Next Arrivals. Collected Poems by Robin Ouzman Hislop. Introduction by Ian Irvine (Hobson)

Introduction to Next Arrival: The Many Faces of Creative Indeterminacy
by Ian Irvine (Hobson)

Poetic Indeterminacy 1: L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry and Late Modernist Experimental Poetry

When Marjorie Perloff, long-term critical advocate for L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry (indeed for experimental poetries generally), published The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage back in 1981, she wanted to trace a particular kind of poetic ‘indeterminacy’ back to its 19thcentury roots in Rimbaud. Early on she quoted Barthes’ perspective on Rimbaud’s poetics: ‘Rimbaud … destroyed relationships in language and reduced discourse to words as static things … In it, Nature becomes a fragmented space, made of objects solitary and terrible, because the links between them are only potential.’ Perloff then traced the 20th century developments in this emerging poetics via chapters on Gertrude Stein’s ‘word-systems’, Samuel Beckett’s ‘poetics of absence’ and John Ashberry’s ‘open field of narrative possibilities’ (elsewhere termed a ‘field poetics’). Her book concluded with studies of the ‘marginless’ poetics of David Antin and the chance-operations poetics of John Cage , who wrote of his later works: ‘They begin anywhere, last any length of time … They are therefore not preconceived objects … They are occasions for experience.’ Perloff’s book led to further studies in which she announced L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry as a further chapter in this century old poetics of ‘indeterminacy’.

Robin Ouzman Hislop’s poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of this well documented ‘poetics of indeterminacy’ – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially, by Ashberry and Antin, and later on by poets like Charles Bernstein, Bruce Andrews, Lyn Hejinian and Ron Silliman. Next Arrivals, however, like Hislop’s second collection Cartoon Molecules, also explores and responds to themes only rarely addressed by 20th century experimental poets.

In both Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals we start to catch glimpses of a hulking phantasmagoric something (a transhumant creature perhaps?) as it ‘slouches’, ‘transforms’, ‘self-engineers’, ‘machine learns’ it-self into being under cover of the postmodern twilight. Culturally speaking, something new is being born/engineered/programmed in these early decades of the new millennium and all three of Hislop’s collections, in my opinion, work hard to capture the cultural zeitgeist surrounding aspects of this transhuman nativity drama (one interpretation of the collection’s title, i.e. literally, the Next Arrivals). Hislop senses that new poetic forms – what we might label a new (perhaps quantum influenced?) ‘poetics of indeterminacy’ – may be called for here and, like US poet Amy Catanzano, he is courageous enough to initiate new experiments with poetic form in order to address the urgencies of our time.

Poetic Indeterminacy 2: Eulogies for the Passing of Mechanist Science

All this is to say that Hislop is keenly interested in exploring poetically a range of phenomena loosely related to ‘the New Sciences’. His interest, however, is not that of the wide-eyed, but willfully naïve, classical scientist. He understands humanity’s darker impulses – particularly our darker collective impulses – too well to buy into the idyllic marriage vows these days being exchanged between the New Sciences and extreme capitalism – however loved-up the happy couple appear to be in public. His unease and ambivalence regarding this pairing is evident in many of the poems featuring New Science themes. At times key poems descend into states of existential vertigo brought on by what is unfolding. Such themes are most directly addressed in the poem on (p.59) of the collection:

we invent them to serve us         controlling our existence
to create virtual worlds with hells and heavens
myths domesticate science
fiction and reality blur shaping our reality
an assembly of biochemical algorithms flash fade flash fade
spinning

Similar notes of caution and critique accompany references to genetic programming, Artificial Intelligence (and the much publicised ‘approaching Singularity’), Virtual Reality obsessions (Hislop’s meditations on Bostrom’s ‘Simulation Argument’ are particularly interesting), quantum computers, and, so on, throughout the collection. He asks us to be wary of the way the New Sciences are merging with what he refers to as ‘datism’, and then warns us that ‘algorithms can control empire/ or an upper class ruling the planet’ (p.59). Later in the same poem (p.61) we read: ‘free market big brother/ watches every breath you take’. The New Sciences, of course, were founded on a profoundly ontological understanding of ‘indeterminism’, arising as they did, out of the discoveries of a range of early 20th century physicists – especially Heisenberg (with his so-called ‘uncertainty principle’).

