Damn you all. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

wild cooing of doves in distant branches
beyond the curtain drawn window
 in the darkened room
where he sits on the edge of the bed
frail & thin gently nodding to & fro
thinking progress be damned

nation states wear hoods
ghost riders in the sky stampede
the plains & piss in the oceans
the salmon from the rivers have gone
in what seas will they now spawn
& he is down by the riverside

down by the riverside	            where
he casts his line into its waters
waiting for it to tauten     the sudden
tug     the thrill electric of connection
the flick     the jerk      as a wriggling
sparkling life           glints in the light
sails through space to land at his feet

the poetic stance
oh not at all	damn you all

 
 
 
Bio: Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com More of his personal work can also be viewed at https://poetrylifeandtimes.com video & audio poems, translations etc.,

Drunk I am today. A Poem by -Bhuwan Thapaliya

 

Drunk I am today,
O’ you little tender world.
With the book of life open before me,
thwarted, blank, I sit here before you all.
Immersed in myself, I am in the Tundikhel,
floating between medieval and modern times.
 
 
A peanut seller came with a basket of peanuts
and sat beside me. He gave me, a handful of peanuts
in a colorful piece of paper. I tossed the peanuts
into the air, and started reading the paper instead.
The peanut seller smiled and waved me goodbye,
saying, “You are drunk, very drunk today, my friend!
 
 
“In remote western Nepal,
people heard the Beatles
on battery-powered tape decks
before they saw electric lights,
and helicopters fluttered
into their lives
long before the first trucks got there,”
these sentences rose from their slumber
and stirred my heart.
 
 
“The first airplane landed in Nepal in 1949
but it was seven years later before
the first highway connected Kathmandu
to the outside world.
Within a year of that first landing,
the Rana autocracy was overthrown
with the aid of an airplane.”
These sentences came out
from the paper, and grappled my throat.
 
 
I stood up
but the gravity
of the revelation pulled me down.
I was now drunk, dead drunk
with a million pegs worth of thoughts.
 
 
I sat on the grass for a while,
thinking about old Nepal
and my grandfather’s life then.
Then I shifted my thoughts
over to the New Nepal
we claim to be building now.
 
 
Where are the roots of the new Nepal
we claim to be building?
Where are the roots?
 
With a million thoughts
in my head,
I headed to my home
dusting the bare bodies
of the erotic sculptures
on the multi-tiered pagodas
of hope.
 
 
Yes, drunk I am today.
Today I am drunk.
With the book of life open before me,
thwarted, blank, I sit here before you all.

 
 
 

 
Nepalese poet, Bhuwan Thapaliya works as an economist, and is the author of four poetry collections and currently he is working on his fresh poetry collection, The Marching Millions. Thapaliya’s books include, Safa Tempo: Poems New and Selected (Nirala Publication, New Delhi), Our Nepal, Our Pride , Verses from the Himalayas and Rhythm of the Heart. (Cyberwit.net)Poetry by Thapaliya has been included in The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry, The Strand Book of International Poets 2010, and Tonight: An Anthology of World Love Poetry, as well as in literary journals such as Urhalpool, MahMag, Kritya, FOLLY, The Vallance Review, Nuvein Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetry Life and Times, Poets Against the War, Voices in Wartime, Taj Mahal Review, VOICES (Education Project), Longfellow Literary Project, Countercurrents etc.
 
Author
Safa Tempo: Poems New and Selected
https://www.amazon.com/Safa-Tempo-Poems-New-Selected-Bhuwan-Thapaliya
 
Our Nepal, Our Pride
https://www.amazon.com/Our-Nepal-Pride-Bhuwan-Thapaliya
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, 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)

Route Signs. Poems by Javier Gil Martin. Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arrospíde & Robin Ouzman Hislop

i.
 

First Territory

      child eats crying
      child cries eating
      in animal concert

      Blanca Varela

Lips that you have not used to kiss
little feet you haven’t walked on yet
eyes which see just a foot from your face
hands you still don’t know are yours
only
crying, hunger and sleep
and some furtive smile
but now comes life
beautiful Guille,
and kisses will come and your steps
and your eyes will see to the end of the horizon
you will know your hands, and how to handle them
but don’t forget, my child,
that crying, hunger, sleep
were your first territory.
 
i.
 
