RECUERDOS DE UN VERANO
el murmullo de una fuente,
el vuelo ondulante de los pájaros,
las canciones estridentes de grillos, ranas y chicharras,
el fluir suave de una gran mariposa blanca,
las hojas susurrantes de los árboles,
el viento que despeina,
una sombra fresca y la tibieza del sol,
el perfume de una flor violeta.
y el perfume de una flor naranja también,
un silencio y una risa,
una luna que aúlla,
el sabor de una lágrima
y un sombrero negro.
Alejandra Miranda (Argentina-2021)
il mormorio di una fontana,
il volo ondeggiante degli uccelli,
i canti stridenti di grilli, rane e cicale,
il flusso delicato di una grande farfalla bianca,
le foglie sussurranti degli alberi,
il vento che scompiglia,
una fresca ombra e il tiepidezza del sole,
il profumo di un fiore di violetta.
e anche il profumo di un fiore d'arancio,
un silenzio e una risata,
la luna dei lupi,
il sapore di una lacrima
e un cappello nero.
Alejandra Miranda (Argentina – 2021)
Alejandra Miranda (Argentina): artista visual, escritora y curadora. Vive en La Paz (Entre Ríos, Argentina) - FB Alejandra Miranda Arte
On ne t'a rien dit au départ
tu croyais oui peut-être
d'une vie meilleure
sur une autre terre
que celle des villes
on presse la foule
dans les fourgons
et la misère se met en marche
sur les rails vers l'inconnu
seule la rage des chiens
et les bastonnades
par-dessus les cris
d'une foule aux aboies
assoiffée que les larmes
ne parviennent pas
puis la mascarade
s'est déployée en sélections
et le guet-apens s'est refermé
sur le mince espoir
de revoir tous les sourires
des visages à découvert
dans un espace vivifiant
dans un autre temps
© Huguette Bertrand -
UN ALTRO TEMPO
All'inizio non te l'hanno detto
hai creduto sì forse
ad una vita migliore
su una terra diversa
di quella delle città
la folla spinta
e la miseria si mette in cammino
sulla rotta verso l'ignoto
solo la rabbia dei cani
e le percosse
sopra le grida
di una folla disperata, assetata
che le lacrime
poi la messa in scena
e la trappola si è chiusa
sulla sottile speranza
di rivedere i sorrisi
di volti allo scoperto
in uno spazio vivo
in un altro tempo
(traduzione: Lidia Chiarelli)
Bertrand, Huguette (Canada) Poète et éditrice, Huguette Bertrand a publié 38 ouvrages de poésie dont plusieurs en collaboration avec des artistes en art visuel et photographie. De nombreux textes ont paru dans diverses revues et anthologies internationales imprimées et en ligne. Certains de ses poèmes ont été traduits en plusieurs langues. http://www.espacepoetique.com https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9
The Night The Eagle Shrieked
He'd dreamt a dream like never once before,
the sort they'd say would speak of him a pawn -
prophetic things they'd make but metaphor,
the words unread from out that lexicon.
Inside that "sleep" he'd seen the mountains fall,
the rivers rise that washed away the land,
the people massed their backs against the wall,
the ice in sheets that shook the desert sand.
From off afar he'd heard the eagle shriek,
a frozen feel that settled down his spine -
that bird alone the one now left to speak -
the world gone mute to frighten Frankenstein.
He'd dreamt a dream that they'd refused to hear,
though each in turn had walked away in fear.
-Richard Doiron ©
Richard Doiron, New Brunswick, Canada.
Poetry in print 50 years. Lifetime Achievement Awards from World Poetry (2012), World Friendship
Named World Poet Laureate, World Friendship Poetry (2019)
Nominated for Lifetime Achievement Award by ARTeryUSA 2017. Author of 18 books
L’ombre chaude et bleue des cyprès, dans l’après-midi tranquille, accueille la pâleur gracieuse et la chevelure flottante de l’alanguie avec son livre aux pages tournées par le vent.
La belle réfléchit, imagine, crée artistement une élaboration conséquente de ses idéaux dans lesquels se répandent les bonheurs qu’elle veut dispenser en voyant les visages transformés par la joie.
De sa douce lèvre généreuse, son souffle émane alors parfumé d’une poésie qui lui vient naturellement pour être aimable avec les personnes exceptionnelles de sensibilité jusqu’à la bonté.
La clarté du ciel favorise la concentration de sa pensée sur les sourires à regarder, à apprécier, à mémoriser, pour avoir recours à des souvenirs lorsqu’arrivera le moment dernier.
Elle prévoit, planifie, amplifie ses visées, persuadée de la capacité d’indignation du peuple qui, avec elle, réclamerait des dirigeants la concrétisation d’un rêve d’égalité.
Se renouvelant par sa persistance, le reflet doré chemine dans la frondaison pour frémir sur la nacre de la main délicate et tavelée transmettant l’univers significatif des syllabes alignées.
Elle poétise patiemment sa volonté d’abreuver l’âme de mots en donnant à boire dans les calices de la saison des roses et son assiduité à rassasier le besoin d’affection en devenant encore la femme dont le baiser guérit.