Our need to explore these kinds of ontological uncertainty suggest a second major way to understand contemporary experimental poetries as ‘indeterminate’ – a way that brings Hislop close to the concerns of a growing band of writers creating what some are calling ‘Quantum Literatures’. What kinds of art, philosophy, poetry and poetics should we develop to address fundamental ‘indeterminacies’ of matter and consciousness (rather of consciousness observing matter)? Hislop does not, of course, advance explicit theories on such topics in this collection, but a poetic response to the challenges posed hovers above a number of the best poems in the collection. Such concerns also – whether consciously or unconsciously – seem to affect the formal flow of the collection.

Next Arrival can, in theory, be entered via a range of gates, since the 2nd to last poem in the collection mirrors the collection of lines used to construct the table of contents. Though there are no titles to each discernible segment of poetry – no capitals and headings to interrupt flow – we slowly become aware (via a kind of gentle memory murmur) that the first line of each new segment also appears in the table of contents (and will appear again at the end of the collection). In a sense then, our reading choices – i.e. whether we browse/surf the collection or proceed more conventionally from start to finish – ‘collapse’ a range (or field) of reading (and meaning) possibilities into a particular reading outcome. The experience, however, is always ‘hologrammatical’, since poem fragments from across the collection are embedded in secondary poems – producing the uncanny sense that every poem is linked to every other poem. Another term for this – a term directly related to the New Sciences – is ‘entanglement’. Specifically, we are talking about a poetics of entanglement. It is perhaps an intuitive development –possibly arising naturally out of Hislop’s deeply held ecological vision (as outlined in a number of the collection’s other poems). We note, however, that a poetics of entanglement may run contrary to the kind of language atomizing poetics we sometimes find in the more extreme manifestations of contemporary anti-representational poetry.

Although Hislop uses a range of L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry techniques, the poems in Next Arrivals are never completely ‘anti-representational’. Rather meaning-creating choices, options, possible worlds/selves are offered up to the reader at every turn. The poet invites us to contemplate a new kind of reading freedom—a freedom built upon expansive notions of subjectivity, linked, in turn, to up-dated Existential and New Science perspectives. A subjectivity, in short, subliminally aware of the multiverse. Barthes’ summary of Rimbaud’s poetic (and, retrospectively the poetics of late Modernism and Postmodernism) – i.e. a poetics of ‘objects solitary and terrible’ – is not, in the end, Hislop’s poetic. Rather, we are talking about a poetry slanted toward human vulnerability and the facts of our inter-relational entanglements – a poetry addressing readers staring at the approach of an A.I. and big-data determined – perhaps Simulation programmed – future that may well see ordinary humans made obsolete and irrelevant – in a word ‘surpassed’. Interestingly, however, I suspect that for Hislop the risks associated with the fast approaching A.I. Singularity confront us as contemporary manifestations of what amounts to an age-old curse. Perhaps a classical allusion is in order. As we read Next Arrivals we become aware that we are still negotiating the Minotaur’s death-haunted labyrinth (in many ways the structure of the collection resembles that of a literary labyrinth). The face of the Minotaur, however, continuously shape-shifts into that of Saturn (old Father Time himself, or, put differently, the inevitable human encounter with death/mortality). There are thus a number of moving poems in Next Arrivals exploring mortality, ageing and the general fragility of human life. Two lines, for me, best summarise the collection’s new spin on this very old theme (p.69):

but I brimmed in apocalypse             under the welter of bones
yield to the inevitable

