translation

Poem by EVA MARÍA CHINCHILLA on a homage supplement published in “Cuadernos del Matemático” Nº 56-58, dedicated to Leonard Cohen,Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arróspide

by
          We are the lesser who will never be able to write
          a good love poem than those of us who will never
          be able to write a love poem in time.

 
 
I love your temperature. That’s what I love,
not you
 

Gentle, gallant, it keeps the milky warmth of a blade of wheat
offering itself at dawn
breaking earlier than myself, heralding
— from its delta-
 
the descent of dreams
 
I love your eyes. For their sea, for their fairy
for their
id
 
and whilst each time i shatter the image of blue cliches
you invade that which has no colour, each time leaving it within
that which i’ll never
discover
 
not you
 
I love your caligraphy. Remains of eternity, my inheritance
that you pretend as yet yours
 
voice that sweetly swathes me
and tungsten. Impossible firefly, there
I love your caligraphy because it cleanses each time the wound of having thought i knew you
 
(and the treasure of the hidden note in the third stanza, when id
shipwrecks
where we read
because it cleanses each time the wound of having thought i knew you
 
to read again now
 
because it gently opens the wound whether i knew
how to love
despite not knowing
 
I love your caligraphy because it lets me recognise you
a balm which you prepare for me, it says
 
to recognise has been to know
 
so
 
there exists the possibility that i have
you, that´s what your caligraphy says, it says my
my love for you
that i have not yet known,
 
it extends before my eyes and on my skin bares – a code so familiar as to be indeciph–
sunsets and a bond of views without other qualification than their
certainty
 
this breeze that rustles my skin, carouses my blood, tempers
and forgives me
me, you, me
 
 
 
 

          Somos menos quienes nunca lograremos escribir
          un buen poema de amor que quienes nunca
          lograremos escribir a tiempo un poema de amor

 
 
Amo tu temperatura. Es lo que amo,
y no a ti
 
Suave, donosa, guarda el calor lácteo de la espiga. Se entrega de madrugada, antes
que yo amanece y anuncia
–desde su delta—
 
la bajada de los sueños
 
Amo tus ojos. Por su mar, por su hada
por su
id
 
y mientras yo destrozo cada vez la pantalla de los tópicos
del azul, invades lo que no tiene color, lo dejas dentro cada vez jamás
encontraré
 
no a ti
 
Amo tu caligrafía. Restos de eternidad, herencia mía
que simulas tuya aún
 
voz de tela que me arropa
y wolframio. Luciérnaga imposible, ahí
 
amo tu caligrafía, porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte
 
(y la nota del tesoro escondido de la tercera estrofa, cuando naufrague
id
donde hemos leído
porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte
para ahora leer
 
porque abre con suavidad la herida de si supe amar
lo que conocía
a pesar de no sabr que lo
 
amo tu caligrafía porque me deja reconocerte
un bálsamo que tú preparas para mí, dice
 
reconocer ha sido conocer
 
entonces
 
existe la posibilidad de que te haya
a ti eso dice tu caligrafía, dice mi
te amo a ti
que yo no he sabido saber,
 
extiende ante mis ojos y en mi piel expone –en un código tan familiar como indesci—
amaneceres y miradas en unidad, sin otro calificativo que el de
 
indudables
 
esa brisa se extiende por mi piel, navega por mi sangre, me templa
y me perdona
 
a mí, a ti, a mí
 
 
 
 
 
 
Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poet. Author of Años Abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), and a third poetry book currently in production. Participant in anthologies such as La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan de la Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003). She is also a board member of poetry magazine Nayagua, which is a publication by the José Hierro Poetry Foundation, where she was a teacher from 2007 to 2016. Member of the Genialogías Association and the 8que80 collective of female poets; co-editor of Diminutos Salvamentos poetry collection. She walks along the haiku and flamenco lyrics paths. A philologist (hispanist), with a degree free master in continuous training and questioning. Born in Madrid (1971).
 
 
Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poeta. Autora de Años abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), y un tercer poemario en prensa; incluida en antologías como La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan dela Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003). Forma parte del consejo de la revista de poesía Nayagua, que se edita desde la Fundación Centro de Poesía José Hierro de Getafe, donde fue profesora desde 2007 hasta 2016. Integrante de la Asociación Genialogías y el colectivo 8que80 de mujeres poetas; coeditora de la colección diminutos salvamentos; andariega del camino del haiku y de las letrillas flamencas. Filóloga (hispanista), con master sin titulación en formación y cuestionamiento continuos. Nació en Madrid (1971).
 
