me
 
then leaves me
to recover my sanity
and to clean myself
 
She goes back to the couch
back to uninterrupted staring
into her cell phone
 
like a Sicilian studying the face of a pizza
for signs of crime
or the dark, mottled face of his lover
for signs of betrayal
 
(v)
 
Ruler
 
The jaguar’s eyes burn red
His mouth is red and glows from within
I come and go
The world is full of phantasmas
and lost Americans
whose only salvation is death
 
but who pour agua purificado
from jug to jug
as if
their rituals of juggling clean water
will void damnation
 
The jaguar’s teeth are sharp as a shark’s
sharp as a moray eel’s
This peninsula was once a sea
 
The jaguar’s whiskers are bristly
as my uncle’s
who ran a clothing store in Queens
 
His face cut me
when he bent to kiss
I’d already learned that vampires
came from Rumania
and here he was
 
with his flat cap
and red eyes
 
Ruler of the ghetto
he cheated black men
who were afraid to buy their work clothes
from someone else
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad, including POETRY LIFE AND TIMES. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a Print Edition . To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

A Philosophy of Yard by Jack Kolkmeyer. Collected Poems Reviewed by Renee’ Drummond-Brown

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A Philosophy of Yard
FORTE Publications #12
Ashmun Street Snapper Hill Monrovia, Liberia
ISBN-10: 0994534795 ISBN-13: 978-0994534798

A Philosophy of Yard by Jack Kolkmeyer takes an intimate look at poetic reflections of the past, present and future day in a philosophical manner. This book leaves the reader with an understanding of how we view ourselves and how one should grasp the universe by accepting all of the mysteries and magic that ultimately grounds us. Kolkmeyer’s book opens with a poem titled “Often as a child” (1) but ironically, the poem was written about the death of Kolkmeyer’s grandfather which took place in Cincinnati. While this poem invites the reader into the authors personal space it also stresses of the importance of a life-cycle from a child’s perspective. On the other hand the author’s theme poem “A Philosophy of Yard” (2) written in Delray Beach weaves magic of wonder as it relates to nature’s stones, plants, seeds, weeds and animals, thus allowing everything to grow and reorganize itself in due season. In this review of A Philosophy of Yard, I will weigh in on the contents and expound on the strengths and weaknesses of Kolkmeyers’ book. Therefore, buckle yourselves because A Philosophy of Yard will travel you from the “here” to the “there,” and brings the reader full circle back into one’s very own yard, while instructing you along the way.

The author strategically draws from poets; such as T. E. Hulme, Wallace Stevens and D. H. Lawrence using their unique metaphor style for place and implements it into the veins of his book. While the Beat Poets educated Kolkmeyer about meter and flow he skillfully mimics their style as well and weaves that throughout the book also. This author is no stranger to writing from the depths of his soul, while using inspirations from some of the great poets before his time. Kolkmeyer surrounds himself with knowledge of the African American culture as well, which gives the poetry within this book that rhythm and blues flare; adding literary renaissance to the messages that he conveys within his body of work.

Kolkmeyer’s poem “Coimbra Universidad” takes place in Coimbra, Portugal and figuratively points to D. H. Lawrence’s legendary writing style as Kolkmeyer opened the poem with “the sounding of a bitch bell” (106;1). The opening line is powerful, commands immediate attention and yet is definitely a controversial statement that can be viewed as offensive. Overall, the book has roots running deep in familial, providing clear imagery structured in a simplistic way. Yet, this erudite author manages skillfully to make one cogitate about the complexities of life along that path as it also relates to the human race. For example, in the poem “Everybody is Colored (a song)” (100) written in Santa Fe, the author masterfully tackles the race issue head on by addressing “everybody is colored/everybody’s got a mother/and a bag of white bones” (100;1-4).

