Poem

The Song Bird. Video.Audio.Poem.Randal. A.Burd.Jr.

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Randal Snapshot 2

Randal A. Burd, Jr. is a teacher, freelance writer, poet, and family historian. He teaches English to grades 7-12 in a juvenile residential facility in Southeast Missouri. He previously taught Dual-Credit English through MSU and Freshman English for two years and spent four years at an alternative high school teaching English and Art while mentoring at-risk students. In 2012, he was elected Secretary of the Department of Missouri, Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War. Randal was President of the Ozark Patriots Chapter of Sons of the American Revolution from 2011-2012 and is Camp Commander of Sigel Camp #614 of SUVCW. He was commissioned a Kentucky Colonel in April 2013.

Randal published his first poetry chapbook, “Leaving Home,” in 2008. He received his BA in English cum laude with minors in Art, Psychology, and Writing from the Missouri University of Science and Technology and his Master’s Degree in Curriculum and Instruction from the University of Missouri. While enrolled at Missouri S&T, Randal was Editor-in-Chief of The Missouri Miner, the campus newspaper, from 2000-2002, and Editor-in-Chief of Southwinds Magazine, “Missouri S&T’s Only Literary Magazine,” from 1997-2001.

—

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Half Past Eight.Poem.Video.Guadalupe Grande.

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http://youtu.be/2YjIzmvaV4w

OCHO Y MEDIA

I

No lo comprendo.
No sé
          por qué hay que ir tan deprisa.
No entiendo
         por qué hay que caminar tan rápido
ni por qué es tan temprano
ni por qué la calle está tan enturbiada y húmeda.

No entiendo
qué dice este rumor en tránsito
        (este siseo infatigablemente frágil)
ni sé
         a dónde llevan tantos pasos
con la obstinada decisión de no perderse.

II

Estoy en la puerta de mi casa:
desde aquí puedo ver,
tras los cristales,
               un copo de cielo,
un harapo azul sin horizonte,
un fragmento de distancia,
un tragaluz de lejanía.

Cierro la puerta
               y no lo entiendo,
pero hago un gran esfuerzo en retener
ese jirón azul en la pupila
      y pienso en la corona de espuma del ahogado
      y en los clavos grises que me aguardan.

Sin embargo, ya sé que no hay coronas:
estamos muy lejos del mar
y yo llevo los ojos llenos de bruma y humo
como si los cubriera la sombra de una lágrima
que aún no he sabido llorar.
                Digo que lo sé, pero no estoy segura:
tan solo
cierro la puerta de mi casa
como si cerrara la puerta de mi alma
o de algún alma
que se parece demasiado a la mía.

III

Parece temprano,
parece pronto,
quisiera decir: la ciudad se despierta
o nace el día
o empieza un día más.
Pero no lo entiendo,
no consigo entenderlo:
he bajado las escaleras
y he llegado a un lugar
que dice llamarse calle;
desde luego, no veo náufragos coronados
ni distingo a los viajeros de los comerciantes
ni a los habitantes de los ciudadanos
ni a los abogados de los turistas
ni a mí de mí.
En este momento,
tan solo reconozco mis zapatos
y su exuberante y urgente necesidad
por incorporarse al ajetreo de la vía.

IV

Es pronto:
no sé a dónde,
pero hemos llegado pronto.
Por lo demás, todo sigue.
Aunque yo no entienda lo que dice la palabra prisa
aunque no sepa lo que nombra la palabra ruido,
aunque no comprenda lo que calla la palabra calla,
los zapatos silenciosos,
en su obstinada decisión de no perderse,
lo entienden todo por mí.

HALF PAST EIGHT

I

I don´t understand.
I don´t know
      why one has to go about in such a rush.
I don´t get
      why one should walk so fast
nor why it´s so early
nor why the street is so muddy and wet.

I don´t see
what this transitory whisper in transit says
      (this restlessly fragile hiss)
nor do I know
      where all these steps are heading
in the obstinate decision not to lose themselves.

