The Wife of Pain.Poem.Sonnet.Becca Menon

by

 

***

I’ve learned deceptiveness since he moved in:

How to distract him from a brutal rage or try

To trick his jealous need for all of my

Attention — yet defend him when I grin

Contentedly for loved-ones who suspect

 His secret violence; to take the blame

 For something that I’ve done or some neglect

 That sets him off, and hide the sticky shame

 I feel for letting him destroy my life.

 And while it never stops confounding me

 To realize that it’s true I am his wife,

 There’s one thing that I face with honesty:

 Because it was by illness we were wed,

 This demon, Pain, will always share my bed.

 ***

Becca Menon (1958― ) of New York City writes formal, often narrative poetry that makes use of both received and nonce forms. Her verse novel A Girl and Her Gods (2008) led poet Katha Pollitt to declare “No poet I know of writes anything like this ― Becca dances to a tune of her own Panpipes, and the reader follows, entranced,” while Herb Leibowitz, Editor of Parnassus, wrote that her “language is supple and nuanced {and} her sleight-of-hand as a story-teller keeps the reader from worry about what technical devices she uses;…” Poet Mark Rudman, editor of Pequod, noted that her poetry is “playful, philosophical, and subversive.” Also a translator and prize-winning author of nonsense, Becca has works appearing in numerous print and on-line journals, both nationally and internationally. To learn more, please visit BeccaBooks.com

***

This sonnet is pre-published with the permission of the Editor-in-chief from:

 Richard Vallance, editor-in-chief. The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire. Friesen Presse, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © 2013. approx. 240 pp. ISBN Hardcover: 978-1-4602-1700-9 Price: $28.00 Paperback: 978-1-4602-1701-6 Price: $18.00 e-Book: 978-1-4602-1702-3 Price: TBA

300 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian.

30 sonnets in this anthology are to be pre-published by our permission in Poetry Life & Times (UK) which has exclusive sole rights prior to the publication of the anthology itself. 



 Readers may also contact Richard Vallance, Editor-in-Chief, at: vallance22@gmx.com for further information. 


http://vallance22.hpage.com/


 


 


 


 


 


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Coming to Terms. Sonnet. Poem. Catherine Chandler
		

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***


I set aside my white smocked cotton blouse,


 my pants with the elastic belly panel.


The only music in the empty house


strains from a distant country western channel.


My breasts are weeping. I’ve been given leave –


a week in which to heal and convalesce.


I peel away the ceiling stars; unweave


the year I’d entered on your christening dress.


 I rearrange my premises – perverse


assumptions! – gather unripe figs; throw out


 the bloodied bedclothes; scour the universe


 in search of you. And God. And go about


 my business as my crooked smile displays


 the artful look of ordinary days.


 


***


Catherine Chandler


Catherine Chandler (1950 ― ), an American-born Canadian poet, teacher and translator and graduate of McGill University, is winner of the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award 2010, and nominee for six Pushcart Prizes, the Griffin Poetry Prize and the 2013 Poets’ Prize. She is the author of five books of poetry, the latest, Glad and Sorry Seasons, forthcoming from Biblioasis Press. Her poems, translations, essays, reviews, interviews and podcasts have been widely published in print and online books, journals and anthologies, including The Alabama Literary Review, Orbis, Quadrant, Iambs and Trochees, Measure, Able Muse, Raintown Review, Sonnetto Poesia and The Centrifugal Eye. Catherine writes sonnets because it is her way of trying, as she writes in her sonnet “Sonnet Love”, “to modulate unmanageable grief”. Her website, The Wonderful Boat, welcomes visitors at cathychandler.blogspot.com


“Coming to Terms” by Catherine Chandler, is the winner of the 2010 Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award. It now appears in The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire. 