 
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual 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.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Poems by Enrique Darriba translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide

by

(i)
 
Primitive the day when words go miss
without ideas or a single inexpressible
idea to look is to look to settle silhouettes
dancing a small vestige of volume
perfectly contrasted with the fluorescent
rectangular board at the back it ´s the
air that sways light bulbs a small help
however from the black mattress a few
minutes ago my blank head a few
glances ago and it’s already late if the loud
speakers let me open the door if the
spotlights the stones of the façade permit
me a jumble of light and shadow
a thick blob a little sticky turning
when the witch’s stick stirs the blob
in the cauldron stirring and stirring
 
 
(i)
 
 
el día que falten las palabras primitivo
sin ideas o una sola idea inexpresable
mirar es mirar instalarse siluetas que
danzan un pequeño vestigio de volumen
perfectamente contrastadas con el
panel fluorescente rectangular del fondo
es el aire el que cimbrea las bombillas
una pequeña ayuda sin embargo del
colchón negro desde hace unos minutos
mi cabeza en blanco desde hace unas
miradas y ya es tarde si me permiten
los altavoces abrir la puerta si me dejan
los focos las piedras de la fachada amasijo
de luz y sombra espeso un tanto pegajoso
giratorio cuando el palo de la bruja
da vueltas en el pote
al amasijo vueltas y vueltas
 
 
(ii)
 
 
my head remains happily empty
placidity of the cavity the wind at
ease in the interior cavern I cannot
perceive traces clues voices getting
weaker wasting to rise on the tracks
of the torrent train of wheat initiating
incursions in the air right after the
horizon sways confusion of the wheat
of the air the train that passes incisi-
vely through the gust the Boston
strangler sits at my side his cheekbones
his mouth protrude his evil super-
ciliary bones are curved with the light he
places his hands on a folder his suit
his black suit buttons up very high
the strangler has two fierce eyes that
wander from one side to the other of
his spectacles the train vanishes and
the clarity leaves a volume of moment-
ary zenithal hope
whether to order a pair of rimmed spectacles!
 
 
(ii)
 
 
mi cabeza permanece felizmente
vacía la placidez de la oquedad el viento a
sus anchas en el interior cavernario no puedo
percibir rastros indicios voces que pierden
fuerza consunción alzarme sobre las vías
del tren raudal de trigo iniciando incursiones
en el aire justo después cimbrea el horizonte
confusión del trigo del aire el tren que pasa
incisivo por la ráfaga el estrangulador de
boston se sienta a mi lado le sobresalen los
pómulos la boca aviesos los superciliares se
curvan con la luz posa las manos sobre una
carpeta muy arriba le cierra el traje negro el
estrangulador tiene dos ojos fieros que pasean de
un lado a otro de sus gafas desaparece el tren
y la claridad deja un volumen cenital esperanza
momentánea ¡si encargar unas gafas con barrotes!
 
 
 
 

 
 
Enrique Darriba (Madrid, 1965) began as a plastic artist, although he soon oriented his artistic work towards literature. He is the author of the poetry book Geometría básica (Varasek Ediciones, 2017) and the novel Los buenos tiempos (Legados Ediciones, 2019).
 
Enrique Darriba (Madrid, 1965) empezó como artista plástico, aunque pronto derivó su quehacer artístico hacia la literatura. Es autor del libro de poemas Geometría básica (Varasek Ediciones, 2017) y de la novela Los buenos tiempos (Legados Ediciones, 2019).
 

 
Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published seven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, Hormigas en Diáspora and Jaccuzzi, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines.
She has received numerous awards. Editor’s Note: see also Poetry, National Literature Prize 2018, Francisca Aguirre, Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, 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.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Inutile. A Poem by Noni Benegas. Translated from Spanish by Noël Valis

by

Excerpt from Fragments of an Unknown Diary

Inutile                                                                                   Inútil

insolent                                                                                 insolente

insociable                                                                              insociable

insecure filthy                                                                       insegura sucia

cupriferous carbona soaked                                                  cuprífera carbona rehogada

lens lamina                                                                            lente lámina

leavened                                                                                levadiza

villain                                                                                    villana

vultiferous jerk                                                                      vultífera fregada

insomniac                                                                              insomne

maniac                                                                                   maníaca

criminoid désolée decisive                                                    criminante desolante decisiva

incisive                                                                                  incisiva

leeks mangled beef                                                               puerro ropa vieja

snitch                                                                                     soplona

salivating drooling dissolving                                               salivada babeante borrosa

brute                                                                                      bruta

brutally brute                                                                         abrutada brutal

 

malapertous                                                                          malabuena

malapropous                                                                         malhabida

beflavorous                                                                           saborida

borealeous                                                                             brisada

brumeous                                                                              brumosa

lunar rapide                                                                           lunar rápida

unmissed                                                                               mal ida

unwelcome                                                                            malvenida

seated seatless                                                                       ensillada sin silla

second sally                                                                          resalida

aligned                                                                                  ahilada

related                                                                                   recontada

recuperated                                                                           recuperada

cured                                                                                     curtida

cooked                                                                                  cociente

crunched                                                                               crujiente

stitched                                                                                 cosida

chosen                                                                                  elegida

papa loved                                                                           papá amada

papa pretty                                                                          papá linda

papa talk                                                                              papá diálogo

papa love                                                                             papá amor

papa always                                                                         papá siempre