Lucie Poirier - Canada
Maître ès arts, théoricienne et praticienne d’une poésie variée par son lexique et son aspect, Lucie Poirier édite ses livres d’artistes faits à la main. Sur scène, elle termine ses spectacles poétiques, avec mouvements et chansons, en soufflant dans sa main pour que des pétales volent vers le public.
Life is a war
Hurry swallows novels
Dreams chewed by history
From a dry and anxious womb
Someone broke the vase
Before the roses wither
The liquid from the orbits
Feed the love
We are in a field of mined words
Music explodes rips out hope
Break the eyes
The leaves remain green
Greens of withered hope
Green without a red smell.
I'm at war with life
Experiences with broken hands
Grab my shoulders
Life is a war
And I am the Glory
Daughter of Vitória.
I believe Dylan Thomas
was always at war with life
and "And death shall have no dominion"
Glória Sofia, is a dreamer as most poets. Born and raised in the city of Praia in Cape Verde.
Her poetry has been translated into more than 15 languages, and in 2020 she won a prize for UMPPL.
She collaborates with the online newspapers or magazines in the world. She represents Cape Verde in Immagine & Poesia Movement.
Her works have been widely published. https://gloriasvmonteiro.wixsite.com/gloriasofia
Pure and Bright: April's Two Teardrops
By Qin Feng [China]
Pure and Bright. The only two Chinese words
Alive in the forlorn ’nd deserted month of April.
The two teardrops, lonesome and desolate,
Are time and again being scrubbed and rinsed
By rainwater in the alien land.
Th’ Entrance to the Village. The gate of life and death
Of my native place is wide agape.
The vast universe has long collapsed into earth.
The watchful watch of withered grass, dried trees, and winds.
On the way home, no one’s on his way back.
Sufferings. Adopted over and over,
Have grown into the only standing crops:
Mother’s grave, and Father’s tomb.
I, I am the life and death of my forebears;
I, I am orphan to my own self,
A gravestone, that walks upright
In the world mundane.
（Translated by Botao LIU）
Qin Feng, real name Pu Jianxiong, doctor of literature. He has won the First Global Chinese Poetry Main Prize, the First Tianfu Literature Prize, the Great Wall Literature Prize and the Su Dongpo Literature Prize. The “Top Ten Poems Against Covid-19” held by the National Poetry and Newspaper Network Alliance and the first prize of the 6th the Poetry Festival Original Poems in Shanghai. His works have been translated into many languages and included in anthologies of poetry. He is the author of a collection of poems called “On Horizon Alone”.
La mattonella del risveglio
di Wang Mengren [China]
Vera preoccupazione è che un mucchio di eventi disordinati e trascorsi
Possano scuoterti da sopra l’alto ramo
Trattenendo il respiro, mi chiedo in che città della terra andrei
Per stare tranquillamente sotto la grondaia
L'immagine luminosa e solenne
Non dovrebbe essere ricercata per la sua origine
Con un applauso energico come un forte acquazzone
Dopo il romantico rapporto della pioggia e della neve
I sospiri, come il sole al tramonto, indugiano a lungo nella mente
Dopo una serie di temporanee crisi di dolore
Ritornando alla loro originalità
E non c'è più notte oscura con vernice nera
In piedi tra le nuvole caotiche
Facendo tante piastrelle rotte
Realizzate le loro imprese
(tradotte da Domenico Defelice)
Wang Mengren, famoso poeta e calligrafo della Cina contemporanea, è nato nel 1959 nella contea di Fugou, nella provincia di Henan. È membro della Chinese Writers' Association, della Chinese Calligraphers' Association, membro del comitato della Henan Provincial Literary Federation, presidente onorario a vita della Zhoukou Municipal Calligraphers 'Association e professore part-time del Zhoukou Normal College. Ha pubblicato Literary Writings in My Humble Abode (in 9 volumi), The Writing of the Plain e The Singer of the Plain ecc. Alcune sue poesie sono state tradotte in inglese, italiano, tedesco, francese, spagnolo, tamil, giapponese, coreano, greco, russo ecc.
The Trace of a Love
By Xi Ke [China]
Through a section of time, on the vacant land
Sunflowers are piled up
But what force piles them up
In the rain, a group of youths cut with knives
The green sunflowers
I cannot write down the word “love”
If it is the past, yesterday
I will block it with my arms
Raindrops or the flying knife scars
But, today I only smell the breath of sunflowers
(Translated by Zhang Zhizhong
Xi Ke, a famous poet in contemporary China, was born as Yang Weizhou from a family of Chongxin ancestry in Gansu Province of China. He is member of the Chinese Writers Association. He began to write poetry in the 1980s and went to Shenzhen to host the “Wandering Poets Poetry Exhibition” in the 1990s. In 2012, he was invited to Israel to attend the 32nd World Poets’ Congress. His works have been published in a variety of journals, and his published poetry collections include The Bend of Ruihe River, The Bronze Pot, Old Forts, The Wind Bell, Some Days of Mine and Me, No Need to Say Goodbye to This Life, The Collection of Xi Ke Poems, etc., besides his prose collections The Valley, My Life Has Nothing to Do with You, I Still Live. He now lives in Xi’an.
