Posts tagged ‘2014’

Saturday, 5 June 2021

Post It by Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan

Technique whittled to a spear prongs earth 
as tabby night filters a soaped waterfall of recollected words 
jammed in a shoe, prudently 
It passes on a cloud 
and can’t fit in the photo 
that dissolves trusty leaves 
that feather bright and soft, as if a picture’s jarred time 
where unlit books ramble into dream, sleep’s pillion 
levering The Anthology of Fireside Chats 
away from the grate with an heirloom poker 
or more exactly, some crimp heater sloughed by the street 
Fill the chute’s leftovers, a mug’s trail of relenting principles 
wired to ankle, currency lass in a jumper times the curfew 
a ball of discomfort on a vintage beanbag 
while daffodils recite – preamble: body-as-quest 
tougher than a table of elements in pin-drop pause 
Adjust the sigh track near a convocation of analysts 
A remix swims over a screen 
Talk: plastic 
 
From: Ryan, Gig, ‘Post It’ in Cordite Poetry Review48.0: Constraint, 20 December 2020, p. [unnumbered]. 
(https://webarchive.nla.gov.au/awa/20141220030158/http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/14234/20141220-0000/cordite.org.au/poetry/constraint/post-it/index.html) 
 
Date: 2014 
 
by: Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan (1956- )

Monday, 3 May 2021

The Lovers by Timothy Liu

I was always afraid
of what might get
revealed in a psychic’s
spread—
Forgive me
for not knowing
how we were
every card in the deck.

From: https://www.rattle.com/the-lovers-by-timothy-liu/

Date: 2014

By: Timothy Liu (1965- )

Friday, 18 December 2020

My Soul by Omar al-Jaffal

My soul is a desert and my days are sands
And those thirsty Bedouins are my dreams
Last night
I rinsed my mind with geniality
And dyed my heart with departure
I left my fingers and took my bag.

From: https://www.middleeasteye.net/fr/node/59698

Date: 2014 (original in Arabic); 2017 (translation in English)

By: Omar al-Jaffal (1988- )

Translated by: Eman Shaban Morsi (19??- )

Thursday, 26 November 2020

America, I Sing Back by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke

for Phil Young, my father, Robert Hedge Coke, Whitman, and Hughes

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reason.

Oh, before America began to sing, I sung her to sleep,
held her cradleboard, wept her into day.
My song gave her creation, prepared her delivery,
held her severed cord beautifully beaded.

My song helped her stand, held her hand for first steps,

nourished her very being, fed her, placed her three sisters strong.
My song comforted her as she battled my reason

broke my long held footing sure, as any child might do.

Lo, as she pushed herself away, forced me to remove myself,
as I cried this country, my song grew roses in each tear’s fall.

My blood veined rivers, painted pipestone quarries
circled canyons, while she made herself maiden fine.

Oh, but here I am, here I am, here, I remain high on each and every peak,
carefully rumbling her great underbelly, prepared to pour forth singing—

and sing again I will, as I have always done.

Never silenced unless in the company of strangers, singing

the stoic face, polite repose, polite, while dancing deep inside, polite
Mother of her world. Sister of myself.

When my song sings aloud again. When I call her back to cradle.
Call her to peer into waters, to behold herself in dark and light,

day and night, call her to sing along, call her to mature, to envision—

Then, she will make herself over. My song will make it so

When she grows far past her self-considered purpose,
I will sing her back, sing her back. I will sing. Oh, I will—I do.

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.

From: https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/poetry/this-thanksgiving-read-a-native-american-poets-song-of-healing

Date: 2014

By: Allison Adelle Hedge Coke (1958- )

Monday, 2 November 2020

Mortality by Philip Hammial

When mother died
a man with a cloud took me for a beast.

When father died
I stood in a hole & spoke to a crowd.

When brother died
I had to get in behind the next one down.

When sister died
health was so sick you couldn’t buy money.

When I die
human shame will lose a friend.

From: http://www.softblow.org/philiphammial.html

Date: 2014

By: Philip Hammial (1976- )

Sunday, 25 October 2020

Unification by Alexander Scalfano

I want to build a house
where only an ant can find me
ants have nothing
but pragmatic
hivemindy things to say:
more tunnels more soil
go in every direction
dead is everywhere
we are ant for we are many
hard water in the ground
carry the drink
prince of wings
queen of child
doors stairs skylights
I am nothing
use my body as a bridge.

From: http://www.jellyfishmagazine.org/9.0/scalfano.html

Date: 2014

By: Alexander Scalfano (19??- )

Tuesday, 6 October 2020

Big Weather by Jon Thompson

Low hum or high winds,
hard to say. Outsideness
looks cinematic, the world
putting on airs
with winter-stripped trees,
gospel-swaying back & forth
outside old-fashioned paned glass.
Winter-sharp branches
wave wildly, sough
a song not their own.
Wrens try out a call &
response in the
emptiness between
boughs then
wing away. What
is the weather?
It’s mainly a feeling,
a set of feelings, that
defines a day. A happening
that causes panic;
a happening instead of panic.
In the place of clouds,
an exilic grey mass is moving
eastward, pushing light out of the way.
There’s a travelling in the air,
an ideation & dispossession
that’s premonitory, a sense
of something coming, something
you have not agreed to. A quietness.
A waiting for catastrophe.
Or a waiting that does without it.