 

broken bashed bent                                                            rota estrujada revertida

exonerated                                                                          exonerada

extracted                                                                             extraída

launched                                                                              lanzada

mama suppressed                                                               mamá elidida

mama scolded                                                                     mamá reñida

mama twisted                                                                      mamá torcida

mama out                                                                            mamá fuera

mama far                                                                             mamá lejos

mama hurry                                                                         mamá prisas

mama hollow                                                                       mamá hueco

mama never                                                                         mamá nunca

mama old                                                                             mamá vieja

mama death                                                                         mamá muerte

mama space                                                                         mamá espacio

mama freedom                                                                     mamá libertad

mama voice                                                                          mamá voz

mama laughing                                                                    mamá riente

mama suffering                                                                    mamá doliente

mama pardon                                                                       mamá perdón

mama please                                                                        mamá porfavor

mama plea                                                                            mamá ruego

mama purchase                                                                    mamá compra

mama vigilant                                                                       mamá avizora

mama idea                                                                            mamá idea

mama recuperate                                                                 mamá recupera

mama leftover                                                                      mamá sobras

mama rags                                                                           mamá guiñapo

mama mummy                                                                    mamá momia

mama whine                                                                        mamá queja

mama fate                                                                           mamá sino

mama loving                                                                       mamá amante

mama late                                                                           mamá tarde

 

garden gone                                                                        jardín ido

gathered                                                                              recogido

garden rigged                                                                      jardín jarcias

never-ever                                                                            jamases

garden grasped                                                                    jardín asido

threads                                                                                 hilo

garden moon                                                                        jardín luna

gleams                                                                                  riela

carp play                                                                               lúdica carpa

sounds                                                                                  suena

pool star                                                                               charco estrella

garden plot                                                                           jardín tramo

peril                                                                                       trance

 

Works by Noni Benegas

Poetry

Argonáutica. Prologue José María Valverde. Barcelona: Laertes, 1984. (Platero Prize)

La balsa de la Medusa. Alicante: Caja de Ahorros Provincial de Alicante, 1987.

(Miguel Hernández National Prize for Poetry)

Cartografía ardiente: Madrid: Verbum, 1995.

Las entretelas sedosas: Montilla: Aula Poética Casa del Inca, 2002.

Fragmentos de un diario desconocido. Ferrol: Esquío, 2004. (Esquío de Poesía Prize)

De ese roce vivo: Madrid, Huerga&Fierro, 2009

Animales Sagrados: Barcelona, Igitur, 2012 ( Vila de Martorell Prize)

Lugar Vertical: Barcelona, Igitur, 2012 ( Ciutat de Palma, Rubén Darío Prize)

El ángel de lo súbito: A selection of poetry, whit an introduction by Benito del Pliego, Madrid, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2013

Fragmentos de un diario desconocido. Reedition, Madrid, eMe, escritura de Mujeres en español, Ed. La Palma, 2017

Poetry in translation

Burning Cartography: A bilingüal selection spanish-english, introduced and translated by Noël Valis. Austin, TX, Host, 2007. Second edition with added poems in 2011

Animaux sacrés et autres poémes: A bilingüal selection spanish-french translated by Annie Salager, Sète, Al Manar, 2013  (Voix Vives, de Méditerranée en Méditerranée)

Criticism

Ellas tienen la palabra. Dos décadas de poesía española. (with Jesús Munárriz). Introduction by Noni Benegas. Madrid: Hiperión, 1997. 4th ed., 2008.

Ellas tienen la palabra. Las mujeres y la escritura. Collects the introduction to the anthology of the same name, a new prologue, articles, interviews and an epilogue. Madrid,Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2017

Ellas resisten. Mujeres poetas y artistas. Textos 1994-2019: Madrid, Huerga&Fierro, 2019

 

Bio: Translator. Noël Valis (born 24 December 1945) is a writer, scholar and translator. She is a Professor of Spanish at Yale University.  She received her B.A. from Douglass College and earned a Ph.D. in Spanish and French at Bryn Mawr College. An Hon. Woodrow Wilson Fellow, she is a recipient of fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Valis is a Full Member of the Academia Norteamericana de la Lengua Española (an affiliate of the Real Academia Española) and a Corresponding Member of the Real Academia Española. In 2017 she won the Victoria Urbano Academic Achievement Prize (Premio Victoria Urbano de Reconocimiento Académico), given by the International Association of Hispanic Women’s Literature and Culture (Asociación Internacional de Literatura y Cultura Femenina Hispánica), for her work in Hispanic women’s and gender studies. Her translation of Noni Benegas’s poetry, Burning Cartography, was awarded the New England Council of Latin American Studies’ Best Book Translation Prize.

 

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, 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.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Homage to Francisca Aguirre – The Lullaby Poems (Translated from Spanish)

by 
Francisca Aguirre, Premio Nacional de las Letras 2018 El jurado la ha elegido 
“por estar su poesía (la más machadiana de la generación del medio siglo)
entre la desolación y la clarividencia, la lucidez y el dolor"

Francisca Aguirre, National Literature Prize 2018
The jury chose it "because its poetry is (the most Machadian* of the generation 
of the half century) between desolation and clairvoyance, lucidity and pain"

* In the tradition of Antonio Machado

https://elpais.com/cultura/2018/11/13

Francisca Aguirre was born in 1930 in Alicante, Spain, and fled with her family to France 
at the end of the Spanish Civil War, where they lived in political exile.  When the Germans 
invaded Paris in 1942, her family was forced to return to Spain, where her father, painter 
Lorenzo Aguirre, was subsequently murdered by Francisco Franco's regime.  
Aguirre published Ítaca (1972), currently available in English (Ithaca [2004]), when she was 
42 years old. Her work has garnered much critical success, winning the Leopoldo Panero, 
Premio Ciudad de Irún, and Premio Galliana, among other literary prizes.  
Aguirre is married to the poet Félix Grande and is the mother of poet Guadalupe Grande.