Some 300 sonnets and ghazals in English, French, Spanish,German and Farsi―publish at Friesen Press. Canada 2014. ISBN: Hard-cover: 978-1-4602-1700-9 Paperback: 978-1-4602-1701-6 eBook: 978-1-4602-1702-3. Available at Amazon & Barnes & Noble




 We urge readers of these sonnets in Poetry Life & Times  from The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes = Le Phénix renaissant deses cendes to visit the site http://vallance22.hpage.com/


 Readers may also contact Richard Vallance, Editor-in-Chief, at: vallance22@gmx.com for further information.


 


 


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The Glue That Holds Us to the Canvas. A Poem by Jim Dunlap.
		

			 by  		

					

			
			

				
moi(1)


                                                     Jim Dunlap Author




***


Like sparks trailing  


 from a million, billion fireflies,


 a single thought  


 limns a trillion suns.


 


 From the first small bonfire


 flickering across four million years,


 whose light imprints itself  


 upon the canvas backdrop


 of a feckless, barely cohesive Infinity,


 the matter of man, no more than


 the past, transmogrifies the future —


 denies the import of “real” or “black”


 or any other type of matter.


 


 Yet existing, it defines the local locus


 Of now and when and how and then.


 


 The freezing cold of space  


 burns like energy  


 backfiring on itself.


 Somewhere,  


 celestial lightshows


 flare across parsecs  


 of near emptiness.


 


 Liquid oxygen fuels  


 the laboring lungs


 of multitudes,  


 singing out the music of the spheres,


 maestros of a trillion symphonies,


 platelets in the lifeblood of the Universe.


 


 Like a Coriolis wave that imprints itself


 upon a formless sandstorm,


 a thought burns itself  


 into the very fabric


 of Eternity,  


 opens like  


 a budding flower,


 and initiates  


 its own realities.


 


*** 

Jim Dunlap’s poetry has been published extensively in print and online in the United States, England, France, India, Australia, Switzerland and New Zealand. His work has appeared in over 90 publications, including Potpourri, Candelabrum, Mobius, Poems Niedernasse, and the Paris/Atlantic. He was the co-editor of Sonnetto Poesia and is currently a Content Admin for Poetry Life & Times. www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes  He is also the chief proofreader for the On Viewless Wings Anthologies, published out of Queensland, Australia. In the past, he was a resident poet on Poetry Life & Times and the newsletter editor for seven years with the Des Moines Area Writers’ Network.



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Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (38-42) Poem. Christopher Barnes
		

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Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (38)


 


One frame inheriting another…


Blood on marble and white roses.


Stand-alone vampire crystallizes into a statue.


The nearest pall-bearer sucks air. Crushed urn.


 


 Froth overruns chapelry pews


Through a hinge-wrecked door –


 An ephemeral embodiment.


 


Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (39)


 


 Take No. 7


 In rubescent lamé pyjamas.


 Sabrina Roper’s is a skin-deep part,


 Moulding exposed nerves


 In the screening room.  


 A moon-buffed kiss on hand.


 His Satanic Majesty simpers.


Runaway violin a bedlamite tango…


Chimps neighing over the sobs of men…


 


Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (40)


 


 The picture palace reviews


 May get off-the-beam


 About the overacting.


 Hold the focus,


 Instantaneous sunrise behind a shot –


 Costumes: the fantasia keeps time


 With a hue and cry.


 The limelit alehouse at dead of night.


 Our Stunt Co-ordinater isn’t exasperated


 By bee swarms in gusts,


 Nor the beg-hard grimace


 On Manola Dean’s hauled up face.


 


 Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (41)


 


 Fuzz on Bevan’s palms


 Flaunted as the transom’s pegged.


 Simon, the Boom Operator, tips to the left.


 Cut to…billboard puffing the movie show ‘Nosferatu’.


 


 Camera 6 whirls to Sabrina Roper


 In the ruck of a bee-keepers net.


 A schnauzer piddles in floorboards.


 


 The relinquished rocking chair teeters


 Indicating tea, sandwiches


 And a twist-ragged Script Conference.


 


Filming ‘Blood Shot Silk’ – Deleted Scene (42)


 


 Smoke machine on a brae…


 A hog spews on moss.


 Effervescence in dirty sky.


 Disfigured colour sergeant gains time,


 Pulls out a smooth-bore.