By Xu Chunfang [China]
The things that I did everyday
Were building the wall higher than before
To seal off the outside world
Standing in the empty lobby
On the glide wheel of words
Revolving or side flipping
I am the stage
And I don’t need applause
Even so I could get high by myself
(Translated by Brent O. Yan)
Xu Chunfang, a famous contemporary Chinese poet, was born in the countryside of Wangjiang County, Anhui Province in 1976. He has published many poetry anthologies, such as Ode, Elegy, Jiangnan, Selected Poems of Xu Chunfang (Chinese and English edition), and prose anthologies Wind from Hometown. Some of his works have been translated into English, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Romanian, Nepalese and other languages. He has won the Lebanon International Literature Award, the Top Ten Chinese Poetry Collections of 2020, the Social Science Award of Anhui Provincial Government, , the “20 years of Chinese Online Poetry” Creation Award, the first “Anhui Poetry Award · Best Poet Award”, and the Luli National Poetry Award, among many other awards at home and abroad.
A Poem of Fourteen Lines: To the 16-year-old A Wen
By ZHANG Zhi [China]
Taught by your parents
You began to work as a prostitute
When you were quite sixteen, you say
Pressed by the life in reality
I began to work as a poet
When I was quite sixteen, I say
Now still sturdy your little breasts
And also famous I am as a poet—
You can’t comprehend the great changes in my heart
While I fail to make clear your burning beauty
It is not so much to say you are opening freely on the bed of the country
As to say you grow silently in my poem lines
Whose heart is blown away by the nightly wind in June
Your hollow eyes will not hold the fiery sigh
ZHANG Zhi, born in Phoenix Town of Baxian County, Sichuan province in 1965, is an important poet, critic and translator in contemporary China. His pen name is Diablo, English name is Arthur ZHANG, and ancestral place is Nan’an of Chongqing City. He is a doctor of literature. He is the current president of the International Poetry Translation and Research Centre, executive editor of Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly (multilingual), editor-in-chief of the English edition of World Poetry Yearbook. He began to publish his literary and translation works since 1986. Some of his literary works have been translated into more than thirty foreign languages. He has published six poetry collections and two translation of poetry. He now lives in Chongqing city.
. Tang Cheng Mao (China)
THE CARELESS RAINS WASH AWAY THE COSMETICS
The thunder has been dismembering the sky from yesterday.
Some classical leaves are falling down.
Some luxurious expectations are fading away.
The simple yet profound rains, in a pose of humility, Rinse off worries and anxieties.
The raindrops beating on the body give a pain that goes deep into the marrow.
The pain with depth is called happiness.
The clouds descend again,
Letting us have happiness and sorrows again.
The careless rains wash away the cosmetics.
Life becomes tragic, heroic and boundless.
The rains walking on the tiles
Are rendering the stories under the tiles into romances.
Standing under the tiles, you put life in a lower position.
What's concerned about vanity cannot be soaked by rains.
Certain things cannot avoid the rains,
Such as love and status.
Before the rains,
Standing is another fate of man.
And that handkerchief with floral prints—
So long as it slightly wipes the moist spot of your life, Your life will be much, much cleaner.
Bio: Tang Chengmao, national First-class Writer, member of the Chinese Writers Association, vice president of International Chinese Poetry Association, trustee of The Poetry Institute of China, chief editor of literary magazines, visiting professor at Sichuan University of Media and Communication. Tang was also the executive director of the fourth Chinese Haizi Poetry Award committee, general producer of the second Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala, vice director of the third Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala committee, executive director of the first Ten Best Contemporary Chinese Poets assessment committee. Tang has published literary works of several million words in domestic and foreign newspapers and periodicals such as October, Chinese Writers, Literature, Shi Kan. Several of his works have been serialized in newspapers and periodicals. Tang also received Spain's International Poet Laureate Award and the Chinese New Poetry Centenary Hundred Best Poets Award.
Hu Jin Quan (China)
Hypnotized by the moon.
I close my eyes and rotate with the rotation of the earth, Till the sun rises.
Day after day, and year after year.
I am half asleep and half awake,
Round and round the sun.
The other side is the other side.
The number of tickets to the other shore is very limited.
"Sold out," said a voice from the ticket hall It made the people in line very disappointed.
Suddenly, they realized that the man was boarding the plane.
In line, the man had been first.
I am meditating on the other side,
And hovering on the edge of consciousness.
Bio: Hu Jinquan, national first-class artist, president of Hong Kong International Art Association,
Vice President of the Council of the Chinese Painting and Calligraphy Association, Consultant of the Chinese Cultural Information Association of the Chinese Ministry of Culture, and Vice President of the Hong Kong Federation of Literary and Art Circles.