Primer Territorio

      niño come llorando
      llora comiendo niño
      en animal concierto

      Blanca Varela

Labios que no has usado para besar,
pequeños pies con los que no has caminado todavía,
ojos con los que ves a solo un palmo de tu rostro,
manos que aún no sabes que son tuyas;
apenas solo
llanto, y hambre, y sueño,
y alguna sonrisa furtiva;
pero ahora llega la vida,
hermoso Guille,
y los besos vendrán, y tus pasos,
y esos ojos verán al final del horizonte,
y sabrás de tus manos, y sabrás manejarlas,
pero no olvides, mi niño,
que llanto, hambre y sueño
fueron tu primer territorio.
 
ii.
 
[Scars will come, my son…]
 
Scars will come, my son
and they will mark your body
but do not let them scare you because they will be 
your private dialogue with the world
a way to know you are alive 
full of past and full of present.
 
ii.
 
[Sobrevendrán cicatrices, hijo…]
 
Sobrevendrán cicatrices, hijo,  
y marcarán tu cuerpo,   
pero que no te asusten pues serán   
tu diálogo privado con el mundo,  
una forma de saberte vivo   
colmado de pasado y de presente.
 
iii.
 
[The many things you discover every day…]
 
The many things you discover every day. 
How to lean out with your clean eyes 
to this world full of sorrows, 
how to lean out and not soil everything 
with prejudices, fixations and miseries,
how will we do it without you telling us 
which path to take, which way, 
without us telling you
“This way yes, this way no, eat slowly, 
try not to stain your vest,
shut the door, brush your teeth…”. 
 
iii.
 
[Cuántas cosas descubres cada día…] 
 
Cuántas cosas descubres cada día. 
Cómo asomarnos con tus ojos limpios 
a este mundo cargado de pesares, 
cómo asomarse y no ensuciarlo todo 
de prejuicios, esquemas y miserias, 
cómo lo haremos sin que tú nos digas 
qué vereda tomar, por qué camino, 
y no nosotros los que te digamos: 
“Por aquí sí, por aquí no, come despacio, 
intenta no ensuciar tu camiseta, 
cierra la puerta, lávate los dientes…”. 
 
iv.
 
Not before
 
Wake up when
the light lets you
look at your toys
 
iv.
 
No antes
 
Despierta cuando
la luz ya te permita
ver tus juguetes.
 
v.
 
[In addition to paying our pensions…]
 
In addition to paying our pensions,
it is expected of you, children,
(at least by poets)
a word that illuminates the world.
Like innocent little prophets
you sleep peacefully
you don’t know yet
our secret assignment.
 
v.
 
[Además de pagar nuestras pensiones…]
 
Además de pagar nuestras pensiones,
de vosotros se espera, hijos,
(al menos los poetas),
una palabra que ilumine el mundo.
Como pequeños profetas inocentes,
dormís tranquilos,
no conocéis aún
nuestra secreta encomienda.
 
vi.
 
[How I wish my errors were of value to you…]
 
How I wish my errors were of value to you
a sort of hereditary apprenticeship
—I´ve a whole string of these to give you—
but only your own errors
with their taste of blood between the lips
will be of some use to you, if at all;
most will be
irreparable and useless, like
a toy forgotten in an attic.
 
vi.
 
[Ojalá mis errores os valieran…]
 
Ojalá mis errores os valieran
como un aprendizaje hereditario
—de eso tengo una ristra para daros—,
pero solo vuestros errores,
con su sabor a sangre entre los labios,
os servirán de algo, si es que os sirven;
la mayoría serán
irreparables e inútiles como
un juguete olvidado en un desván.
 
 
 

 
 
BIOGRAPHY
 
Javier Gil Martin (Madrid, 1981). With a degree in Spanish Philology from the UAM, he is professionally dedicated to subtitling and literary proofreading and passionately to reading and editing, mainly poetry. He has coordinated, together with good friends, several literary collections. In 2020 he founded the publishing project “Cartonera del escorpión azul” and since 2006 he coordinates the “Versos para el adiós” section of Adiós Cultural magazine. As an author, he has published Poemas de la bancarrota (Ediciones del 4 de agosto, Logroño, 2015), Poemas de la bancarrota y otros poemas (Espacio Hudson, Argentina, 2018), Museo de la intemperie (Ejemplar Único, Alzira, 2020) y Museo de la intemperie [II] (Cartonera Island, Tenerife, 2022). His “Route Signs” is a section of the latter.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit
Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com
See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)