 Snigger, incandescent flash.


 The dream is taking flesh.


 Drumroll on soundtrack – mental note.


 The regular steps of the fait accompli


 May be fair-weather, deleted.


 


 


 Christopher Barnes, UK. Some bio details…


 


In 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award.  In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology ‘Titles Are Bitches’.  Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle’s famous Morden Tower doing a reading of my poems.  Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay writing festival and I partake in workshops.  2005 saw the publication of my collection LOVEBITES published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh.


On Saturday 16Th August 2003 I read at the Edinburgh Festival as a Per Verse poet at LGBT Centre, Broughton St.


 I also have a BBC web-page www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/gay.2004/05/section_28.shtml and http://www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/videonation/stories/gay_history.shtml (if first site does not work click on SECTION 28 on second site.


Christmas 2001 The Northern Cultural Skills Partnership sponsored me to be mentored by Andy Croft in conjunction with New Writing North.  I   made a radio programme for Web FM community radio about my writing group.  October-November 2005, I entered a poem/visual image into the art exhibition The Art Cafe Project, his piece Post-Mark was shown in Betty’s Newcastle.  This event was sponsored by Pride On The Tyne.  I made a digital film with artists Kate Sweeney and Julie Ballands at a film making workshop called Out Of The Picture which was shown at the festival party for Proudwords, it contains my poem The Old Heave-Ho.  I worked on a collaborative art and literature project called How Gay Are Your Genes, facilitated by Lisa Mathews (poet) which exhibited at The Hatton Gallery, Newcastle University, including a film piece by the artist Predrag Pajdic in which I read my poem On Brenkley St.  The event was funded by The Policy, Ethics and Life Sciences Research Institute, Bio-science Centre at Newcastle’s Centre for Life.  I was involved in the Five Arts Cities poetry postcard event which exhibited at The Seven Stories children’s literature building.  In May I had 2006 a solo art/poetry exhibition at The People’s Theatre why not take a look at their website http://ptag.org.uk/whats_on/gallery/recent_exhbitions.htm 


The South Bank Centre in London recorded my poem “The Holiday I Never Had”; I can be heard reading it on www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=18456 


REVIEWS: I have written poetry reviews for Poetry Scotland and Jacket Magazine and in August 2007 I made a film called ‘A Blank Screen, 60 seconds, 1 shot’ for Queerbeats Festival at The Star & Shadow Cinema Newcastle, reviewing a poem…see www.myspace.com/queerbeatsfestival  On September 4 2010, I read at the Callander Poetry Weekend hosted by Poetry Scotland.  I have also written Art Criticism for Peel and Combustus Magazines.


 


 


 


 


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Beyond Me and You.Video.Poem.Robin Marchesi
		

			 by  		

					

			

						
						
							
						
					

			

				
 


Beyond You and Me


Beyond You and Me

 

 

Me

 

Robin Marchesi, born in 1951, began writing in his teens, much to the consternation of his mother, 


the sister of Eric Hobsbawm, the historian.


In 1992 Cosmic Books published his first book entitled  “A B C Quest”. 


In 1996 March Hare Press published “Kyoto Garden” and in 1999 “My Heart is As…”


ClockTowerBooks published his Poetic Novella, “A Small Journal of Heroin Addiction”, digitally, in 2000. 


Charta Books published his latest work entitled “Poet of the Building Site”, about his time working with Barry Flanagan the Sculptor of Hares, in association with the Irish Museum of Modern Art. 


He is presently working on an upcoming novel entitled “A Story Made of Stone.”

editor@artvilla.com

robin@artvilla.com

 

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com






 http://www.amazon.com/A-Small-Journal-Heroin-Addiction/product-reviews/0743300521




http://www.illywords.com/2011/09/down-the-rabbit-hole-a-glimpse-into-the-wonderland-of-barry-flanagan/




editor@artvilla.com

robin@artvilla.com

 

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com




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Abandoned Church(Ballad of The Great War)Poem.Torre A. DeVito Translated from Iglesia Abandonada.Federico García Lorca
		

			 by  		

					

			
			

				


IGLESIA ABANDONADA

(BALADA DE LA GRAN GUERRA)


Yo tenía un hijo que se llamaba Juan.

