Poetry Life & Times

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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I Think My Cat Pi Chi. Poem. Excerpt from Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems by Robin Ouzman Hislop

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http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm


i think my cat pi chi is dying he's very neurotic not his usual self  
anymore     weak   scruffy   following me closely   look at his  
eyes      he knows    when a cat dies     nobody takes him 
out       it's always been hard   seeing death around
so   tell me it gets worse   we're gonna sit it out
because   you choose me   purr a bit   stack it
it's catastrophic    my little wild sniffer
would you like to sky rocket
into the abyss of death with me
float in outer space amidst the dead stars
knowing   there were forever galaxies beyond 
reach    beyond this miniscule bubble we call life
there  where  there's only the wilderness of the dead
shall we blow   as some stray bacteria on a magnet comet
to implode   as if on a planet's barren plain   to rise to flourish
again in the frenzy of the stadium where they buy & sell the moment
where Samson pulls down the walls   where Goliath topples and cities turn 
to salt    gladiatorial epic scenarios    lunacy of the bloodbath    the aftermath
a scared dancer in clown's mascara    darts to & fro   disappears lost    we sit 
in the audience    sweat our fate betrayed    the mockery of doom    i cross 
the bridge    but not the sea    walk down the avenue     under the screen 
where   highways stagger their junk   where the last card played is fake 
&  the 2nd coming's a dystopian banality groping a theme to go soap 
then the music   children from the valley of the blind   craving the 
nourishment of adulation   when you get your eyes cleaned out    
there's no call of the wild    only a wild call    the naked gaze

 

 
 
 
 
 
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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Anagrammed Variations of the American Dream. Poem by Yuan Changming

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A ram cairned me
In a crammed era [where]
Cameramen raid
 
A dire cameraman [or]
Arid cameramen
 
[Becoming]
 
A creamed airman [or]
A carmine dream
A minced ram ear
[a] maniac rearmed
 
As freedom turns into a dorm fee
Democracy to a car comedy, and
Human rights to harming huts
 

[First published in Kartika Review.]
 

 
Yuan Changming published monographs on translation before leaving his native country. Currently, Yuan edits poetrypacific.blogspot.ca with Allen Qing Yuan in Vancouver. Credits include ten Pushcart nominations, eight chapbooks & publications in Best of the Best Canadian Poetry (2008-17) & BestNewPoemsOnline, among others.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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Out of Reach. A Poem by Holly Day

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the hand comes down
and pushes me down
and reminds me
that the wings that keep
trying to break through my skin
are not
to be trusted, that wings
are not for me. I let the hand
 
tear out
 
the feathers, the sinew
the brave new appendages
that would allow me to fly away
let the hand carefully bind
my broken skin
my bloodied back
in bandages that keep
new feathers from sprouting,
new wings from unfurling
 
overnight.
 
 

 
 
Short bio: Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and The Tampa Review. Her newest poetry collections are In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), Folios of Dried Flowers and Pressed Birds (Cyberwit.net), Where We Went Wrong (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), and Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), while her newest nonfiction books are Music Theory for Dummies and Tattoo FAQ.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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War. A Poem by Ken Allan Dronsfield

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The Hell where our youth

and laughter were taken away.

 Leaving us the monsters that

 don’t just sleep under your bed;

 now they’re hiding in your head.

 
 
 

 
 
 
Biography:
 
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a 65 year old disabled veteran, prize winning poet and author from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. A proud member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire, he has three poetry collections to date; ‘The Cellaring’, ‘A Taint of Pity’, and, ‘Zephyr’s Whisper’. Ken does not have an MFA or Creative Writing classes BUT, he once road his dirt bike on woodland trails from southern New Hampshire into Canada. He’s been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize and six times for the Best of the Net, 2016-2018. Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his family and cats Willa and Yumpy.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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A Mantis’s Prayer A Poem by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

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A Mantis’s Prayer
 
In a devout moment
he beseeches Allah
that he not lose his head
over this new woman
 
Yet he knows
he could easily be damned
She’s bigger than him
and stronger
 
He knows the life worth living
that his brain controls inhibition
while a ganglion in his abdomen
controls the motions of copulation
 
Absent his head
he will lose self-consciousness and
consummate his relationship with wild abandon
No more Fuck me! Harder! Fuck me rigid!
None of that will be necessary if she eats his head
 
But Allah has heard his prayer
and has fed his new mate smaller
less significant insects before their
liaison
so she leaves him his head
 
He fucks her royally
and feels satisfied
 
She is also fulfilled
and feels warm glimmers of compassion
 
She snuggles up against him
and they doze together
in the high green grass
that so completely matches their bodies
 
Then, not tempting fate
he slowly and quietly disengages himself
and hurries off
into the vast corn field
 
 

 
 
Work by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois appears in magazines worldwide. Nominated for numerous prizes, he was awarded the 2017 Booranga Centre (Australia) Fiction Prize. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and as a print edition. His poetry collection, THE ARREST OF MR. KISSY FACE, published in March 2019 by Pski’s Porch Publications, is available here. Visit his website  to read more of his poetry and flash fiction.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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Poems by Enrique Darriba translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide

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(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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Research on the notion of freedom by Alex Z. Salinas

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On a summer morning,
I waited outside a county prison
to conduct research on the notion of freedom.
A short, bald man exited
the building, I assumed, a free man.
Turned out he was free indeed because I asked him.
“Sir,” I said, “were you just released?”
“Yeah,” answered the little man, “and who the hell wants to know?”
“Nobody,” I said, “just some guy who wants to know what it’s like
to be free.”
He chuckled, then scratched his stubbled chin.
“Is somebody picking you up?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Wherever you go then,” I said, “won’t your legs tire out?
You aren’t used to walking long distance.”
The man looked at me with raccoon eyes, smiled,
then scratched his stubbled chin.
“You know how I got in there, boy?” he said. “With these legs here.
They never failed me ‘cept the once, and once is all they ever
gonna fail me.”
 
“But where will you go? Where will you stay?”
He squinted.
“Don’t worry about my legs, boy,” he said,
“or where I’m gonna take ‘em.
Instead, worry ‘bout this here mouth,
‘bout the words I’m gonna say, and how I’m gonna say ‘em
to people like you.”
 
II.
 
When the man approached a fork in the road half a mile down from the prison,
he turned left.
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to scratch his stubbled chin,
he turned left.
He turned as if he’d turned that direction a hundred times.
 
III.
 
Upon release,
some men turn left,
while the rest go the other way.
 
 

 
 
Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. He is the author of WARBLES, his debut full-length poetry collection by Hekate Publishing. He serves as poetry editor for the San Antonio Review and holds an M.A. in English Literature and Language from St. Mary’s University.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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