From "NANAS PARA DORMIR DESPERDICIOS"

LULLABIES TO LULL THROWN AWAYS

by FRANCISCA AGUIRRE

Translated by Amparo Arrospíde & Robin Ouzman Hislop ***

NANA DE LAS SOBRAS                                                                             A Esperanza y Manuel Rico Vaya 

canción la de las sobras, eso sí
                      que era una nana para dormir el hambre.
Vaya canción aquella
                      que cantaba mi abuela con aquella voz
que era la voz de la misericordia
disfrazada de voz angelical.
                             Porque la voz de mi abuela
nos cantaba la canción de las sobras.
                             Y nosotras, que no conocíamos el pan,
cantábamos con ella que
                             las sobras de pan eran sagradas,
las sobras de pan nunca se tiran.

Siempre recordaré su hermosa voz
cantando aquella nana mientras el hambre nos dormía.
                                         **
LULLABY FOR LEFTOVERS                                                          To  Esperanza and Manuel Rico

Well, a leftovers song,
                    that truly was a lullaby to lull hunger to sleep.
Wow, that song 
                    my grandmother sang with a voice
that was the voice of mercy
disguised as the voice of an angel.
                              Because my grandmother´s voice
sang for us the leftovers song.
                              And we, who did not know bread,
sang together with her that
                              bread leftovers were holy,
bread leftovers shall never be thrown away.

I will always remember her beautiful voice
singing that lullaby while hunger lulled us to sleep.

                                                                                                       **

NANA DE LAS HOJAS CAÍDAS                                                                       
                                                                                                                       A Marián Hierro
Casi todo lo que se pierde tiene música,
                                                             una música oculta, inolvidable.
Pero las hojas, esas criaturas parlanchinas
que son la voz de nuestros árboles,
                    tienen, como la luz, el agua y las libélulas
una nana secreta y soñadora.
                    Lo que se pierde, siempre nos deja
                       un rastro misterioso y cantarín.

Las hojas verdes o doradas
              cantan su desamparo mientras juegan al corro.
Cantan mientras los árboles las llaman
como llaman las madres a sus hijos
sabiendo que es inútil, que han crecido
                     y que se han ido a recorrer el mundo.

                                                                                                      ****

LULLABY FOR FALLEN LEAVES
                                                                                                                     To Marián Hierro

Almost everything which is lost has a music,
                                                                     a hidden, unforgettable music.
But leaves, those chattering creatures
who are the voices of our trees
                       have -- like light, water and dragonflies --
a secret dreamy lullaby.
                                   That which is lost to us, always leaves
                                           the mysterious trace of its song.
Green or golden leaves
                        sing of their neglect as they dance their ring a ring of roses.
They sing while trees call to them
as mothers do calling their children
knowing it is futile, as they have grown up
                                     and left to travel the world over.
                                                                                          
                                                                                                                               **

NANA DE LAS CARTAS VIEJAS

Tienen el olor desvalido del abandono
y el tono macilento del silencio.
Son desperdicios de la memoria, residuos de dolor, 
                                                   y hay que cantarles muy bajito
para que no despierten de su letargo.
En ocasiones las manos se tropiezan con ellas
                                                  y el pulso se acelera
porque notamos que las palabras	
                                                 como si fueran mariposas
quieren bailar delante de nosotros
y volver a contarnos el secreto
                                                 que duerme entre sus páginas.
Son las abandonadas,
                                 los residuos de un tiempo de desdicha,
relatan pormenores de un combate
                                 y al rozarlas oímos el tristísimo andar
de los presos en los penales.

                                                                                                         **

LULLABY FOR OLD LETTERS

They give off the helpless smell of neglectfulness
and the emaciated tone of silence.
They are memory´s cast offs, residues of pain
                                                   and should be sung to in a low croon
so as not to awaken them from their lethargy.
Sometimes your hands chance upon them
                                                   and your pulse races
because we realize that words
                                                   wish to dance before us
as if they were butterflies
and tell us again the secret
                                                  sleeping inside their pages.
They are the neglected,
                                                  the remnants of unhappy times,
recounting the details of a struggle
                                                  and as we brush them we hear the saddest steps
of prisoners in jails.

                                                                                                          **

NANA DEL HUMO

La nana del humo tiene muchos detractores,
casi nadie quiere cantarla.
                                            Muchos dicen que el humo los ahoga,
otros piensan que eso de dormir al humo
                                            no les da buena espina,
que tiene algo de gafe.
                                   El humo no resulta de fiar:
en cuanto asoma su perfil oscuro
todo son malas conjeturas:
                                             se nos está quemando el bosque,
aquella casa debe de estar ardiendo.
El humo es un extraño desperdicio,
                                             tiene muy mala prensa.
Es un abandonado,
                                   es un incomprendido;
casi nadie recuerda que el humo es un vocero,
un triste avisador de lo que se nos avecina.
Y por eso, cuando lo escucho vocear con impotencia
yo le canto la nana del silencio
                                   para que no se sienta solo.
                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                       **

LULLABY FOR SMOKE

The lullaby for smoke doesn´t get many supporters,
almost nobody wants to sing its song.
                                               Many say smoke stifles them,
others think to lull smoke to sleep
                                               makes them queasy, 
that it´s a bit of a jinx.
                                  Smoke is not trustworthy:
as soon as it rears its dark head
it conjures up conjectures
                                                        -- a forest fire,
a house burning down.
Smoke is a weird remain,
                                             it´s got bad reports.
It´s a reject,
                                  it´s a misunderstood thing;
almost nobody remembers smoke is a herald,
a sad forwarner of what looms over us.
That´s why, when I hear it calling out helplessly,
I sing to it the lullaby for silence
                                             so that it doesn´t feel so lonely.