 Yo tenía un hijo.

Se perdió por los arcos un viernes de todos los muertos.

Lo vi jugar en las últimas escaleras de la misa

y echaba un cubito de hojalata en el corazón del sacerdote.

He golpeado los ataúdes. ¡Mi hijo! ¡Mi hijo! ¡Mi hijo!

 Saqué una pata de gallina por detrás de la luna y luego

comprendí que mi niña era un pez

por donde se alejan las carretas.

Yo tenía una niña.

Yo tenía un pez muerto bajo la ceniza de los incensarios.

Yo tenía un mar. ¿De qué? ¡Dios mío! ¡Un mar!

 Subí a tocar las campanas, pero las frutas tenían gusanos

y las cerillas apagadas

se comían los trigos de la primavera.

Yo vi la transparente cigüeña de alcohol

mondar las negras cabezas de los soldados agonizantes

 y vi las cabañas de goma

donde giraban las copas llenas de lágrimas.

En las anémonas del ofertorio to encontraré, ¡corazón mío!,

cuando el sacerdote levante la mula y el buey con sus fuertes brazos

para espantar los sapos nocturnos que rondan los helados paisajes del cáliz.

 Yo tenía un hijo que era un gigante,

pero los muertos son más fuertes y saben devorar pedazos de cielo.

Si mi niño hubiera sido un oso,

yo no temería el siglo de los caimanes,

ni hubiese visto el mar amarrado a los árboles

 para ser fornicado y herido por el tropel de los regimientos.

¡Si mi niño hubiera sido un oso!

Me envolveré sobre esta lona dura para no sentir el frío de los musgos.

Sé muy bien que me darán una manga o la corbata;

 pero en el centro de la misa yo rompere el timón y entonces

vendrá a la piedra la locura de pingüinos y gaviotas

que harán decir a los que duermen y a los que cantan por las esquinas:

él tenía un hijo.

¡Un hijo! ¡Un hijo! ¡Un hijo

 que no era más que suyo. porque era su hijo!

¡Su hijo! ¡Su hijo! ¡Su híjo!


 ***


The Abandoned Church 

(A Ballad of The Great War) 


Translated and further interpreted by Torre DeVito 

from “IGLESIA ABANDONADA” by Federico García Lorca 


I had a son who was named John. 

I lost a son whom I look for in 

the ruins of the church one All-Hallows eve. 

I see him playing on the steps during a mass long since ended, 

Dipping his little tin pail into the well of the priest’s heart. 

 I beat the coffins for my son (My son!) and cast 

chicken bones during a full moon to try and understand 


I had a vision that my little child was a fish 

left where they move the vendor’s carts away. 

 I had a little child, a fish that died 

in the ashes of incense burners. 

And in my vision I was the sea. What? My God! A vast sea! 


During his funeral I rang the bells, 

but the bells have decayed like wormy fruit. 

 and I lit the candles, now devoured: 

eaten like the spring wheat. 


And in the wine, I saw the invisible reaper which 

plucks the black heads of anguished soldiers: 

in those trays with rubber housings 

 in which they pass around cups filled with tears. 


Amongst the holy flowers of the offertory you will find my heart 

when the priest raises the host like one who lifts 

a mule or an ox with his strong arms. He does this to 

 scare away the toads that come out at night to haunt 

the frozen landscape of the chalice. 


I had a son who was a giant, 

but the dead are stronger than the living 

and they know how to devour pieces of heaven. 


If my child was a bear, 

I would not be afraid of the alligator’s stealth, 

nor would I have seen the sea tied to the trees 

to be ravished and trampled by regiments. 

If my child was a bear! 


I wrap my child in stiff fabric to dispel the cold of the mosses. 

 I know very well that I will get a sleeve or an armband; 

but in the middle of the funeral I will break the rudder 

we will drift to a rock in the sea – full of the madness of 

penguins and seagulls, and it will cause those who sleep and 

 those who sing from the street-corners to cry: 

He had a son. A son! A son! 