Ge Xiaoqiang (China)
WHITE DEW ON AUTUMN WIND
From This Day, Only Wild Chrysanthemums I Can Survey
From This Day, Only One Person I Can Miss
As Awakening, Still I Can Recognize
The Thirteenth Solitude Unexpectedly Appeared On The Plain
The White Dew Rode The Sheep To The Setting Sun
Then Rode The Setting Sun to Midnight
I Used to Call Her Tear
To See Her Haste Gesture
For the Moon In the Sky
As if From This Day,All Flora in Men's World
Can Burn in the Dark On Their Own
Can Live till Dawn on Memories On Their Own
Bio: Ge Xiaoqiang, borned in 1973 in Tongyu, Jilin, China. Published collection of poems "To The Lake, Or Astrology Book" ,Collections of essays "Dream Liu Zhai " , "Snow Window" , "Turn Around In The Dark". Collection of poems won The Jilin Changbai Mountain Literature Award.
THE SOUTHERN HILL
My southern hill is to the south of any hills
With green trees and flowers everywhere
There are a farm, a hut and a river
At the foot of it, there must be a little boat for travelling
My southern hill cannot be leaved the world far away
There must be in reality and can grow vegetables
Can cook used fire. And in leisure time, no matter picking asters
Or lotus or wild flowers, I think they are all right
Because each flower has her beautiful side
Of course, I hope one day the little boat could be able to carry
Back the man who leaves us about one thousand years
So that I can have a big drink with him
And go to the future with him
Bio: Zhang Qiandong, was born in 1981 in Wushan, Chongqing. Member of Chongqing Writers Association, member of Chinese Poetry Society. His works have been selected in some anthology and won some awards. Published six collections of poems and essays. Editor-in-chief of "Yangtze River Poetry".
Lettre d'un soldat
Sur un sol nauséabond
Je t'écris ces quelques mots
Je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas
Il me tarde, le repos.
Le soleil toujours se lève
Mais jamais je ne le vois
Le noir habite mes rêves
Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...
Les étoiles ne brillent plus
Elles ont filé au coin d'une rue,
Le vent qui était mon ami
Aujourd'hui, je le maudis.
Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...
Le sang coule sur ma joue
Une larme de nous
Il fait si froid sur ce sol
Je suis seul, je décolle.
Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...
Mes paupières se font lourdes
Le marchand de sable va passer
Et mes oreilles sont sourdes
Je tire un trait sur le passé.
Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...
Sur un sol nauséabond
J'ai écrit ces quelques mots
Je sais qu'ils te parviendront
Sandrine DAVIN est née le 15/12/1975 à Grenoble (FRANCE) où elle réside toujours.
Elle est auteure de poésie contemporaine inspirée des tankas, elle a édité 13 recueils de poésie dont le dernier s’intitule « Et pour quelques grains de terre » chez TheBookEdition.
Ses ouvrages sont étudiés par des classes de l’enseignement primaire et au collège où Sandrine intervient auprès de ces élèves. Elle a ce goût de faire partager la poésie au jeune public et de donner l’envie d’écrire.
Elle est également diplômée par la Société des Poètes Français pour son poème « Lettre d'un soldat ».
Sandrine Davin est une répresentante du Mouvement IMMAGINE & POESIA pour la France.
In the alleys of your cell phone,
there is a universe of pleasant flowers,
blooming the ecstasy through the pictures.
Still the juxtaposition of joys & fears,
portrays a door holds the mystery,
terrifying yet appeasing
& demonic yet angelic.
Your fixed stares & lost mind,
easily depict how it has possessed your soul!
Grips full of frailty & robust,
eyes full of rage & gloom,
flame the drops of rain & drains the summer too.
Destroyed you, still love dwelling in abyss
as majestic drugs of the hidden world grasps you,
& the blank wounds comfort you later the most.
You hate & love equally, every part of this possession.
Soothing & horrifying gazes you are punctured with,
leave an impact of loving the darkness & poisons!
Blind eyes easily bear the trap of devil’s bond,
Shameless tunes yet feels truth,
stinky taboo yet righteous;
You mention the story of the pictures as holy as god
& flawlessly breed the love of sin in the soil of your heart.
(The poem expresses the gulity pleasure of being addicted towards social medias and using mobile phone. )
Suchismita Ghoshal is basically from India. She has an impeccable co-authorship in more than 520 anthologies, journals, magazines, news portals, websites, webzines and other online portals globally. By establishing herself as a poet of international repute, she currently is pursuing her MBA from GD Goenka University.
The First Robin
There was a robin in the garden
the first of the season
the loquat is in blossom
Sprouts of unknown origin
pink strips across the heavens
grapes become raisins
the return of storks and pelicans
and two black blackbirds
squabble in the vegetation
Autumn in the Mediterranean
© 11.2020 Helen Bar-Lev
Helen Bar-Lev was born in New York in 1942. She holds a B.A. in Anthropology, has lived in Israel for 46 years and has had over 90 exhibitions of her landscape paintings, 34 of which were one-woman shows. Her poems and artwork have appeared in numerous online and print anthologies. Six poetry collections, all illustrated by Helen. She is the Amy Kitchener senior poet laureate. Helen was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2013 and is the recipient of the Homer European Medal for Poetry and Art. Helen is Assistant to the President of Voices Israel. She lives in Metulla, Israel. www.helenbarlev.com
I SLEEP TO DREAM OF THE SUN
“I have longed to move away
From the hissing of the spent lie”
I sleep to move away
from the world of lies and wars -
the world of indifferent thoughts,
politics, and biological warfare.
