Strong Baboon, I lost all sense of language
Duck Angel, blue clouds are turning dark
Anchored Cheetah, chase my spirit away
Smiling Lion, Naked Genie, give your lust & longing
Horned Horse, may one day you breathe flame
Lost Dog, you have seen my lover
Furless Cat, may my home become yours
Hunchback Hyena, I, too, holler at the edge of a roof
Tender Dove, may you pass these tigers safely
Galloping Bat, may we find a bed deep in a cave
James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems published in Perhappened, Kingdoms in the Wild, and Capsule Stories, among others. He edits The Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) and works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)
I am the white ghost
Pale skin
White shoes
I do not float
I circumvent the Abenaki crouched low
Picking berries from a bush
One child
One mother
One grandmother
One ghost
(ii.)
Do We Call Them Beggars Anymore
Do we call them beggars anymore?
The one beneath my window grumbles
The way I might have grumbled
When I, the child,
held my mother’s hand,
A financier,
Crossing kempt lawns and
Architecture of widows watch and
High balcony
And I screaming for something new
Some new material.
I am bothered by this man beneath my window
As the spoiled child bothers the eyes beyond the hedgerow
Carry on
I say quietly in my own head
(To telepathically communicate with
The stinking rags underneath my window)
Carry on and never come back.
And my words go into the world
a familiar echo
Again and again.
Drew is an undergraduate at the University of Vermont where he studies Philosophy and Music. He grew up in Redding Connecticut.
fallen leaves
ramble on crisp snow
for hills of March
2
early blossom
clang on ivory frost
for bobbles of turtles
3
fresh dew
talons on rose pulps
for crops of spring
4
tweak fleece
centipedes on lost rain
for drifts of pebbles
5
harvest sap
bees on nimble fuchsia
for stream of hops
6
cauliflower flock
ruffage of flint hyenas
for skips of peat
Susan N Aassahde
Bio:
Susan N Aassahde graduated from university in 2014, her interests lay in the creation of the art of haiku, relatively new Susan N Aassahde has a small collection published with Plum Tree Tavern, Down in the Dirt and Dreich magazine after a concentration of experimental verse which are published with Eskimo Pie and M58 she has progressed to her connection with nature.
Muñoz Sanjúan Cantos : & : Ucronías
Collages de Miguel Ángel Muñoz Sanjuán a partir de su libro Cantos : & : Ucronías (Calambur 2013). Animación, Guadalupe Grande. Dirección: Juan Carlos Mestre.
EXODUS & CIA
Dibujos de Miguel Ángel Muñoz Sanjuán a partir de su libro :Memorical-Fractal (Calambur, 2017). Realización y animación, Guadalupe Grande
Luz Pichel, Tra{n}shumancias
Video poema de Guadalupe Grande a partir del libro Tran{n}shumancias, de Luz Pichel.
«Poemas del Mediterráneo» con Guadalupe Grande
Sanse, ‘La Ciudad de la Poesía’, llora la muerte de Guadalupe Grande
I HAVE A DREAM
Videopoema de Guadalupe Grande sobre fotografías y texto de la autora.
JARRÓN Y TEMPESTAD
Poemas visuales y texto de Guadaupe Grande.
“Hotel para erizos” de Guadalupe Grande 23 May 2016 Guadalupe Grande presenta dos poemas inéditos.
Guadalupe Grande was born in Madrid in 1965. She has a Bachelor degree in Social Anthropology. Published poetry books: El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, awarded the 1995 Rafael Alberti Award, 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 and La torre degli Arabeschi, Milán, 2009), Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) and Métier de crhysalide (an anthology, translated by Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).
As a literary critic, she has published in cultural journals and magazines, such as El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña and others.
In 2008 she was awarded the Valle Inclán grant for literary creation in the Academia de España in Rome.
In the publishing and cultural management areas, she has worked in institutions such as the Complutense University of Madrid Summer Courses, Casa de América and Teatro Real. Currently she manages poetical activities in the José Hierro Popular University at San Sebastian de los Reyes, Madrid.
***
Guadalupe Grande nació en Madrid en 1965. Es licenciada en Antropología Social.
Ha publicado los libros de poesía El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, Premio Rafael Alberti 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 y La torre degli Arabeschi, Milán, 2009), Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) y Métier de crhysalide (antología en traducción de Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).
Como crítico literario, ha colaborado en diversos diarios y revistas culturales, como El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña, etcétera.
En el año 2008 obtuvo la Beca Valle Inclán para la creación literaria en la Academia de España en Roma.
En el ámbito de la edición y la gestión cultural ha trabajado en diversas instituciones como los Cursos de Verano de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid, la Casa de América y el Teatro Real. En la actualidad es responsable de la actividad poética de la Universidad Popular José Hierro, San Sebastián de los Reyes, Madrid.
No hubo tiempo para hacerle el homenaje que merecía y que hubo que posponer a 2021 por las medidas sanitarias. Ayer, de forma repentina, fallecía la poeta madrileña Guadalupe Grande, directora del Centro de Estudios de la Poesía José Hierro de San Sebastián de los Reyes, una tragedia inesperada que el municipio lamenta profundamente.