I had a son! Not that he was more than my son, 

but because he belongs to us all now, they cry: 

Our son, our son, our son…


***


 ( http://www.tdevito.com )




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W.S.Sonnet 53.French Translation Richard Vallance
		

			 by  		

					

			
			

				
Tiré de = from:The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: 
Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium 
= Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : 
Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire.
Victoria, British Columbia: Friesen Press, © 2013 / 

Chapitre 2 : sonnets en français

Sonnet 53

d’après le Sonnet LIII (53) de William Shakespeare

Alexandrin

Laquelle serait l’essentielle à te définir,
Des ténèbres innombrables qui te poursuivent ?
Parmi ces pénombres qui veulent se réunir
À toi, à qui est la mine plus inexpressive ?
Décrire Adonis, et son image dans la glace
Veut te contrefaire aussi bien qu’il t’affaiblit ;
Les beaux-arts, auraient-ils, Hélène, autant de grâce,
Que la frise hellénique, elle qui t’embellit ?
L’on voit au beau printemps s’épanouir l’année,
Dont la foison est trop exquise et un atout,
Mais elle a moins d’abondance que ta Beauté ;
Te voilà donc bénie et reconnue partout.
   Qu’elle soit prévisible, la grâce t’appartient,
   Et la constance imprévisible aussi bien.

Richard Vallance




Le Sonnet 53 de Richard Vallance a été publié dans le vol. 7, numéro 3, été 2007, page 18 de Sonnetto Poesia ISSN1705-4524= was previously published in Sonnetto Poesia ISSN 1705-4524.Vol. 7 No. 3 summer 2007, page 18


Dit-il : Cette nouvelle version du sonnet que j’ai composé en français ne constitue 
pas du tout une simple traduction.  C’est en effet ma création originale du sonnet 53 
de William Shakespeare (1564-1616).  My version of  William Shakespeare's Sonnet 
53 is simply not to be construed as a running translation of the original. It is in fact 
my own original creation.

Sonnet LIII 

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
   In all external grace you have some part,
   But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Commentaires sur la recréation du sonnet 53 de William Shakespeare par Richard Vallance = 

Comments on Richard Vallance’s recreation of William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 53 into French:

Ta recréation du sonnet de Shakespeare, fort réussie, me touche d’autant plus que... 
passim...  [j]e viens de comparer d’un peu plus près ton sonnet 53 avec l’original...
 passim... et les traductions d’Henri Thomas et Armel Guerne. Si tu t’éloignes parfois 
délibérément de la lettre, tu saisis l’esprit des Sonnets de Shakespeare, en particulier 
la musicalité et les antithèses, dont celle de la chute. (Thierry Guinhut, France.) 
http://www.thierry-guinhut-litteratures.com/)

Translated: Your recreation of Shakespeare’s sonnet, a success in itself, affects me all 
the more when I compare it with the translations of Henri Thomas and Armel Guerne.  
If you occasionally stray from the letter, you never stray from the spirit of Shakespeare’s 
sonnets.  Your French faithfully reflects the  musicality, the play on antithesis and the 
surprising twist of his rhyming couplet.

Had Richard Vallance only carried the images of Sonnet 53 safely across the pond to lay 
them down in new  Alexandrine accommodations, his achievement would have been notable; 
but he has done something rarer... by reminding us of the Sonnet’s intentions.  He has given 
us a love poem: one that no Dark Lady would easily resist.  (Becca Menon, Becca Books, NYC)

I read your translation/adaptation of sonnet 53 and enjoyed it ― a strange effect of translations 
is sometimes one understands an aspect of the original better in the translation; Shakespeare’s 
already moderately remote from us, that is our use of the English. So your translation brings 
several aspects of the original to light which are perhaps a bit opaque in the original.  
(Howard Giskin, Department of Modern and Classical Languages, University of  Connecticut, Storrs)



Vraiment la traduction du sonnet 53 de W.S. est excellent. Je peux te dire qu’en français ça coule avec une douceur infinie. C’est de toute beauté. Gilles Le Chasseur (Rimouski, Québec, Canada)


Translated: Your translation of W.S.'s Sonnet 53 is excellent.  I can honestly say
 that it flows with infinite grace in French. It is a thing of beauty.