II

I stand in the doorway of my home:
from here I can see
                a streak of sky behind the glass
a blue rag without horizon,
a fragment of distance,
a skylight of distance.

I close the door
                and don´t understand
but I try with great effort to keep
that blue strip in my pupil
      and I think of the foamy garland of the drowned
      and the grey nails awaiting me.

Yet I know there are no garlands
and we´re far from the sea;
I lift my eyes and they´re full of fog and smoke
as if covered by the shadow of a tear
a tear I haven´t yet wept.
                I say I know, but I´m not sure:
I just close the door of my house
as if I ´d closed the door of my soul
or someone else´s soul
too similar to mine.

III

It seems early,
apparently too soon,
I would like to say: the city awakens
or the day is born
or another day begins.
But I don´t see it,
I can´t understand:
I have gone downstairs
to a place supposed to be called street;
obviously I see no garlanded shipwrecks,
I do not distinguish travellers from merchants
nor inhabitants from citizens
nor lawyers from tourists
nor myself from myself.
At this moment
I recognize only my shoes
and their exuberant urgent need
to join the teeming throng.

IV

It´s soon:
I don´t know where,
but we have arrived soon.
Otherwise, everything goes on.
Even though I don´t understand what the word hurry means
even though I don´t know what the word noise names,
even though I don´t grasp what the word hush hushes,
my silent shoes
in their obstinate decision not to lose themselves
understand everything in my place.

***

(Translated from the Spanish original by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide)

***

 Guadalupe

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.

The poems “Ocho y media” (Half past eight) and “Madrid, 1973” belong to La llave de niebla, and have been translated into English by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arróspide.

 ***

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.

Los poemas “Ocho y media” y “Madrid, 1973” pertenecen a La llave de niebla y han sido traducidos al inglés por Robin Ouzman Hislop y Amparo Arróspide.

 
 
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Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

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Elephant Graveyard. A Poem by E Darcy Trie

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Darcy Trie-1

there are mondays that curve up
with sides the color of dead milk
and all the egrets roost over a red hotel
in a town that never stops raining
it finds me
splintered
wintered
and brown

this favorite of barn swallows
and aged floorboards

all around are the echoes of wild dogs
of things springing from snow
straw dust and blood sausages
and heaps that are bornempty
i lie

cowled by green space
sewn within a hump of cream ribs
the graffiti of grass and mud
tickle against the sourdough belly
it is here
that the map of stars
have never been so far away

yet
i would still stay
earth-soaked
as your fiery death
jumps in my memory
looping
scooping
uncoiling like dark hair
released to the night

and the shiver

i know
these are the only bones strong enough
to hold up against this kind of
eternity

Darcy was born in Taipei, Taiwan in 1975, E. Darcy Trie is a Scorpio, Rabbit and matriculated in Little Rock, Arkansas at the age of two. She graduated at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville with a B.A. in Psychology along with Minors in Drama and Asian Studies. Sensing that achieving her Masters would drive her to drink, she wisely opted to tour Asia in her early twenties (thanks to a grant provided by Bank Of Daddy), and in the year 2000, found herself in the heart of Beijing, China where she began writing due to the fact that crocheting was far too complicated and because the voices in her head would not shut up.

By 2004, she had completed two romances, one historical and one modern, and after viewing all nine seasons of the X-Files and three seasons of C.S.I, finished the first two series of the Snow novels and is currently writing the third installment. During this time, she has also had several pieces of her poetry published in various online poetry magazines.

Her passions and hobbies includes writing, reading (anything put out by Neil Gaiman), Disney movies, all divination tools such as Tarot, I-Ching, Runes and is an enthusiastic, although albeit amateur, astrologist/paranormal investigator. She is 5’10, weighs whatever she wrote on her driver’s license, owns a lot of black hoodies and is addicted to It’s A Grind’s Passion Fruit tea.