Talk about iron sharpening iron; this author, shrewd and skillful understands the powerful effect of carefully placed line breaks in his poetry and uses them masterfully in creating genuine stanzas which ultimately stir emotions within the reader as seen in his poem “do doo wop” (95). This poem captures the Harlem Renaissance revolutionary explosion at its best and vibes with Langston Hughes’ poem “The Weary Blues” which evokes a tone of melancholy. While Kolkmeyer’s poem “doo doo wop” (95) has that very same disposition in these lines “Street corner colors fly/faintly yellow umber/surely some blues…shining from the muted lights/prying into the night life/a street corner prophet on his knee” (95;11-17) he manages to create originality and uniqueness in his poem thus causing it to stand up against Hughes’ masterpiece.

Kolkmeyer’s poem “Autumn” (4) and “The pod people” (6) both taking place in Delray Beach, can be compared to Robert Frosts’ poetic style, which often depicts relationships between nature imagery and humans. In the poem “Autumn” Kolkmeyer brilliantly captures the beauty of nature shared with humans as he wrote “we just wait with resignation knowing that winter is near…as we prepare a warmer spot/amidst the moves and rearrangements” (4;14-17). Whereas, in the poem “The pod people” he skillfully uses metaphors to capture that same effect within these lines “but we are in deed /the seed people/planting ourselves along furrows of time/seen differently from star to star” (6;6-9). Kolkmeyer deliberately takes the reader on another journey within these poems by shifting the reader’s mind into various periods as it relates to time which ultimately lends the authors instructions on embracing life.

Kolkmeyer’s poems “A New Seed (a song),” “Coltrane,” “Winter Solstice Winter Light,” and “To Wallace Stevens” reminds one of Frank O’Hara’s writings, while adding dimension of self-reflection and conscious control to otherwise permissive unpredictability. At times Kolkmeyer’s poetry reads like O’Hara’s and could be viewed as bluster of rants and even provocative. For example in the poem “Coltrane” Kolkmeyer skillfully rants “nocturnal admissions…lost arcs and frozen phrases/wholly wars of redemption/tangled transgressions…play deeply” (121;7-11) and then he follows it with a question of uncertainty “how deep is the ocean”(121;12). Nonetheless, it’s important to note that O’ Hara’s works are celebrated amongst the greatest, which further adds credibility to Kolkmeyer’s brilliant masterpiece. However, all the greats are subjected to criticism and Kolkmeyer is certainly no exception to the rule.

The author certainly captures home which takes place in Pittsburgh as he metaphorically points the reader back there within this poem “The Pittsburgh Boys” (66) in the following lines “lost in the hills and the valleys/jumpin’ the fences/riden’ trollies… crossin’ bridges… livin’/in a together place” (66;19-25). He further adds “we were Pittsburgh boys…still we are… we’ll keep going on/because of where we’re from” (67;7-13). “Kolkmeyer’s book is a labor of love that adds dimensions and challenges to one’s understanding as it relates to how we value ourselves and those closest to us. Kolkmeyer’s book can be compared to August Wilson’s incredible play Fences, because, like Wilson, the author describes how separated and yet connected families are throughout life as seen in this particular poem.

Furthermore, Kolkmeyer is unafraid to dig, sow and plant his poetic seeds into the grounds of richly fertilized soil, causing his literary prose and ethos to have great impact, which will influence how modern day writers approach their craft. This author’s voice is vibrant colorful, and distinctly powerful, which challenges the reader to also dig deep and wrestle analytically with the issues of life found in one’s own yard. I look forward not only this project, but, the transformation of Kolkmeyer, his growth and the poetic soul destined to become one of the 21st century greats.
 
 

 
 
