Posts tagged ‘2005’

Monday, 25 November 2019

Tantaliad by Ana Gorría

A raft capsizing
in your gut;
a far-off sun,
an empire of thirst.

From: https://exchanges.uiowa.edu/issues/fledglings/gorria-siegert/

Date: 2005 (original in Spanish); 2015 (translation in English)

By: Ana Gorría (1979- )

Translated by: Yvette Siegert (19??-)

Friday, 27 September 2019

Form, Formlessness by Janet Elizabeth Aalfs

My one small life is formed from more than a hundred million breaths. In, out

I am still breathing. Even as I count the only breath is now.

This heart that is my only heart pulses without a break thousands of times a day whether I am grateful or not.

Thank you heart. Thank you breath.

Songbirds ecstatic, clouds swirl like feathers. Multiplying cell by cell I dissolve.

Gratitude is nothing, a breath nothing you can keep. Neither a heartbeat. Neither this moment, formless,

more powerful than all our lives. In one fleeting sigh a simple feeling washes through me. Hello Love, I recognize your face.

From: https://www.mindfulnessbell.org/archive/2015/06/poem-form-formlessness

Date: 2005

By: Janet Elizabeth Aalfs (1956- )

Wednesday, 29 May 2019

Mockingbird by Devin Johnston

We live each other’s death
and die each other’s life,
borrowing a cold flame
from sycamore in early leaf.
This morning, after heavy rain

the street erupts with birds:
grackles sharpen swords
and cedar waxwings strip
the vines, declaring love and war.
With tail cocked, I guard the stoop

from strangers, ill-at-ease.
As sunlight strikes a wheel,
I think as Sulla thought??
hostis, host and enemy
to every sound that swells my throat.

From: http://cordite.org.au/poetry/candylands/mockingbird/

Date: 2005

By: Devin Johnston (1970- )

Friday, 22 February 2019

Teasing Lu Chang, a Bridesmaid from Down South by Song Ruoshen

For the wedding, a mansion’s
tower—twelve floors
upheld by a turquoise sky:

our nubile hen, her virile mate,
stand ready, face
to face on their nuptial tree.

But immortal Mistress Couple-up
brings heaven’s decree
to the guards round the women’s rooms:

To this Han palace, here in the north,
don’t let that drawling
country music in!

From: Larsen, Jeanne (ed. and transl.), Willow, Wine, Mirror, Moon: Women’s Poems from Tang China, 2005, BOA Editions: New York, p. [unnumbered].
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=OS1aDwAAQBAJ)

Date: c800 (original); 2005 (translation)

By: Song Ruoshen (768-820)

Translated by: Jeanne Larsen (1950- )

Friday, 18 January 2019

The Beautiful Animal by Geoffrey Brock

By the time I recalled that it is also
terrifying, we had gone too far into
the charmed woods to return. It was then

the beautiful animal appeared in our path:
ribs jutting, moon-fed eyes moving
from me to you and back. If we show

none of the fear, it may tire of waiting
for the triggering flight, it may ask only
to lie between us and sleep, fur warm

on our skin, breath sweet on our necks
as it dreams of slaughter, as we dream
alternately of feeding and taming it

and of being the first to run. The woods
close tight around us, lying nested here
like spoons in a drawer of knives, to see

who wakes first, and from which dream.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51083/the-beautiful-animal

Date: 2005

By: Geoffrey Brock (964- )

Monday, 10 September 2018

Bargain Hunt by Ron Padgett

                     for Tessie

Suppose you found a bargain so incredible
you stood there stunned for a moment
unable to believe that this thing could be
for sale at such a low price: that is what happens
when you are born, and as the years go by
the price goes up and up until, near the end
of your life, it is so high that you lie there
stunned forever.

From: http://jacketmagazine.com/27/padg.html

Date: 2005

By: Ron Padgett (1942- )

Sunday, 26 August 2018

Instructions for Winter by Ted Genoways

Eagle, Alaska

You must private away a secret summer,
cached and fed by darkness like sourdough
in a larder, so that each noon numbered
in lamplight is matched by a midnight, yellow

with the slant of June. Against such permafrost,
you must toughen yourself on carrion;
you must fatten on summer—berries and moss—
to carry you across the windswept barrens.

Live—but remember the reason, source
and abyss where everything lives dies.
And when the first flakes swirl into drifts, hold

summer close and let winter run its course.
Curl in your den, sleep; and when you arise,
shoulder forth lean and perfected by cold.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=185&issue=4&page=34

Date: 2005

By: Ted Genoways (1972- )

Monday, 18 June 2018

Poems for Parting: 2 by Du Mu

Too much love
somehow became
no love at all

over this farewell bottle
we can’t manage
even a friendly smile

only the candle
seems to be able
to generate some feeling

all night
it weeps
little wax tears.

From: https://www.wordswithoutborders.org/article/poems-for-parting

Date: c840 (original); 2005 (translation)

By: Du Mu (803-852)

Translated by: David Young (1936- ) and Jiann I. Lin (19??- )

Friday, 26 January 2018

Journey of Migration…the First Step by Ferit Berk

‘A Teacher Died in Australia’ headline news
spreads quickly to reach Ankara and beyond.
Saddened, my friends believe that I am dead
when the corpse of a teacher is sent home.

The end of 1979 and the beginning of 1980,
in Alitalia a different New Year and its celebration,
beloved ones with me only in my memory
as I celebrate the New Year among strangers.

A stormy day starts the journey to Australia
A cold weather, the temperature below zero
a thirty-eight hour flight with some breaks from Ankara
and I, unable to sleep from excitement and anxiety

While standing on the threshold of this New Year.
I am talking to myself… and asking questions:
What if Australia is never reached? Or
if reached, fails to take a hold on my emotions?
What if this new land does not meet expectations?

From: http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/38493/20071130-0004/www.pen.org.au/docs/Quarterly1205.pdf

Date: 2005

By: Ferit Berk (1937- )

Monday, 16 October 2017

Speaking in Tongues by Mary Rose O’Reilley

I go to church every Sunday
though I don’t believe a word of it,
because the longing for God
is a prayer said in the bones.

When people call on Jesus
I move to a place in the body
where such words rise,
one of the valleys
where hope pins itself to desire;
we have so much landscape like that
you’d think we were made
to sustain a cry.

When the old men around me
lift their hands
as though someone has cornered them,
giving it all away,
I remember a dock on the estuary,
watching a heron get airborne against the odds.
It’s the transitional moment that baffles me—
how she composes her rickety
grocery cart of a body
to make that flight.

The pine siskin, stalled on a windy coast,
remembers the woods
she will long for when needs arise; so
the boreal forest composes itself in my mind:
first as a rift, absence,
then in a tumble of words
undone from sense, like the stutter
you hear  when somebody falls
over the cliff of language.  Call it a gift.

From: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/speaking-tongues

Date: 2005

By: Mary Rose O’Reilley (1944- )