Pinceladas biográficas
Nacida en Madrid en 1965, hija de los poetas Francisca Aguirre y Félix Grande, y nieta del pintor Lorenzo Aguirre, Guadalupe Grande creció entre versos y pinturas que marcarían su trayectoria.
Licenciada en Antropología Social, comenzó su andadura como poetisa, ensayista y crítica literaria, publicando los poemarios “El libro de Lilit” (Premio Rafael Alberti, 1995), “La llave de niebla” (2003), “Mapas de cera” (2006) y “Hotel para erizos” (2010); además de antologías, traducciones, ensayos y reseñas literarias.
En el ámbito de la edición y la gestión cultural trabajó en diversas instituciones, mientras, desde los primeros años 2000, se mantenía al frente del Centro de Estudios de la Poesía (CEP) José Hierro de Sanse.
Defensora de la educación en las artes y humanidades, desde el CEP hizo todo lo que estuvo en su mano para volver a situar la poesía en primer plano: con actividades y talleres abiertos a toda la población y especialmente a la gente joven, dando continuidad al programa televisivo Tertulias Poéticas en Canal Norte, con la promoción de los Premios Nacionales de Poesía José Hierro y de Poesía Joven Félix Grande, y con nuevos proyectos, algunos de los cuales germinaron digitalmente durante el confinamiento y esperaba relanzar en los próximos meses.
La reinvención del CEP
El pasado mes de marzo, con la entrada en vigor del confinamiento, Guadalupe Grande tuvo que reinventar la actividad del CEP para dar continuidad a la labor de divulgación de la poesía que se hace desde él.
Así, el presente curso arrancó con el lanzamiento online de varios talleres que se han mantenido hasta entrado el mes de diciembre. Y en otoño también se empezó a consolidar la iniciativa #PoesíaEnCasa, un espacio surgido durante el confinamiento y que ella misma editaba -recuperando poemas recitados por sus autores del archivo de CNTv-, para el que proyectaba la grabación de nuevas entregas con poetas de varias generaciones, iniciativa en la que la acompañarían los poetas Óscar Martín Centeno y Pepe Ramos; contenidos para revitalizar “La ciudad de la poesía” en la que nunca dejó de creer.
También la poesía visual, de la que Guadalupe Grande era un magnífico exponente, figuraba entre sus planes para el próximo curso. Y con ella, el homenaje a su vida y obra que no pudimos llegar a hacer y que dejamos pendiente.
_______________________________________
Completed: Master of Creative Industries, May 3rd, 2020
Recipient: Margaret Olley Scholarship, Friends of the University Art Prize, 2019
FABLE: The art and heart of storytelling, April 3rd to 28th 2019, Group Exhibition, Writing, Painting & Photography
Life in Three Parts: an autobiography, August 8th to September 1st, 2019, Solo Exhibition, Watt Space, Photography, Sound, Painting
Lost & Found: Memory, January 5th to 14th 2018, Art Systems Wickham, Solo Exhibition, photographic Installation
Gateway: White Mushrooms & Painted Gods, July18th to August 5th, 2018, Solo Exhibition, Photography & Painting, reviewed in the Newcastle Herald, July 19th, 2018
Regular contributor, Studio La Primitive Art Online Magazine: Quarterly, March 2017-2021, ongoing
I am an artist who can work in any medium, depending on what is required of my ability. The isolation we have been faced with has allowed for transformative and technological connections between individuals and communities, that otherwise would never have been possible. Intuitive connections that have been transformative and healing, challenging and shifting. This is my song; this is my voice.
The spoken verse was written over the past 6 months of isolation. The words came through a stream of consciousness. What is seen in the film is a dancer (myself) dressed in a full white body. In the background, a painting I created which in post has replaced the green screen behind my moving body.
I recorded myself reading several poems I have written in a layered intuited fashion. All recordings and text are of my own hand and voice. The background recordings were taken during my travels overseas pre-pandemic change.
One recording is not my own. It is the constant metronic sound that threads throughout the film. It is the sound of a ‘Singing Comet’ which I have also layered and adjusted in speed. Below is a link. https://youtu.be/Tyuhh7759V0
I have taken a few lines from ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood’ The Power of Love. It is clear where this is spoken within the layers of each poetic melody.
All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae, a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
Image: Calle Santo Domingo, Lorca (Spain), showing the house where Antonio was born and his mother, Lucia, in the balcony of their flat.
Life
To my father, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, who passed away on 28 March 2021
You leave behind a trail of victims.
How many voices,
unique children
delivered to your light,
did you end up strangling
with your own hands, Life?
You kept up the appearances
deceiving those humans
who believed themselves
boundless,
who felt accepted by the matter
of an uncanny universe
that turns out to be
just a sad arrangement
of rough stones and gases,
a universe that enslaves you,
Life,
as its precarious
exotic whim,
forcing you to leapfrog
through chosen planets,
and drag yourself
in travelling theatres
for your vanity,
and your honour,
Life.