                                                                                                     ***
Translators:

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published 
seven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos 
poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, 
Hormigas en Diáspora and Jaccuzzi, as well as poems, short stories and articles on 
literary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines. 
She has received numerous awards. 

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) and his latest 
Collected Poems Volume at  Next-Arrivals

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3 Poems by Alisa Velaj, Limit, His Widow & He, Translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj

by

LIMIT
 
The woman watching the see is blind. For her, the sea waves are the soul waves.
From now on, the chopped light of the immense water container is what she will see
running deeper and deeper inside herself.
 
The blind woman and the ship that could never sail are of the same age.
The ship and her last lover have the same farsightedness.
 
Her last lover was a sailor and a fool. He heard only the melody
coming from the beating stick, turning a deaf to ear to all the island’s playing drums.
 
The blind woman and her last lover loved the flute sounds at dusk.
 
He never told her that the sea light had the shape of his destroying love for her.
However, she would willingly pretend that she had understood him.
She feared that he might also go blind if she told him the truth.
 
 
HIS WIDOW
 
His widow will continue to live her earthly years under the shadow of the emperor’s courtyard.
 
He, the most wonderful tree, left her soul empty with the crowds still conquered by him.
 
The crowds always look at his widow as a mantel of leaves.
 
When the blossoms wither, the mantel ceases to exist. At this moment even the crowds stop thinking.
 
In spring the mantel rejuvenates again. His widow gladdens because of the freshened memory of the citizens who never knew the dictator.
 
His widow loved the crowd and the leaf.
 
They both have short memory.
 
 
HE
 
He will not be able walk out of the house where he and the Eagle stay imprisoned.
 
He is there, and the guitar sounds coming from beyond the window, though tempting,
fail to encourage him.
 
He and the Eagle love and hate each other infinitely.
 
She will not pluck his eyes out, for he has given up watching since his childhood.
To both of them, light particles are as strange as colors.
 
She will not blind him, and he will cry one day, he will cry a lot because of her farewell.
 
At that moment he will be a child conscious of his loss, while the fir-trees will throw
thick shadows over the sadness of the undiscovered oases.
 
 

 
 
Alisa Velaj has been shortlisted for the annual international Erbacce-Press Poetry Award in UK in June 2014. Her works have appeared in more than eighty print and online international magazines, including: FourW twentyfive Anthology (Australia), The Journal (UK), The Dallas Review (USA), The Linnet’s Wings (UK) The Seventh Quarry (UK), Envoi Magazine (UK) etc etc. Velaj’s digital chapbook “The Wind Foundations” translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj is published by Zany Zygote Review (USA). Her poems are also translated in Hebrew, Swedish, Romanian, French and Portuguese. Alisa Velaj’s poetry book “With No Sweat At All” (trans by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj) will be published by Cervena Barva Press in 2019.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

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On the razor’s edge, Iceland. A Poem by Anna Maria Dall’Olio

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Islanda sul filo del rasoio
Sospiro.                                         Spuma sgorga.
Ghiacciaio fulminato
frana fiume fluente.
							Astronomico il debito statale.
                                                        Soverchi tassi d'interesse.
                                                        Basso livello medio salariale.

Vasti strazi nell'infero profondo.
Campi di lava.			O grano.
Fili d'erba sul filo del rasoio.
("Latte & Limoni", 2014)
On the razor’s edge, Iceland
Something sighed					    
a flowing river is falling 
foam flows out.

                                                                       Too high is the national debt
                                                                        too high are interest rates
                                                                        too low are median incomes.

The toxic torture in the deepest depths.
Either lava or corn fields.
On the razor’s edge, blades of grass.





Anna Maria Dall’Olio

She has been teaching English in Italian high schools since 1987. She devoted herself to fiction, poetry and playwriting. In 2005 she was ranked second in “Hanojo – via Rendevuo“, a Vietnamese cultural competition for the millennial celebration of Hanoj (1010-2010). Moreover, she was ranked first/second/third in lots of literary competitions for her Italian poems (2006-2018).She published a short novel, “Segreti” (“Secrets”, 2018). Besides, she published 5 collections of poems:”Sì shabby chic” (“So shabby chic”, 2018), “L’acqua opprime” (“Water oppresses”, 2016), “Fruttorto sperimentale” (“Experimental Food Forest”, 2016), “Latte & Limoni” (“Milk & Lemons”, 2014), “L’angoscia del pane” (“Bread is anguish”, 2010). Finally, She wrote “Tabelo” (“Table”, 2006), a play in Esperanto dealing with mobbing as a supreme artistic form.