Renee’ Drummond-Brown, is an accomplished poetess with experience in creative writing. She is a graduate of Geneva College of Western Pennsylvania. Renee’ is still in pursuit of excellence towards her mark for higher education. She is working on her sixth book and has numerous works published globally which can be seen in cubm.org/news, KWEE Magazine, Leaves of Ink, Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine, Realistic Poetry International, Scarlet Leaf Publishing House, SickLit Magazine, The Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., Tuck, and Whispers Magazine just to name a few. Civil Rights Activist, Ms. Rutha Mae Harris, Original Freedom Singer of the Civil Rights Movement, was responsible for having Drummond-Brown’s very first poem published in the Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., in Albany, GA. Renee’ also has poetry published in several anthologies and honorable mentions to her credit in various writing outlets. Renee’ won and/or placed in several poetry contests globally and her books are eligible for nomination for a Black Book award in Southampton County Virginia. She was Poet of the Month 2017, Winner in the Our Poetry Archives and prestigious Potpourri Poets/Artists Writing Community in the past year. She has even graced the cover of KWEE Magazine in the month of May, 2016. Her love for creative writing is undoubtedly displayed through her very unique style and her work solidifies her as a force to be reckoned with in the literary world of poetry. Renee’ is inspired by non-other than Dr. Maya Angelou, because of her, Renee’ posits “Still I write, I write, and I’ll write!”

Harriet Tubman was born Araminta Ross and other Poems by Luz Pichel translated by Amparo Arróspide and Robin Ouzman Hislop

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Editor’s Note: although we include the originals in this text, to introduce the poems of Luz Pichel, she is a Galician poet, a region in Spain with its own language (Gallego) which although bears similarities to Spanish (Castellano) is strikingly different. Luz Pichel mixes both languages in her work, but we as translators, have translated both into English, (apart from the little French ditty On The Bridge of Avignon in the first poem) hence the footnotes will often indicate the original Gallego scripts in the texts.

(1.)

the south mama maría

i did not take you to the south nor to the southern station so you could see floor 0
floor 1 floor 2 the general view 1 prices maps tickets tours
southern pages news the such a pretty cross

I have to go one summer with you to the heavens to see the southern
cross mama
the south in all the languages of the world your name
mother in all the stars in all
the ways of milk
in our lovely rude tongue mother 2
south in french listen well sur la table 3

a girl opened on the sacrificial table 4

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse l’on y danse

sur-face
what do they make?
who makes the south?
who builds the south?
who profits from the south?
who profits? 5

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça
(bang bang bang
a piggy gesture)
sur le sable 6 the cobra of fear crawled
on the sand he left engraved his SS

the general view mama these will be the plots of memory
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
a homicide a child)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

the building of the south mama patricia mare mâe 7
our south their south les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

the south mama eva mamá álvaro rafa guadalupe francisca
rosalía alfonsina federico emily luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
where your migrant shins grew
skinny on the sacrificial table 8

one day we will go all together there to the south mamai
they still have to see us dance on the cobra’s SS
e puis encore 9 dance
we’re all going to be prima ballerinas mama
noelina

the musicians will do like this like this like this
and still again if it is the case like this another time / comme ça 10

**
vista xeral 1
na nosa lingua ruin bonita nai 2
on the table 3
sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela 4
que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita? 5
on the sand 6
mother mama 7
onde medraron as túas canelas migratorias
fracas na tabla do sacrificio 8
and then again 9
e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça 10

(1.)

el sur mamá maría

al sur no te he llevado ni a la estación del sur para que vieras planta 0
planta 1 planta 2 vista xeral los precios los mapas los tickets los recorridos las
páginas del sur las noticias la cruz tan guapa

he de ir un verano contigo al cielo a ver la cruz del sur mam
el sur en todas las linguas do mundo tu nombre
de madre en todas las estrellas en todas
las vias de la leche para que veas
na nosa lingua ruín bonita nai
sur en francés escucha bien sur la table

sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse l’on y danse

sur–face
que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita?

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça
(bang bang bang
un gesto guarro)
sur le sable se arrastraba la cobra del miedo
sobre la arena dejaba grabadas sus eses

vista general mama estas serán las eras de la memoria
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
un homicidio un niño)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

construcción del sur mamá patricia mare mâe
el nuestro el de ellas les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

o sur mamá eva mamá álvaro rafa guadalupe francisca
rosalía alfonsina federico emily luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
onde medraron as túas canelas migratorias
fracas na tabla do sacrificio

un día vamos a ir todas juntas allá hasta el sur mamai para que sepas
aún nos han de ver danzar sobre la ese de la cobra e puis encore danzar
vamos a ser todas unas bailarinas de primera mamá noelina

e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça

(2.)