I sleep to move away
from snake lairs and nightmares.
I sleep to dream of a happy day.
I sleep to dream of the sun, sea,
shore, and tranquility in the air.
The sun is in the middle of the sky,
the waves are caressing the shore,
and the sea is smooth and calm.
My father is placing me
on a big black rubber tube,
and I am moving up and down
with the gentle rhythm of the waves.
What a memorable and happy day,
if only it were possible
to make happiness, like sadness,
permanent by repetition.
What a day that I thought
had no intention of coming to an end.
However, it did, and I woke up
into endless nightmares.
Sepideh Zamani (born in 1973 in Iran) graduated from law school in 1999 before moving to the United States. Her work focuses on immigration, and the lives of ethnic and religious minorities under cultural cleansing.
If I were a tree
If I were a tree, I would pluck my fruits
As soon as they would be ripe
And I would distribute them to those who
Roam the streets aimlessly,
Trying to find something to fill up
The growling stomachs of their children!
If I were a tree, I would scan the horizon,
To try to see who needs some relief
In the guise of my shade
And I would uproot myself, walk over
To them and bring them some comfort,
While they would head towards their destinations,
And I would even accompany them with
Some of my stories or even some of my songs
As they have been stored in my memory since eons!
If I were a tree, I would make myself more useful
Than I already am to humans,
As maybe, then, they would let me live and
Would think ten times before
Turning me into logs, or paper, to benefit only a few!
Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Educator in Mauritius. She writes poetry and short stories as hobby. She considers writing to be the meaning of her life and wishes to be immortalised through her words. She has received both national and international awards for her literary contributions.
You enrobe the world
in a golden blanket – all seamless.
Warm, joyous and frank
you penetrate the soul
of each and everyone
stripping all eerie egos
shredding all vile vanities
Your obedient disciples – the sunflowers
guide me to you
and daily, above the motionless mountain
soft songs whisper to me:
“ Thunder will strike its dominant weapons
Rain will flood endless shrieks
Winds will shake creation to the core
but I shall come back
I’ll shine my love for eternity
and so will you –
all selfless , unadulterated
Vatsala Radhakeesoon was born in Mauritius in 1977. She is a poet/writer and artist. Her deep connection to God, Nature and inner blissful solitude has a great impact on her poetry. She currently works as a literary translator and is also an interview editor of Asian Signature journal.
Lo que amo
Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye:
los pequeños guiños
los antiguos nombres de dulces labios
los tropeles de infancia
los besos, los murmullos, los te odio
y el deseo
la persistencia del deseo
Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye:
No deja gota
partícula de partícula de átomo
Es tanta la miseria de lo triste
Carajo. Tanta miseria
Aún con ello
no odio al tiempo
Es lo natural:
las flores de los días se marchitan
se vive, se respira, se olvida
Luego se muere
No hay rencores:
Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye.
Ciò che amo
di Ulises Paniagua (Messico)
Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge:
le piccole allusioni
gli antichi nomi delle dolci labbra
i guazzabugli dell’infanzia
i baci, i mormorii, i ti odio
e il desiderio
il persistere del desiderio
Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge:
Non lascia una goccia
particella di particella d’atomo
E’ grande la miseria delle cose tristi
al diavolo tanta miseria
Anche con loro
non odio il tempo
i fiori dei giorni marciscono
si vive, si respira, si dimentica
Poi si muore
Non ci sono rancori:
Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge.
Traduzione: Antonio Nazzaro (Centro Cultural Tina Modotti)
Ganador del Concurso de Cuento Gabriel García Márquez (2019). Entrevistado por Silvia Lemus en el programa “Tratos y retratos” (Canal 22, 2020). Incluido en la antología “Puente y Precipicio” (Rusia). Autor de dos novelas, siete libros de cuentos y cuatro poemarios. Divulgado en las revistas internacionales Círculo de poesía, Ígitur, Letralia, Nueva York Poetry y Altazor. Su obra ha sido traducida al inglés, ruso, griego, serbio y checo.
Traducción (Lidia Chiarelli, Italia)
Troppa luce nel mio petto
e un’altra alba si incammina.
Molto presto in quella dispersione
i miei occhi sono così simili al colore dell’orizzonte
che si adattano all’abisso, sì, all’oscurità,
e non si muore per tanto sognare, ma si respira!
Più lontano da quella linea orizzontale
un mondo mi separa e mi abbandona,
e qui, nulla attende, solo la morte.
C’è così tanta luce
che dalla speranza ho sentito dolore e angoscia.
Questa vita è la fonte di un’altra luce.
C’è così tanta chiarezza in me,
così tanta che sto annegando nel cielo e in Dio.
Sì! Là, dall’altra parte dello sguardo,
oltre questi occhi che mi inabissano,
il sole copre la mia anima con un altro corpo.
Fernando Salazar Torres: (Ciudad de México). Su poesía y ensayos se han publicado en distintas antologías, gacetas y revistas literarias impresas y electrónicas. Ha sido traducida al inglés, italiano, catalán, bengalí, serbio y ruso. Director de la revista literaria Taller Ígitur
© ALICIA MINJAREZ RAMÍREZ
como la lluvia,
después de asolar
la campiña desnuda.