Web site: www.annamariadallolio.it

 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) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

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Close to Me. BLIKSOM. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački. Translated from Serbian by Danijela Milosavljević

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SAVRŠENSTVO PERFECTION 完璧さ
New book Tatjana Debeljački タチアナ　デベリャスキー
Serbian English and Japanese
Translation by Mariko Sumikura
Artwork: Janoš Mesaroš
 
 
CLOSE TO ME
 
 
Togetherness disappears.
We are lost while leaving ourselves.
It’s too late for finding symbols.
The expression is a form of research
at the entrance of voice ventricles.
We sacrifice slow reasons to the quick words.
Parting is a chronicler with no chronicles.
Interpretations are hinted in the meanings of values ​​.
Let’s not torture the lions with the inner space of the sky.
We have lost the gemstone.
The search is wasted effort.
We nurture the faith of case circumstances.
Cheek shows the traces of palms.
For too long we dream the threats of responsibility.
Ironic solution of doubting we have left for the end.
We demise traces for the orphans.
God was praised, unfortunately.
From the scriptures we take out when needed.
We did not realize that all is prone to cease.
And a deep gap between the kisses,
We did not admit.
 
 
The 25th contest for the best love song, traditionally held by the
Cultural centre in Ivanjica. The contest director is poet Miljan Despotovic
 
 
BLISKOM
 
 
Nestaje zajedništvo.
Gubimo se napuštajući sebe.
Kasno je za otkrivanje simbola.
Izraz je oblik istraživanja.
na ulazu govornih komora.
Razloge spore žrtvujemo brzim rečima.
Rastanak je hroničar bez hronike.
Tumačenja naslućujemo po značenjima vrednosti.
Ne mučimo tigrove unutrašnošću neba.
Dragi kamen smo izgubili.
Potraga je uzaludan trud.
Gajimo veru okolnosti slučaja.
Obraz pokazuje tragove dlanova.
Predugo sanjamo pretnje odgovornosti.
Ironično razrešenje sumnje ostavljamo za kraj.
Tragove zaveštavamo siročićima.
Bog je bio slavljen..
Iz zapisa izvlačimo po potrebi.
Nismo uvideli da sve je prolaznosti sklono.
I duboki jaz između poljubaca,
Nepriznavasmo.
 
 
25. Konkursa za najlepšu ljubavnu pesmu, koji tradicionalno organizuje Dom kulture iz Ivanjice.Selektor konkursa, pesnik Milijan Despotović
 
 
Excerpt from:
Critic/ 講評
LIFE IN CREATION
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’
 
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’, Cultural Centre, Ivanjicа, 2018.With her poem ‘Closeness’, Tatjana won the first prize at the love poem literary contest ‘Ripples of the Moravica’ in Ivanjica, 2017. In the explanation (as a member of the competition jury) I wrote: From the poetic letter “The Close One” in which everything speaks of love without ever mentioning this word directly, we open up thoughts, a series of special lessons and wisdom, with a message that loving others means loving oneself and “losing oneself from leaving oneself”. The poem consists of twenty thoughts, classic aphorisms, each of which could be a motto of a new poem. Love is here in a dilemma over what “is prone to transience”, it is what is needed to overcome the “gap between kisses”. Tatjana Debeljacki (Titovo Uzice, 19..) writes contemporary and haiku poetry and prose. She has published nine books. She lives in Uzice. Pozega, 6th February, 2018
 


 
 
Tatjana Debeljački, born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. Member of Association of Writers of Serbia – UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, member of Croatian Writers’ Association- HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society ‘Antun Ivanošić’ Osijek since 2011, and a member of “World Haiku Association“ – 2011, Japan. Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin Belgrade. Member of Writers’ Club “Miroslav – Mika Antić” – Inđija 2013, Writers’ Association “Branko Miljković“ – Niš 2014, and a member of Japan Universal Poets Association (JUNPA). 2013. “Poetic Bridge: AMA-HASHI (天橋） Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008. ”HIŠA IZ STEKLA” was translated into Slovenian and published by Banatski kulturni centar – Malo Miloševo, in 2013 and also into English, “A House Made of Glass” published by »Hammer & Anvil Books» – American, in2013. Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.
 
 
 
 
 
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)

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Golden Giant Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

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Golden Giant
Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan
Translated by Yuanbing zhang
 
Who is sitting in the heaven and staring at me?
Who is sitting in the golden palace of tomorrow?
Who is smilling?
The golden staff in his hand
 
Flashing the dazzling light
Ah, the flashes of lightning
Interweaved over my head
I walked into a crystal corridor of the time
 
I want to open
The doors of gold
Lines of words in the sun
Singing to me in the sky
 
I want to find
The volumes of gold poems
On the shores of the new century
To build the city of gold
 
Laozi with rosy cheek and white hair
Smiling at me in the clouds
A phoenix danced trippingly
And carried in a book of gold
 
Lines of mysterious words
Made my eyes drunken
Countless giant figures
Came towards me from the clouds
 
The times of seventy million years
Emerged leisurely before my eyes
The cities of gold
Surrounded with the crystals garden
 
The sky of sapphire
Sent out the colorful miraculous brightness
On the green hills of jasper
Dragons and phoenixes were flying
 