I give you a herb
you said
inside a letter

take this leaf grandma I found it
it has dust
her name is luz 1

a tiny green thread an oval drawing
and the moon rolling down a rock
smell of orange blossom

this is called orange he said it is something to eat
I bought it at the cattle fair for you

a chick being hatched is not easy either
if there is no ear of wheat
if there is no waiting
if there is no space

some when they are hatched their roost is spoiled
they go

luz but the leaf has nerves covered
in dust but
do not then get confused but blow

the woman picked up an ear of wheat from the ground
an ear of wheat has little flour but
it will make sense

orange falls the moment you passed by
it rolls smells

I wanted to make a simple thing to give you
to give them
to give you
to make an old age
a death even
a thing like the spiral peel of an orange
unspoiled
(unlike the pedros´ baby girl
who came badly)
sometimes the peel is torn

take luz an orange look I found it in the air
and luz is not luz either
neither is a leaf that falls
– hayu hayuná hayunaí there! (someone celebrates something)

a woman on the door step gazes out
to far far away
her name was orange she peeled well she came out unspoiled
she had been learning simply to fall
in a spiral on herself

1. Light.

(2.)

te regalo una hierba
dijiste
dentro de una carta

toma esta hoja abuela la encontré
tiene polvo
se llama luz

un hilito verde un dibujo ovalado
y la luna rodando por una roca
olor a azahar

esto se llama naranja dijo es cosa de comer
en la feria la compré para ti

un pollito naciendo tampoco es fácil
si no hay espiga
si no hay espera
si no hay espacio

algunos cuando nacen se les rompe la casa
se van

luz pero la hoja tiene los nervios cubiertos
de polvo entonces
pero no confundirse pero soplar

la mujer recogía del suelo una espiga de trigo
una espiga de trigo poquita harina tiene pero
tendrá sentido

naranja cae en el momento en que tú pasabas por allí
rueda huele

yo quería hacer una cosa sencilla para darte
para darles
paro daros
hacer una vejez
una muerte incluso
una cosa así como la piel en espiral de una naranja
cuando se logra entera
(la niña de los de pedro no se logró tampoco
venía mal)
a veces se desgarra la piel

toma luz una naranja mira la encontré en el aire
y luz tampoco es luz
tampoco es una hoja que cae
— ¡hayú hayuná hayunaí allá! (alguien celebra algo)

una mujer en el umbral se asoma al otro lado
mira desde muy muy lejos
se llamaba naranja pelaba bien salía entera
había ido aprendiendo a caer sencillamente
en espiral sobre sí misma

(3.)

Babe take flowers to Chekhov´s grave
take a little branch
if you go to russia one day do that
you go and take flowers but there
when you grow up
a seagull at a beach give her flight
so when you go to russia you ask
do you know where´s Chekhov´s grave
it must have a painted sea bird

he went cold

she was the apple of his eye
she closed his eyes
wide open like
portals of a house without people
like a hot cross bun she crossed his eyelids
and she said to herself said told herself
I´ll go dad I´ll go leave
in peace
I ´ll go
even if it rains

then the little one put four
slices
of bread inside a bag
a small bottle of water only four of bread only
´cos it would get hard inside a bag
she started walking into the hill
without anyone seeing her
´cos it was not proper to wait to grow up
to go and put some flowers over a
grave in russia

(3.)

nena llévale flores a la tumba de chejov
llévale un ramito
si vas a rusia un día tú lo haces
vas y le llevas flores pero allá
cuando seas grande
una gaviota en una playa échala a volar
después vas a rusia preguntas
usted sabrá dónde la tumba de chejov
debe de tener pintado un pájaro marino

se quedó

ella era la niña de los ojos de él
le cerró los ojos
que los tenía así
portales de una casa sin gente
le hizo la cruz del pan sobre los párpados
y se dijo a sí misma dijo dijo para sí
he de ir papá he de ir marcha tranquilo
he de ir
aunque llueva

entonces la pequeña cuatro rebanadas
de pan en una bolsa
botellita de agua sólo cuatro de pan sólo
que se iba a poner duro en una bolsa
echó a andar monte adentro
sin que la viera nadie
pues no era del caso esperar a ser grande
para ir a poner unas flores encima de una
tumba en rusia