From: https://fortnightlyreview.co.uk/2014/05/jon-thompson-poems/

Date: 2014

By: Jon Thompson (19??- )

Wednesday, 3 June 2020

And This Is the Ballad of My Life by Abraham (Avrom) Sutzkever

And this is the ballad of my life: dipping bread
in salt at a banquet for my unseen guests from afar.
And when they are hailed on by clod of earth after clod of earth,
to meet them between long tree-lined streets once more.

And this is the ballad of my life: that I mumble
strange syllables before the people of silence.
And they, the unseen and heirs of the mists,
fill my living anxiety and contemplations.

And this is the ballad of my life: to be a witness that those
who lashed me with thongs just a moment ago and set
children on fire and cremated them with their grandfathers,
these same people should send off a swarm of diamonds.

A day at the conclusion of days approaches through tears,
the way a blooming cherry tree approaches at the end of night.
And this is the ballad of my life: to hear my critic–
the roaring oracular voice of forever.

From: https://intranslation.brooklynrail.org/yiddish/ten-poems-from-poems-from-my-diary-by-abraham-sutzkever/

Date: 1977 (original in Yiddish) 2014 (translation in English)

By: Abraham (Avrom) Sutzkever (1913-2010)

Translated by: Maia Evrona (19??- )

Thursday, 21 May 2020

Mankind by Mihály Vörösmarty

1.
Listen. For the singing must be still:
Now the world speaks plain.
Hot wings of the rainstorm turn to chill,
Frozen the wind and rain—
The rain is tears, is sorrow’s smart,
The wind sighed by the human heart:
It makes no difference—spirit, virtue, sin:
All hope is vain!

2.
You have heard the story: humankind
Born of their fathers’ breath,
Reaped with their fathers sowed and as they sinned,
Inheritance of death:
And the survivors howl for Law,
And law in turn kills m any more,
The best have failed, the worst’s plots reign:
All hope is vain!

3.
Then the heroes came, and they bestrode
The law with their bright blaze.
Work began: steel cut its bloody road!
Mankind gloried in self-praise.
And when its heroes died, again
It mauled itself in its great pain.
The news? Lightning upon a darkling plain:
All hope is vain!

4.
There is a long peace, and humankind
Teems grossly to beget
So the plague perhaps may one day find
A grander banquet set.
With greedy eyes it scans the sky:
Earth’s not its own, that’s why,
The Earth’s as hard as grave-ground for this strain:
All hope is vain!

5.
How fertile is the earth, and human hands
Make it more fertile still,
Yet poverty stalks over all the lands
And bondage stamps its will.
Must it be so? Or if not, why
Must ancient times repeat the cry?
What’s lacking? Is it virtue? power? Again
All hope is vain!

6.
A godless contract binds you in its bans,
Reason and evil will!
You nourish with the rage of ignorance
Your armies to the kill.
Reason or rage, devil or beast,
Whoever wins, men die at least:
This mud ran mad, this god-faced knot of pain!
All hope is vain!

7.
Beneath Mankind the good earth groans, and now
War years and peace years burn.
The curse of brother-hate blooms on its brow:
You’d think that it would learn,
But then it spawns some greater sin.
Humans are dragon-teeth, the strain
Of Man’s the dragon-toothed, the race of Cain:
All hope is vain! All hope is vain!

1846

From:  Ozsváth , Zsuzsanna and Turner, Frederick (eds. and transls.), Light within the Shade: Eight Hundred Years of Hungarian Poetry, 2014, Syracuse University Press: Syracuse, New York, pp. 30-31.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=l23iAwAAQBAJ)

Date: 1846 (original in Hungarian); 2014 (translation in English)

By: Mihály Vörösmarty (1800-1855)

Translated by: Zsuzsanna Ozsváth (1931- ) and Frederick Turner (1943- )

Wednesday, 22 April 2020

Guenivere in Prison by Theodora Goss

She clasped her hands, and she unclasped her hands.
She stood up, and she sat back down again.
She sighed and pushed back copper-colored strands
of hair, and sighed and listened to the rain.
The windows were barred; she stood and looked outside
between the bars, and saw the wet gray walls,
and wateched a lone bedraggled pigeon stride
the battlements, and trickling waterfalls
form from the turrets. The banners hung soaked and limp.
She set her white hands on the windowsill
and left them until they were cold and damp.
She closed her eyes. And then that pigeon stole,
boldly, while she snatched a somewhat rest,
two strands to make a copper-colored nest.

From: Goss, Theodora, Songs for Ophelia, 2020, Mythic Delirium Books: Roanoke, Virginia, p. [unnumbered].
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=DA_cDwAAQBA)

Date: 2014

By: Theodora Goss (1968- )