Tu nombre debajo de las hojas
que vuelan con el viento,
al presentir el verso
su tesitura inútil
en un ayer adverso.
Sigo sin entender
las siete letras
Aún no oscurece…
y el lenguaje del sol,
ya no es el mismo.
© Alicia Minjarez Ramírez
Tradotto da: Maria Miraglia.
Sei andato via
Come la pioggia
Dopo aver distrutto
La nuda campagna.
Sotto le foglie
Che volano con il vento
Il tuo nome
Previsto il verso,
La sua inutile tessitura
Continuo a non capire
Le sette lettere
La tua assenza.
Non è ancora buio
E il linguaggio
ALICIA MINJAREZ RAMÍREZ
She is an Internationally renowned Mexican poetess and translator, recipient of multiple awards, among them: the EASAL Medal of the European Academy of Sciences and Letters, France 2018. Prize of Excellence World Poetry Championship, Romania 2019.
The Heart of P. O. E. T
In this humanity sake journey
I’ll be like Jean Piaget
when he starts seeing the world
through a child’s heart
or like Alexis Tocqueville
when he decides
to walk in this endless road
to reach American Democracy
or like Charles Wright Mills, who established the politics of
truth through the promise
to be honest and pure no matter how will be the cost,
and like Spinoza who takes the magic stare from the universe
to unchain a hidden truth
or like Friedrich Nietzsche
when he screamed loud: “ Zardach , god is dead!“
when he discovered the world is getting colder.
and I wished over all ends or start within philosophy’s heart may our world be embraced by
love song again.
Country: Morocco. Taza City.
He is a multi- awarded and International renowned poet, born in MIDELT, Morocco, on October 19th, 1994. His poems have been translated into a dozen languages : Spanish, French, Bulgarian, Chinese, Polish, Arabic, Romanian, Serbian, Italian and Taiwanese . His poems have been published in several International magazines, in more than 300 international anthologies and magazines .
Sue Zhu (New Zealand)
THE UNKNOWN END
In the name of the spirit of all Creation
Vast forest pastures, snow capped mountains and glaciers
Set on fire by scattered tinders
The flames can engulf the world, the flood can capsize boats
The encyclopedia of the Earth is loaded with all kinds of new records
Rivers are diverted, mountain tops are flattened, grasslands are gnawed, wetlands are drained
Once counted one by one
Yellow flowered begonias, Chilean sandalwood, St. Helena olive trees, Madeiran white butterflies
and black rhinos, honeycreepers, Mauritius anacondas, Pyrenean goats, and
California Totoaba macdonaldi , golden toads in the cloud forest
But now, they either become extinct or make their escape
Acid rain chases wind to grow flames and intensify the smoke
The situation is only worsened by mankind’s senseless exploitation of nature, cloning, and overpopulation
Without considering any probability of asteroid impact, the habitat, little by little
Is shrinking, broken, or even lost
For the advent of the " sixth mass extinction“ prophecy, who will pay the bill
"Every newly opened road will create a hopeless barrier to the genetic exchange of butterflies"
The felled trees， coupled with the harvest failure of bananas wipe out the red colobuses and small-mouthed lemurs
Greedy guns raised frequently
Our close relatives who have no escape from this misfortune
Gaia* is heartbroken now
On the day the curtain finally falls, are we
able to get them back?
Could we still find ourselves?
*Gaia: The goddess of the earth in ancient Greek mythology.
The sixth mass extinction : The scientific community believes that excessive human activities have accelerated the rate of extinction of species by 1,000 times compared to natural extinction, and the earth is entering a period of the sixth mass extinction.
Bio: Sue Zhu, she is a New Zealand Chinese poet, Artist, and organizer of international cultural exchanges. She is a director of the New Zealand Poetry and Art Association, honorary director of the US-China Culture and Art Center, the NZ representative of the Italy art literary movement "Immagine and Poesia", co-founder of All Souls Poetry NZ, a vice president of Montreal International Dragon-Boat Culture and Art Festival in Canada, President of New Zealand Branch of Hong Kong Youth Poetry Alliance, a member of the Chinese Poetry Society.
We came from fire when stars struck –
they say our gaze penetrated realms;
the wings on our backs spanned tribes –
magma of galaxies – our torsos glowing,
the earth below was meant to be gold,
our cords entwined in gilded spiralling.
They say heat generates from us – flare
in hearts that have tried breaking free –
we hold key and wand in illusion
of destiny; we lock time in mirrors.
There is alchemy in lanterns we burn;
the brim of the chalice is mouth of fire –
elemental like creation, incendiary like life,
invisible like air that fans dormant embers.
Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her works appear in a variety of literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses. Her poetry has been translated into Spanish, Greek, Arabic, Polish Italian, Albanian and Persian. More about her can be found at sheikha82.wordpress.com
Taking the Journey like
In the soaring majestic mountains of life
Black death lurking in hidden canyons, valleys, and plains.