(4.)

harriet tubman was born araminta ross
maria was born agnieszka
norma was born conchita
fernán was born cecilia
pocahontas was born matoaka
álvaro was born álvar
raphaël was born rafita
hypatia of alexandria was born a martyr
annika was born anita
rachael was born raquel
andrzej naceu 1 andrés
christine was born george
carla was born carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley was born mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / she never left
the roslin institute

1. was born

(4.)

harriet tubman nació araminta ross
maría nació agnieszka
norma nació conchita
fernán nació cecilia
pocahontas nació matoaka
álvaro nació álvar
raphaël nació rafita
hypatia de alejandría nació mártir
annika nació anita
rachael nació raquel
andrzej naceu andrés
christine was born george
carla nació carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley nació mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / no salió nunca
del roslin institute

(5.)

harriet tubman rests her head lays it

on the train track and sleeps she leads ahead because she knows languages ​​understands the signs bears the beatings knows the underground rail ways and sees what cannot be seen and dreams what cannot be dreamt next to harriet all the others sleep over the track non return trips are long forests are very scary bugs and smugglers are very scary some countries are far too far they are so far away some mornings never reach a train station never never arrive they pass by in the darkness things look like bundles the ones who move carrying linen bags or with a little old lady on their shoulders they look like wolves mist on her palm a woman has written a verse in orange ink the train track is not a cosy pillow the cold doesn´t let you keep your ideas safe sleep and dream the message read the deeper the dream the farther it takes you little foreigner

(5.)

descansa a cabeza harriet tubman póusaa

na vía do tren e dorme ela vai por diante porque sabe linguas entende os letreiros aguanta os paus / los palos coñece os camiños de ferro sub da terra e ve o que non se ve e soña o que non se soña a caronciño / a la vera de harriet as outras dormen todas sobre da vía as viaxes sen retorno fanse largas as fragas / bosques meten moito medo meten medo os bichos e os estraperlistas algúns países están lonxe de máis / quedan tan tan lejos algunhas mañás / mañanas non chegan nunca á estación dun tren / no llegan nunca nunca pasan na escuridade as cousas semellan vultos os que se moven cargando con sacos de liño / lino ou cunha velliña ao lombo / una viejecita sobre los hombros semellan lobos néboa / niebla na man aberta ten escrito a muller un verso con tinta de cor laranxa a vía do tren non é unha almofada xeitosa / una almohada agradable no es la vía de un tren o frío non permite acomodar as ideas sen perigo / peligro durme e soña dicía a mensaxe o soño canto máis fondo máis lonxe te leva / más lejos te transporta extranxeiriña
 
 
Translations Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
 
Bio Photo. Luz Pichel & Amparo Arróspide. November 2017. Madrid.
 
 

 
 
Luz Pichel was born in 1947 in Alén (Lalín, Pontevedra), a tiny village in Galicia. Alén means “beyond” and also means “the beyond”. There she learned to speak in a language that could die but does not want to. Those who speak that language think that it is always others those who speak well.

She is the author of the poetry books El pájaro mudo (1990, City of Santa Cruz de la Palma Award), La marca de los potros (2004, XXIV Latin American poetry prize Juan Ramón Jiménez), Casa pechada (2006, Esquío Poetry Award ), El pájaro mudo y otros poemas (2004), Cativa en su lughar / Casa pechada (2013), Tra (n) shumancias (2015) and Co Co Co Ú (2017).
Part of her work Casa pechada was translated into English and Irish in the anthological book To the winds our sails: Irish writers translate Galician poetry, Salmonpoetry, 2010, ed. Mary O’Donnell & Manuela Palacios.

Neil Anderson translated into English Casa pechada. Several poems appeared in his blog (re) voltas; July, 2014.

Several poems from Casa pechada appeared in the American magazines SALAMANDER, No. 41, year 2015, and PLEIADES, vol. 36, Issue 2, p. 117, year 2016, in English translation by Neil Anderson.
 