Exquisite pagoda
Majestical palace of gold
The airy pavilions and pagodas
Standing in the purple-red clouds
 
The laughing girls
Riding the colorful husbands and wifes
The propitious clouds
Sprinkling the colorful flowers
 
I opened the door to a golden palace
Saw the rows of scrolls of the gold
A giant with the haloes all over his body
There were a golden sun over his head
 
With smiles, he picked up the books of gold
Recited the sacred verses
I was intoxicated with miraculous wonderful words
Surrounded with the purple-gold flames all over his body
 
A golden lotus
Bloomed beneath my feet
Lifted up my body
Wafted up from the golden palace
 
The red clouds
Drifting by my side
Outside of the sky I saw
Another golden paradise
 
The leisurely bells
Calling to me
The countless giants
Roaming in a golden garden
 
The sky of the ruby
The rounds of sun
Like the golden lotus
Blooming in the sky
 
The intoxicating fragrance of flowers
Like the sweet good wine
The golden trees
Were laden with the dazzling diamonds
 
The wonderful flowers
Bloomed for the housands of years
The land of gold
Inlaid with the gems
 
The pavilions of gold
Strewn at random and overlapped
Someone was playing chess
Someone was chatting
 
Quaint clothes
Colossal statures
Miraculous eyes
Happy and comfortable
 
The white cranes
Flying in the sky
The husbands and wifes
Crowing leisurely
 
Beside the old man I came
As if he was waiting for me
On the golden pavilion
He opened an ancient sword casket
 
A glittering ancient sword
Engraved some abstruse words and expressions
Which were clear and transparent like a lightning
Dimly glowed purplish-red patterns
 
He told me a metaphysical epic
The sword came from nine billions years ago
Which, was made from hundreds of millions of suns
It was a sacred sword of the sun
 
It could pierce the rocks of time
Open the layer after layer skies
Let the sacred fire smelt the heaven and the earth
Into the golden paradises
 
The old man’s eyes were deep, archaic and abstruse
Dimly shone the joyful flames
He let me take this sword
To fly towards a new golden paradise
 
The huge golden lotus floated leisurely
I flew over the sky thousands of miles away
The huge pyramids
Loomed impressively in front of my eyes
 
The mountainous figure of giants
Walked about in front of the pyramid
The huge pyramids of gold
Were much taller than the mountains
 
The giant trees of gold
Like a forest
Stood in the sky
Laden with the stars
 
The multicoloured propitious clouds
Was a huge bird
In the silvery sky
Crowing joyfully
 
I came to the front of a pyramid
A door was opening wide to me
A group of blond giants
Sitting with smiles in the grand palace
 
A holy great old man
Reciting the singular language in his mouth
The temple was painted with the magical symbols
And the giant pictures of Gods
 
The palace was full of silvery white light
Blooming th huge wonderful flowers
A peal of wonderful mellifluous bells
Made the person suddenly forget all of the time
 
I heard an immemorial verse
Tt was written hundreds of millions of years ago
Related countless eras of giants
Created the holy kingdoms of heaven
 
Their wisdom was sacred and great
Knew completely the past and the future of the universe
They flew freely in the sky
Landed on the millions of planets in the universe
 
They made the time change as your pleasure
Which could reach another spaces
Make a stone turn into a gold
Make the gold bloom flowers
 
They were like the rounds sun
Which could erupt the sacred flames
Let all things blaze in raging flames
Turn into their imagination works
 
They landed on the planets
Established the golden paradises
With their magic abstruse wisdom
Builted the platinum cities
 
I saw the gorgeous words
Flashing in the volume of gold
And the magical wonderful halos
Rotating like the colored lightning in the sky
 
I came to another wonderful heaven and earth
And saw a huge edifice of platinum
The whole city was like a piece of work
Sending out quietly the brilliant white light
 
A huge round square
Enchased some unearthly works
The giants of great stature
Came and went leisurely in the street
 
They wore singular clothes
Shone all over their bodies
With smiles on their face
Both men and women looked beautiful
 
They spoke the wonderful language
Which was as intriguing and pleasant as the music
Some of them run by spaceship
Flying around silently in the sky
 
I walked into a huge edifice of platinum
Saw a magnificent hall
Platinum wall was inlaid with gems
And there were also a row of unusual instruments
 
Their eyes were like bright springs
Wore the multicoloured clothes
Some of them were operating struments there
Some of them were talking with each other softly there
 
I saw a magical picture
Drew the giant planets
Stood the cities on those planets
And there were aslo the crystal gardens
 
I opened a crystal door
Saw a group of happy men and women
They were singing softly
The blinking books of gold were in their hands
 
Both the clusters of flower and the glasses of golden wine
Were on the huge round table
The golden walls were sparkling
Carved with all kinds of wonderful pictures
 
I saw a demure girl
The golden halo was sparkling on her head
She dressed a purple-gold longuette
Which was as peerless as a sculpture
 
The pages were marked with whimsical words
Like lines of ancient magic symbols
Each book was made of gold
And it was also like a golden crystal
 
I understood their euphonious songs
They were singing the sacred love
They were singing great ancestors
They were recounting the civilization of the universe
 