Kept us on long holidays longer than expected,
Regretful, still, we stayed inside our cell.
You came to enshroud me during the twilight of this century
Every day in the sixth hour,
you appeared before me and asked, how's my best friend?
Verily said unto me," I want to see you bloom like the Alpine of the Alps."
There were moments my sparkless eyes would glisten,
and you made it twinkle like the million stars in the dark heaven
There were nights that babbling brooks trespassed from my tired eyes
while you whirled and cuddled me with your grins and jokes.
You've been there for me, so many miles away, and yet so near
as you waved the bunch of violets and tulips enliven every moment,
Moods changed as you sat beside me keeping one's eyes on our monitors,
while you nudged me to listen to your favorite songs.
How are you, my friend? It's now my turn to ring the bell,
Whether we celebrate these holidays in our season
Taking the journey like swallows and Avians,
Or, live for this moment and pray that God grants us a boon.
Eden Soriano Trinidad hails from the Philippines. She is the founder of UNITY WORLD PEACE POETS (UNWPP) and POETS OF BIRLAND. Her poems and translation works are published in the University of the Philippines (UP) Institute for Creative Writing Freelipiniana Online (FOL) Panitikan. ph.
Neka te prate spokoj i sreća,
Uvek milina, nikada tuga.
Nek' te silinom ljubavi moje
Za sva vremena zavoli druga.
U njenom svetlu, ti me prepoznaj,
Budi joj ljubavnik, prijatelj, brat.
Kao što sa mnom nikada nisi
S njom vodi ljubav, nikako rat.
Spoznaš li u njoj izvorske vode
Sa kojih samo anđeli piju,
Nemoj i njena slomiti krila
Kad oko tvoje duše se sviju.
Ne boj se da ćeš izgubiti sebe,
Slobodu, razum il' nešto treće,
Tvoja duša nek' stopi se s njenom
I stvorite nešto od oboje veće.
Predaj se čitavim bićem svojim,
Brižljivost, ljubav i nežnost ne štedi,
Shvatićeš, veruj, život kad prođe,
Ona je jedina koja vredi.
Amore a senso unico
Possa la pace e la felicità seguirti,
sempre gioia, mai dolore.
Spero che qualcun altro ti ami
con tutto il potere del mio amore.
Se mi riconosci nella sua luce,
sii il suo amante, amico, fratello.
Come se non fossi mai stato con me,
fai l'amore con lei, non la guerra.
Se incontri acque sorgive dentro di lei
da cui bevono solo gli angeli,
non rompere le sue ali
quando ti abbracciano.
Non aver paura di perderti:
libertà, buon senso o qualcos'altro,
lascia che la tua anima si fonda con la sua
e insieme creerai qualcosa di più grande di entrambi.
Arrenditi con tutto il tuo essere,
cura, amore e tenerezza non risparmiano.
Capirai, credimi, quando la vita finirà,
e tutto ciò che vale.
Anita Pešić was born in Serbia in 1987. She is a teacher and honorable member of the “Association of the best teachers” in the former Yugoslavia. She has published four books and she is a versatile artist recognizable by unique toys she makes and competition she organizes for children.
Across the silence of the midnight sky
he heard her cries.
Across the stillness of the rolling plains
he heard her wails.
He had searched for centuries
He had searched through lifetimes
But still he could not find her.
Still he failed
again and again and again.
He was weak.
All strength had left his body.
Yet he crawled
like a babe upon his belly
till he reached the end of the earth.
Then the cries ceased
Then the wails vanished
Suddenly, with one urgent move
he plunged into the darkness
knowing she was waiting there.
Gloria Keh, 68, an artist who enjoys writing poetry, lives in Singapore.
She conducts art journaling and mandala workshops for charity.
Gloria likes combining her art with the written word.
LA MUJER ALETARGADA
Sin perlas, sin corales,
sin Mujer angelical…
No hay más una sonrisa en su rostro,
ni siquiera hay un boceto.
Están sus manos ocultas.
Están sus dedos quebrados.
Están sus piernas cansadas.
Sin amor, ni candor
en sus ojos cerrados.
Están sus labios sellados,
su voz silenciosa grita:
¡NO TENGO MIEDO!
Su voz temblorosa es muda…
¿Tú tampoco la escuchas?
María Calle Bajo
LA DONNA ADDORMENTATA
Senza perle, senza coralli
senza Donna angelicata.
Non c’è mai piú un sorriso nel suo viso,
non c’è nemmeno uno schizzo.
Le sue mani sono nascoste.
Le sue dita sono rotte.
Le sue gambe sono stanche.
Senza amore, nè candore
nei suoi occhi chiusi.
Le sue labbra sono sigillate,
la sua voce silenziosa é quella che grida:
IO NON HO PAURA!
La sua voce tremante è muta…
Non ascolti neanche lei?
María Calle Bajo
Poeta y profesora placentina enfocada en la enseñanza del español como lengua extranjera y hacia la investigación en el ámbito de la ciencia literaria.
Semillas es su primer libro publicado (Buenos Aires Poetry, 2020).