 
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines, she has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. The latter is part of a trilogy together with Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora, which are in the course of being published. In 2010 she acted as a co-editor of webzine Poetry Life Times, where many of her translations of Spanish poems have appeared, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, Francisca Aguirre, Carmen Crespo, Javier Díaz Gil into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) .

 

Next Arrival. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

by 
we invent them to serve us      
controlling our existence 
to create virtual worlds 
with hells and heavens 
                                                             myths domesticate science 

fiction and reality blur shaping our reality

an assembly of biochemical algorithms 
flash fade flash fade 

                                                                               spinning 

epidemic is business     economy grows
human experience             
as any other item 
                                       
in the supermarket                  
a designable product
                                   
intelligence mandatory               
consciousness optional 
                                                                  individuals = dividuals
                                                                      in carbon or silicon

                                                                    owned by imaginary gods
                                           
who   what     you are    
how to turn you    on and off
                                                                                beyond control
                                                                                       beyond
                                                                              the opaque wall
                                                                algorithms can command empire 
                                                           
or an upper class ruling the planet
                                                     
if words could make dreams come true
                                             
a simultaneous instant in the brain of seven billion
                                        
emerges the beautiful 
androgynous face of the serial 
killer

                                                                  wheat eater    bread winner 

                                                                          & the deluge of data

                                              
millions of nano-robots 
coursing humankind's veins 
                                                                       an Orwellian police state 
                                                                                       splits into 
                                                                 the chosen hi-tech Noah’s Ark
                                                               
a new religion information flow 

                                                                                      datism 

                                                                      to merge or not to merge 
                                                  
the human genome as a digital processor 
                                                                    where overwhelming data 

                                                    
garbles the message in dystopian double talk

                                                                    will the defeaters prevail 
                                                            
or cometh utopia from outer space
                                                                 our post human descendants

                                                          
do as you would be done by datism 
                                                 
as we condemned the mammoth to oblivion 
                                                                          your every action 
                                 
but where no human      
can follow     or need to understand 
                                                  
in the matrix    the inter net      
of all things 

                                                                where has the power has gone
                                                             
the cosmic data God draweth nigh 
                                                                               the great flow
                                             
to maximise    to plug you in      
voters of the world unite 
                                                             a colossus astride this narrow world 

                                                                                  free market 
                                                                                  big brother
                                                              watches over every breath you take
                                                              invisible hand that flies in the night

                                                                 between laboratory & museum
                                                                    voice of a million ancestors
                                                                a ripple in the cosmic data flow
                                                    
shifts homo centric view       
to data centric view 

                                                        
knowing us better than we know ourselves

                                                                                            forager
                                                       
scavenger of carrion       
follower in fear & flight
                                                                                        big brained 
                                                               Neanderthal Denisovan Sapiens 
                                                             what drove you for 2 million years 
                                                                                          a big bum? 

                                                                                        what bound 
                                                     
small divergent groups of differing 
tongue & taboo
                                                                   into the framework of humankind
                                                                                         but fiction 
                                                                collective myths woven into our reality 
                                                                       from money to the nation state 
                                                                                      imprisoned 
                                                                                 by the archetypes 
                                   
we've identified them with            
                     
                            a virtual reality of cartoon molecules




after Yuvah Noah Harari
Sapiens & Homo Deus

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

 
 

Video Poetry Recital Featuring Arboleda, Arróspide, Crespo, Grande, Hislop. International Writers. Leeds.UK.

by

 
This video recording was made at University of Leeds on October 10th. 2017, it was introduced and presented by Antonio_Martínez_Arboleda Principal Teaching Fellow in Spanish and poet.
 
The initial image can be enlarged to full screen size. The texts and accompanying images can be easily toggled to place according to requirements.
 
Below the video also is a link that gives a report and interpretation of the performance by students who attended.
 


 
The report is live at http://www.leeds.ac.uk/arts/news/article/5108/2nd_cts_professionalisation_talk_2017-18_international_writers_at_leeds