Their city was garden everywhere
Surrounded with the sweet rivers
The whole earth was a piece of jade
And the clay was a layer of transparent sand of the gold
 
I saw some white-bright huge balls
Suspended high above the city
The giant balls were sending out dazzling light
Shone the heaven and the earth as bright as the crystal
 
The towering great buildings stood in great numbers
As if they were carved by a whole piece of platinum
Both the doves and some colorful birds
Were flying in the sky
 
I saw a singular train
Flying swiftly forward in the sky
The streets were white and bright
And any moving vehicle could not been seen
 
Their bodies were unusually strong
Playing a wonderful game
They piled up the pieces of great stones 
Into some grotesque works
 
Both like some giant eyes
And some ancient totems
There were also some strange birds
Covered with lightning feathers all over their bodies
 
I saw a couple of tall lovers
They aviated a spaceship
Their eyes were quiet and bright
Shone colorful halo around their bodies
 
The wonderful space was gyrating leisurely
Like a huge, resplendent crystal
I said goodbye to the unusual city
Towards a space of golden light
 
The cities flashed in the sky
I flew over the layers of the sky again
And I saw a newfangled world
The multicoloured city of crystal
 
The high towers were exquisitely carved
Shone the multicoloured pearls
The layers of eave were painted with dragon and phoenix
Hung the singing golden bells
 
The earth was a crystal garden
The palaces were limpid and crystal
Huge mountains were like a transparent gem
Lined with the golden trees
 
I saw the tall giants
Wore the purple clothes
There were a round sun on their heads
The body also shone a layer of halo
 
They sat up in the main halls
Singing a mellifluous song
Some were roaming leisurely in the garden
Some were summoning the birds in the sky
 
The crystalline airy pavilions and pagodas
Were beset with jewels and agates
A huge jewel on the spir
Shining the golden lights
 
I saw a holy giant
Sitting in the middle of a main hall
The purple-gold flame were flashed around his body
And filled with the whole majestic main hall
 
Full-bodied fragrance filled the hall
Like a cup of refreshing wine
Solemn expression was merciful and joyful
A huge book was on his hand
 
The hall was full of mens and womens
Listening quietly to the psalms of the saints
The lotuses were floating in the sky
Where the smiling giants sat
 
The golden light were poured down from the sky
Bathed in the whole crystal kingdom
Those jewels above the giant towers
Were just the golden suns
 
The golden walls of a golden tower
Were carved with lines of flashing words I saw
Flying around the dragons and phoenixes
As if they were intonating the inspiring poems
 
The smiling giants in the sky
A huge halo were aslo flashing around their bodies
Each of them was both dignified and tranquil
Floating in the golden transparent sky
 
I flew over the crystal kingdom
And saw the vast golden mountain in the distance
Sending out the brilliant lights in the sky
Where the propitious clouds were blossoming
 
That was a golden giant
Sitting in the golden transparent sky
His body was composed of thousands of millions of constellations
The golden sun was rotating on his forehead
 
He lit up the whole marvellous universe
The kingdoms of heaven shone in the sky
Here there was no the sky and the earth
The up-down four-direction were the lights of pure gold
 
The smiling giants were sitting
On the gold-engraved pavilions
The pavilions levitated in the transparent sky
Shining the layers of purple-gold light
 
The multicoloured transparent mountains
As if the propitious clouds were floating in the sky
The large wonderful flowers were blooming in the mountain peaks
And there were also trees of light
 
A river flowed from the sky
And the river bottom reflected a layer of golden sand
Some strange and beautiful birds and the beasts
Also were like some aerial phantoms
 
This was a world of light
Everything was made of light
The divine light formed all things
And the golden paradises
 
The golden giant I saw
Shining the kingdoms of heaven in his body
I saw the cities of gold
Which were brilliant and fascinating in his bones
 
I saw lines of extremely large words
Arranged into a huge book in the sky
It seemed as if they were the bright stars
Constituted a wonderful drawing
 
There was a golden pavilion in the sky
Flying around with huge dragons and phoenixes
An old man with the whisk
Waved to me and smiled in the pavilion
 
I seem to be attracted by magical attraction
Leisurely came to his side
He told me the golden giant
Was namely my great ancestor
 
This was an eternal palace
There’s noso-called time
Holy light was exactly the God
What I saw was better than the heaven
 
He pointed to the huge book in the sky
And told me that was the mystery of the universe
The book contained magical wisdom
Created the countless worlds of gold
 
He pointed to a pagoda in the sky
Told me that was the temple of words
The light turned into the sacred words
And the words created the time of gold
 
He held up a very large pearl
In which flashed the pictures
He told me that it was the future time
That was all of the wonderful worlds
 
He told me that it was another universe
I still want to go to the paradises
He gave me the magical pearl
Let it be my future guide
 
I said goodbye to the holy old man
I set foot on a new road of the heaven again
I sat in a golden pavilion
Lightly flew to the distant outer space
 

 

2.9.1998
Bio:Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, The City of Gold , Golden Paradise , Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been more widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.
  
A Bit AboutYuanbing Zhang,
 
Yuanbing Zhang,born in China in 1974, is a poet and translator, works in a middle school, interested particularly in researching and translating the works of Mr.Hongri Yuan. His poetry translations has been widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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) .

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