I am not here
I am not here
I am not listening to you
Some clamor had forgotten to end the call in my head
Opening my windows to the night's rusty tables,
To knives those still stuck in the necks of lovers,
Coffins the night composed on the tune of waiting,
Soldiers' shoes, which lost their owners,
Bags the vacuum has burdened,
Seas, which belch the prayers of the ones who died on their way to life,
Songs those mock the departed,
A sky that tightens the dawn's ear,
Houses, which changed their names,
Flags whose colors got throaty
And barricades whose sands ran away from the noise of their voices..
To awakening speeches
However, no one left to read,
So please; do not scratch my silence
I am not with you
Some tomb had forgotten the phone hanged on inside my head
Then turned the curtain down.
لا أنصت لكم
ثمة صخبٌ نسي السماعة مفتوحةً في رأسي
وأشرع نوافذي على موائد الليل الصدئة
على سكاكين عالقة في رقاب العاشقات
أكفان ألّفها الليل على مقام الانتظار
أحذية جنود فقدت أصحابها
حقائب أثقلها الفراغ
بحارٌ تتجشأ دعواتِ من ماتوا على نيّة الحياة
أغنيات تمدّ لسانها للراحلين
سماءٌ تمسكُ الفجرَ من أذنيه
منازل غيّرت أسماءها
رايات بحّت ألوانها
ومتاريس هربت رمالها من فحيح أصواتها
وما من أحدٍ تبقّى ليقرأها
لا تخدشوا ليلي
ثمّة قبرٌ نسيَ السماعة مفتوحةً في رأسي
Shurouk Hammoud is a Syrian poet and literary translator She has six published poetry collections and she has won many international poetry awards. Her poems were translated into 16 languages and published in paper and online magazines and poetry anthologies.
THE MOONSET ACCOMPANIED BY THE SKY FULL OF STARS
The glow of the sea by the sea red over the emerald green of the smoke in the mountains
Moonlight reflects the Yangtze River covering the autumn water
Cold galaxy tries to defend itself
About the remnant snow on shallow sand with white waves
The master laughed mockingly
Sword up in the sky
The east wind is still blowing freely to the end of the world
A few clumps of reeds
Several reflections of the flat boat
The frost fell heavily towards the orange grove let the red became more red
Under the peach Mountain, roads spiral and connect
I don't know where the flute sounds
The fisherman's song sounded deep
The dust and fog conceal the morning noise
The tower on the peak looks at the world with squinting eyes
Previous years, climbed alone to the highest level at the top of the lonely cloud
Aloof difficult to tame
Those stars are clearly standing beside me
Never tell me that
The real world in my hometown belongs only to gods
Prof. Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai is a professor of Asia University of Taiwan (Republic of China). His works have been published in more than fifty countries around the world and he is good at describing nature and the ethical relationship between people
HALF OF THE APPLE
If half of the apple is my heart
That, the other part is yours, I know
If your heart hurts by a stinging niddle
My heart starts bleeding, I know
My destiny had been preordinated many years ago
So, our hands were tied out together each other
Our wedding ceremony carried out high sky dome
My heart burns out by a possionate love
If you are rose and me a nightingale on our own barches
Buds will blossom out together in your vineyard of love
And esense would be ventiliated out from mountains of love
Our life spens doubled by lengthenning twice
As the heart of Kulözü tending to dive in a love
And to be a sun in his imagınatıon to shine
However, burning within my body like a flame
The Burning heart tends to flow into the love, I know
Elmanın yarısı benim gönlümse
Diğeri de senin gönlün bilirim
Yüreğine iğne batıp acısa
Benimkinden kanlar akar bilirim
Alın yazım yıllar önce yazılmış
Ellerimiz bir birine sarılmış
Nikahımız gök kubbede kıyılmış
Yüreğimi sevda yakar bilirim
Sen gül olsan bende bülbül dalında
Tomurcuklar patlar gönül bağında
Kokusunu yayan sevda dağında
Ömrümüze ömür katar bilirim
Kül'özünün gönlü aşka dalarken
Hayatımda güneş olup parlarken
İçerimi alev gibi yakarken
Yanan gönül aşka akar bilirim
Kemal Berk's Biography
Retired teacher, honorary columnist for a newspaper. He publishes poetry by combining poems from poets in his country, as well as poets from 25 countries around the world, for no charge. So far, he has published his 191st Poetry Publishing Week
A Trial before the 42 Judges of Osiris*
fragment in italics by ancient Egyptian unknown
you … saying …guilty
… they judge my Soul …
… for I have not obeyed …
for I have gone astray
… judge me those who hold the balance…
torn and incomplete
these opening lines
in hieratic papyrus
its origin uncertain
my heart on one plate
on the other, feather of truth –
in the Hall of Judgement,
remember: even trees fall!
* It was believed in Ancient Egypt that 42 judges in the presence of Osiris, God of the Afterlife, decided if on balance the deceased deserved passage to eternal life.
When Neal Whitman and his wife, Elaine, lived in Chicago, they were docents at the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute Museum, where they learned an appreciation for the legacy of Ancient Egypt. Today they live In Pacific Grove, California, where in retirement from a career in teaching, Neal took up a second profession: the writing of poetry.