She is fluent in English, Mandarin Chinese, some French and once took a Zero Hour in Greek in high school. She hates mornings, coconuts, wire bras, and sincerely hopes that this is bio is long enough to fill up an entire page (doubled-space of course).

Ms. Trie currently lives in Las Vegas, NV because she adores $2.99 buffets, Paigow Poker, and that lovely 116 degree August weather. She dreams of writing best-selling novels that will delight and thrill her future fans and because she is tired of being a productive citizen and wants to go back to being a mooching hermit.

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Tilting Ponds.Poem from Serpentrope by Norman Ball

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serpentrope1

 

ISBN-10: 0615900798 ISBN-13: 978-0615900797




Unique and highly imaginative, Norman Ball’s poetry is also frequently apocalyptic. Drawing on Jungian archetypes, his poetry continually circles back on particular symbols as it contextualizes everyday dilemmas while formulating windows into the broader world of the numinous. Spellbinding.

—Jeff Holt, Poet, The Harvest.

 

A prolific songwriter, literary essayist, political commentator and playwright, here comes Ball the poet refracting, at his best, Auden’s ‘ironic points of light’…as for that patented Ball humor does it traverse genres? I’m pleased to report it more than survives the stanza.

—Douglas Milton, Editor, Anthony Burgess International Journal

 

The price we have paid for being over-intellectualized by the Modernist movement is somewhat allayed by the formal poetry that predominates in this collection; thank goodness there are poets like Mr. Ball helping to recover the magical in the most important art form humankind has striven to perfect.

—Patrick Quinn, President, Robert Graves Society

 

Surprises abound in this marvelous collection of poetry. We find depth, wit and astute observation all wrapped up in classical metrics made profoundly fresh.

—Rowena Silver, Co-Editor, Epicenter magazine

 

Norman Ball goes where few have ever gone before—into the largely unexplored realms of poetic financial satire. Yes Virginia, there is such a thing. And he brings back a great many pithy and humorous treasures for readers from his travels there.

—Michael Silverstein, The Wall Street Poet

 

Norman Ball’s ambitious poetry turns on wordplay—for wit, for sonic joy, and for serious surprises. Both his formal and free verse thrive in the territory of e.e. cummings, where he takes on challenges too daunting for most contemporary poets. —A. M. Juster, Poet, The Satires of Horace  




Serpentrope is a small volume of collected poems by Norman Ball, written almost all in formal and classical metrics and for the most part in sonnet form. In an article at the back titled Ouroboros: Why Now? the author cites it as a trope for an emergent archetype of the millennium, – as the turning of an age, our time now is critical. The poems are given a contemporary context, often in current affairs of the last decade in the USA. The style is light, dexterous and pithy, many times coloured by a dark humour akin to the sinister and characterised by a deft turning of phrase. This appears acutely in the sonnets and their final couplets, where it is as if it’s the maw of Ouroborus itself swallowing its own tail. – Editor Poetry Life & Times Robin Ouzman Hislop 

 

 

TILTING PONDS

 


The marriage of the swans has been annulled


with an absence of ceremony, she lies graceless and stiff,


a brick by her crushed skull;


an orange meteor hurled by a petulant boy-Zeus.

 


I know him as he runs back to his empty motive,


this orphan of unattended grief,


desperate for a mother’s dead reflection.


A universe of dying nest is all the nurture he allows.



 


Now too, the widower is beside himself


attended by the sag of his reflection,


The banks salve the water’s edge.


My bread of solace floats untouched.



 


There is only one to feed now.


But he leans away without appetite.


The world lies wet to boys and swans


and the mirrored edge of endless tilting ponds. 