We urge readers of these sonnets in Poetry Life & Times pre-published 
from The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendes. 
Victoria, B.C., Canada, Friesen Press, © June 2013  300 sonnets in English, 
French, German, Chinese & Farsi, http://vallance22.hpage.com/, to visit the
site. Readers may also contact Richard  Vallance, Editor-in-Chief, at:
vallance22@gmx.com for further information. 





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Doors. Sonnet.Poem. Ma Li. Translated Chinese Tang Yao. Howard Giskin
		

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门与门


 


我一直注视着一个人，一个陌生人


我在楼梯口遇见过他，他打开了一道门


正是冬天，我正在浴盆中洗澡的时刻


这个人从某一个方向朝我走来，破门而入


这个人的眼睛在一开始的时候就装满了


关于门的故事，医院的门，公墓的门


这个人走遍了黑夜，站在一个小镇安静的门外


这个人左手藏着一把西班牙小牛角刀


右手握着一卷爱伦坡式的恐怖小说


身上有酒，还有心爱女人的照片


我与这个人匆匆一瞥，他招呼我开


我不慌不忙地去开门，门被推开了


但我醒了，门把我从现实推向幽蔽的梦境


门又把我从梦境扯回现实的一个角落


 


Doors


 


I have been watching a man, a stranger


I met him at the stair-head, he opened a door


In wintertime when I was in the tub


He came to me from somewhere entering


Eyes filled with doors; hospital doors, cemetery doors


Passing the night standing outside the 


Quiet door of a small town, hiding a Spanish 


Horn knife in his left hand, horror story in the right 


Bottle of wine in his pocket and a photo of a beloved woman


I caught a glimpse of this man who asked 


Me to open the door; in no hurry, door 


Pushed open from reality I woke into 


Dreamland confined when again a door pulled 


Me from dreamland to a corner of reality.


 


***


Ma Li is a contemporary poet, painter and essayist. She is also the chief editor of the writing column of South Weekend, the most famous and widely issued weekly newspaper in China. She was born in the seaside town Zhanjiang in 1960. She began to write poems in the 1980’s, and essays in 1990’s. She is a member in the Chinese Writers Association. She has published several poetry collections, like “Ma Li Poetry Collection,” and “Ma Li’s Golden Sonnet,” the latter which won first prize in the “Chinese New Classic Poem Award” competition in 2007. In addition, she has published several essay collections and held her own art exhibition.


 


Tang Yao comes from Xuzhou, China. At present she lives in Nanjing. Her area of specialization is foreign and applied linguistics. She focuses on translation both from Chinese to English and from English to Chinese, and has co-translated two books from English to Chinese. She has also done research on the translation of ancient Chinese poems.


 


Howard Giskin has taught in the Department of English at Appalachian State University since 1989. He works mainly in the area of World Literature, with particular interest in Asian culture, literature and philosophy, as well as Latin American literature. He has co-edited An Introduction to Chinese Culture through the Family (SUNY Press, 2001), and has edited a volume of Chinese folktales (NTC / Contemporary, 1997), as well as written articles on Argentinean writer Jorge Luis Borges, and published poetry. His interests also include the intersection of the sciences and humanities. He has taught in Asia, Africa, Europe and Latin America, and lives with his wife Vicki in Millers Creek, North Carolina.


 

Phoenix  Book Image

 

 Ma li’s Sonnet Doors in its original Chinese text together with its translation by Tang Yao and Howard Giskin appear in The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium= Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire –at Friesen Press. ISBN: Hardcover: 978-1-4602-1700-9 Paperback: 978-1-4602-1701-6 eBook: 978-1-4602-1702-3. 

http://vallance22.hpage.com



 


 


 


 


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