My thinking carbon molecules,
the impression of my spirit,
are not members
of any ruthless club
of inert particles,
of empty energies,
of graceless big bangs
with no purpose,
with no story to tell.
Life,
if there exists a divine mystery,
sweet and tragic,
mother, parricide,
redeeming saviour,
defying the dark,
clumsy ways of physics
that must be you,
Life,
That must be you.
Vida
A mi padre, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, fallecido el 28 de marzo de 2021
Dejas a tu paso un reguero de víctimas.
¿Cuántas voces únicas,
hijas paridas en tu luz,
terminaste ahogando
con tus propias manos, Vida?
Tus apariencias engañaron
a más de uno,
que se creyó sin límites,
aceptado por un universo
que resulta estar hecho
de pedruscos y gases,
por un universo
del que no eres más
que lacaya en precario,
Vida,
capricho excéntrico
que de salto en salto se arrastró
por planetas elegidos,
teatros ambulantes
de tu vanidad,
y de tu honra,
Vida.
No es mi carbono pensante
ni el espíritu de mi impronta
miembro de ese club despiadado
de partículas inertes,
de vanas energías,
de big bangs
sin propósito, ni narrativa.
Vida,
si existe un misterio
y una divinidad,
dulce y trágica,
madre, parricida,
salvadora y redentora,
desafiando las artes oscuras
ramplonas
de las físicas
y las químicas
esa,
Vida,
eres tú.
Antonio Martínez Arboleda:
Antonio (Tony Martin-Woods) started to write poetry for the public in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada, an online publication of political poetry. He runs the poetry evening Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell, in Leeds, and collaborates with 100 Thousands Poets for Change 100tpc.org/. Tony is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his real-life name, Antonio Martínez Arboleda at the University of Leeds. His project of digitisation of poetry, Ártemis, compiles more than 100 high quality videos of Spanish poets and other Open Educational Resources. http://www.artemispoesia.com/ .
He is the delegate in the UK of Crátera Revista de Crítica y Poesía Contemporánea , where he also publishes his work as translator from English into Spanish. He published his first volume of poetry in Spanish, Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess), in 2015, as a response to the Great Recession, particularly in Spain. His second book, Goddess Summons the Nation Paperback , Goddess Summons the Nation Kindle Edition , is a critique of the ideas of nation and capitalism, mainly in the British Brexit context. It incorporates voices of culprits, victims and heroes with mordacity and rhythm. It consists of 21 poems, 18 of which are originally written in English, available in print and kindle in Amazon and other platforms. Editor’s note: further information bio & academic activities can be found at this link: https://ahc.leeds.ac.uk/languages/staff/91/antonio-martinez-arboleda
All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae, a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
my poems are my children
and I’m their deadbeat dad—
I create them, love them,
nurture them for a little while
a few hours…a day…
sometimes a week
if that’s what it takes
until I feel they’re ready
or I’m just tired of them
then I boot them out
I open the door and say—
you’ve gotten all I have to give
so go on now
you’re free
get out there and live
go see what they’ll make of you
just don’t expect too much
sometimes they don’t want to go
they look back at me
from the front steps
they plead with their eyes
and their sad little faces
but I set mine to stone
and shut the door
like any parent
of course it pains me to know
they may be mocked
or laughed at
or misunderstood
they may wind up
rotting in dumpsters
or abandoned in dark
and dusty corners
but there’s always the possibility
of being found by someone
who needs them
someone who hears
what they have to say
and that’s the best
a deadbeat dad like me
can hope for
ii.
One Day Much Too Soon
she walks unsteadily as a toddler
and trembles as though terrified
always a nurse by her side
I’ve watched her come and go
from the house next door
diminutive and middle-aged
with pageboy hair and thick glasses
but I haven’t seen her
since the ambulance came that day
and I haven’t heard
the unearthly sound she makes
halfway between a laugh and a cry
I never knew which
maybe she didn’t either
but now as I stand outside, listening…
the absence and the silence
reminds me of all we get used to
and all the strangeness we’ll miss
one day much too soon
iii.
One Hand On Her Ass
If a young man
ever sought my advice
I’d tell him this—
don’t kick yourself too much
not over the times
you stumble and fall
not over the time
you think you’ve wasted
lying there
until you’re able to get
on your feet again
and not over all the people
you believe you’ve let down
because the world
couldn’t possibly go on
without you, right?
don’t kick yourself
for any of it
in fact make a habit
of not kicking yourself—
life’s a cranky old mare
she’ll kick you plenty
stomp you when you’re down
she doesn’t need
any of your help
oh—and if you have to walk
behind her
keep one hand
on her ass
and stay as close
as you possibly can
Brian Rihlmann:
Brian Rihlmann lives and writes in Reno, Nevada. His poetry has appeared in many magazines, including The Rye Whiskey Review, Fearless, Heroin Love Songs, Chiron Review and The Main Street Rag. His latest collection, “Night At My Throat,” (2020) was published by Pony One Dog Press.
All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae, a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