 

 

Norman Ball FBP

 

 

NORMAN BALL (BA Political Science/Econ, Washington & Lee University; MBA, George Washington University) is a well-travelled Scots-American businessman, author and poet whose essays have appeared in Counterpunch, The Western Muslim and elsewhere. His new book “Between River and Rock: How I Resolved Television in Six Easy Payments” is available here. Two essay collections, “How Can We Make Your Power More Comfortable?” and “The Frantic Force” are spoken of here and here. His recent collection of poetry “Serpentrope” is published from White Violet Press. He can be reached at returntoone@hotmail.com.

 

 

robin2705

Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK) Co-editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010; Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, The Poetic Bond Series, available at http://www.thepoeticbond.com a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rise from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry All the Babble of the Souk.

 

 

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www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop 


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The Skiff. Poem. Joe Ruggier
		

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 JR-Portrait


 


My skiff – with which no ships compare –


has weathered storms of Ocean:


in blackest night the beacon’s flare,


in steep commotion,


 


is but the one, consoling Sense,


the verse that shakes my Heart;


for Food the Ocean’s Providence


beneath the curb of Art!


 


Thou reddening Glow! Thou blood-red Core


upon the Wild neglected,


that ghastly Shadows casts ashore


by Time collected –


 


within the Flame upon the Wick


I dream that I behold


my Genius dance, my Fortune click


with cards of Gold!


 


Hail, holy Fire! through whate’er


perilous Seas – the Raft –


oh Thou! Thou burnest everywhere,


but not as daft


 


as Thou art faithful what Thou wilt!


I love the drift and sound:


Thou reachest but to Castles built


on solid Ground!


 


The Critic thought he haughtily steers


top-heavy, mighty Ships,


but with the Spirit interferes


from holstered hips!


 


Likewise the pious Rationalist


but clouds the faultless Feeling –


with Reasons fine as fog or mist –


that subtlest Reeling


 


which in my Heart of Hearts is burning!


Ah but my Life-raft’s light,


and the vast Ocean’s overturning


bury it quite


 


may never, and only upward bobbing,


throbs like my Adam’s apple,


and Vision brings the Joy of sobbing


and makes me grapple –


 


where in the Flames She smiles and dances,


her hair blown by the breeze,


where my Beloved counts the chances


and me strip tease!


***


Copyright © Joe M Ruggier 11th September 2000 


portrait of Joe Ruggier executed by Vancouverite visual artist Virginia Quental (born in Brazil)


Joe M. Ruggier was born in Malta in 1956 and has written and published poetry in both Maltese and English.  He currently resides in Richmond, British Columbia, where he manages a small press, Multicultural Books.  Multicultural Books publishes poetry, poetry leaflets, sound recordings, fiction and literary fiction.


Joe Ruggier has sold over 20,000 books, many of them door-to-door, including over 10,000 books he wrote and published himself.  There are over 5,700 copies in print of his book Out of Blue Nothing.  Information on Joe M. Ruggier’s books, cassettes and poetry journal:


Intelligible Mystery (1985)

 Out of Blue Nothing (1985) ISBN 0-9694933-0-4

 The Voice of the Millions (1988)

 In the Suburbs of Europe (1991)

 Moods for Lovers (1993 ) Cassette

 This Eternal Hubbub (1995)

 regrets hopes regards and prayers … (1996)

 Lady Vancouver (1997)

 A Richer Blessing (1999 ) ISBN 0-9681948-3-4

 The Poetry of George Borg Translated from the Maltese by Joe M. Ruggier (2000)

 The Eclectic Muse, a poetry journal edited by Joe M. Ruggier


To order any of the above, please write or call first for availability and prices.  Please make checks payable to Joe Ruggier.


Multicultural Books

Suite 307

6311 Gilbert Road

Richmond, B.C., Canada V7C 3V7


Telephone:  (604) 277-3864


 


The HyperTexts


The Eclectic Muse 


 


Managing Editor

Joe M. Ruggier



Board of Academic Consultants

Professor LeRoy D. Travis

S. Warren Stevenson (Professor Emeritus, UBC)



“There are many mansions in Parnassus!”


 


The Eclectic Muse has published poets and writers from Canada, Malta, the United Kingdom, the United States, and elsewhere. The Eclectic Muse publishes poetry and prose of various styles, but always reflects the passion of its Managing Editor, the acclaimed poet, essayist and critic Joe M. Ruggier. Mr. Ruggier’s passion is for poetry that sings and moves, for poetry that embraces rather than denies or defies the traditions of English poetry. If you believe as he does–that there is a revival of traditional poetry, and that the world is better place for it–we think you’ll find The Eclectic Muse well worth the price of a subscription.


***


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The End of Everything. Poem. Neil Ellman
		

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(after the painting by Roberto Matta 


Echaurren)


Matta-the-end-of-everything-1942


 


 


And when it ended


there was a terrible groan


like the voice of a tree


falling from the weight


of too many seasons of death


and the pain of rebirth.


 


The ground could not hold.


Rocks heaved a last appeal.


Space filled 


with an anarchy of white


shifting to red.


 


And then a silence


deafening, more profound,


its inevitability told


at the instant of its birth


when the word was everything


green, young and ours


we lived in that moment 


not knowing it would end


with none of us to hear.




 

 

Neil Ellman

 

 


Biography:  Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, Neil Ellman writes from New Jersey.  More than 1000 of his poems, many of which are ekphrastic and written in response to works of modern and contemporary art, appear in print and online journals, anthologies and chapbooks throughout the world.  His first full-length collection is Parallels: Selected Ekphrastic Poetry, 2009-2012 (Omphaloskeptic Press).


***


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CREME BRULEE. Poem. Paul Strohm.
		

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I’m going to Paris!


Can you believe it?


Paris, France of all places.


It’s where the French people live.


Mister Tom says I’m to become a chef.


That’s the French word for cook.


Think on it,


I am going to be a fancy cook.


Mister Tom says I make a good cup of coffee,


Now I am going to make cafe!


Mister Tom says I’m to get money for my work.


I have read his garden book.


Yes I can read! When?


Since I was a child.


Mister Tom thinks his people should be educated up.


And now I’m to Paris,


Going to Paris with Mister Tom.


I’m going to be a Chef.


I’m going to Paris, France.


***


Paul in Army Dress-1


 Paul Strohm is a free lance journalist  working in the Houston, Texas area.  His poems have been published in a number of print and online literary journals. He is married to a HS English teacher who hates contemporary poetry,which makes for a happy meeting of the two  minds.  Paul has only one full frontal photograph of himself on his IMAC.  He loves this photograph because it symbolizes the constraints of the culture he lives in.  The hat was one size fits all.  So everyman had to use it for his official military ID photograph. However, the wife says Paul has a big head.


***


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Lord’s Player. Poem. Phillip Larrea
		

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(from the title “At Play in the Fields of the Lord”- Peter Mathiessen)




Often times, I am stuck sitting
For hours and hours on end
In between meetings
On which the day’s success depends.



Some odd spot, no amenities.
Maybe a coffee
In a parking lot
Descending to serenity.



This ridiculous pilgrimage
Not between temples dark.
More like an amusement park where
Madcap harlequins pillage plots.



She asks, “How did it go today?”
“Oh, fine… bad… okay.”
The best part, I can’t really say,
Was spent in the Lord’s field- at play.

***

Sacpoetry pic green shirt

***




Bio: Phillip Larrea was born and raised in Sacramento, CA., lived in N.Y.C. and Northern New Jersey most of his adult life, but has since moved back to Sacramento “where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me.” (Paul Simon- The Boxer”). He studied poetry with Thom Gunn and Karl Shapiro at the University of California at Davis during the late seventies, and then all but abandoned writing until 2011. Since 2011, Phillip has had poetry published in over sixty journals and anthologies, is the author of Our Patch (Writing Knights Press), We the People (Cold River Press) and hundreds of non-fiction essays about the economic conditions of the average working household.


***


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