Poetic Indeteminacies to do with Editing, Translating and New media Technologies

Hislop and his wife, Amparo Perez Arrospide, have edited the online literary and visual arts publication Poetry Life and Times (PLT) since 2006. In this age of global communication networks, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate a poet’s poetry from a poet’s elsewhere contributions to literary and online cultures. Everything swims together in a kind of ‘electronic soup’ of interactions and information nodes on the WWW (representing perhaps another kind of ‘field poetics’ or ‘poetics of indeterminacy’). For better or worse, the specialized poets of the 20th century have slowly been replaced by a new breed of transmedia savvy ‘uber-artists’. Some poets are well equipped for the new role. Hislop, certainly, is comfortable communicating in a range of genres, across a variety of conventional and new media platforms (e.g. reviews/nonfiction essays, translations, video-poems, teaching, poetry performances, etc. ), as well as through publishing the works of other poets at the PLT site (and we note that all good literary journals seek to construct ‘an open field of narrative possibilities’).

There is no doubt that PLT, here including work published via its sub-sites Artvilla and Motherbird , expresses a truly internationalist poetics. Its contributors herald from all over the planet and the various sites feature a range of poetic styles—traditional, modernist, postmodernist, experimentalist, etc . The editors are also committed to publishing the poetry of non-English language poets (translated, in many cases, by the editors themselves). We note here that ‘translation’ is itself a notoriously difficult and ‘indeterminate’ activity – there is always a trace of the translator in the finished product, however much he or she strives to eliminate any evidence of input. Overall, PLT augments ,and expands upon, the very same poetics of indeterminacy we encounter in Hislop’s own poetry.

*****

The creative Indeterminacies I have located in Hislop’s overall oeuvre are cause for celebration. Exploring such ‘creative indeterminacies’ will introduce us to zones of hybridity – the interstitial plazas and market-places that exist between the monolithic, but ultimately delusionary and oppressive, certainties fed us daily by governments, media moguls, religious leaders and ideologues. There is something liberating and eminently human about embracing the expanded notions of self we encounter in Hislop’s poetry. We note that John Cage also sought a more expansive definition of creative practice when he labeled his later experiments ‘occasions for experience’. We may apply the same terminology to the poems in Next Arrivals – they are, each and every one of them, ‘occasions for experience’. Hislop’s ‘occasions for experience’, however, highlight the ambivalences and anxieties, as well as the joys and occasional epiphanies, experienced by ordinary people attempting to make sense of our globalised, corporatized, information-saturated post-postmodern world.
 
Ian Irvine (Hobson) Victoria Australia 2018

 

Ian Irvine (Hobson) is an Australian based, British born, poet/lyricist, fiction writer, journal editor, and writing and creative arts academic. His work has been published extensively, including in a number of national anthologies, e.g. Best Australian Poetry and Agenda’s special Contemporary Australian Poets edition. He has published four books and has co-edited over 20 publications including 7 editions of the groundbreaking international literary ezine The Animist (1998-2001), as well as Scintillae 2012 (a print anthology containing work by over 60 Australian poets and writers). Ian has taught in the creative and professional writing programme at Bendigo Kangan Institute since 1999. He also lectures casually in a similar program at Victoria University, Melbourne.
 
 
 

 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Evolution. A Poem by Antonio Martínez Arboleda

 
Animals programmed to kill:
 
Some demand entertainment
to appease the flames
of their DNA,
which they try to bypass
through consciousness
or convenience.
 
Others simply survive
without questioning their appetites
(They make great TV in their chase and struggle).
 
Meanwhile
the veggie rest
distil the fluids
of their neighbours:
 
A chain of convivial parasites.
 
And all this happening
in a Cosmos with lamps
that come and go
without rehearsal,
like the lights of the ceiling of a disco,
 
a Cosmos that keeps shifting
energy and mass
without remorse,
like accountants play with figures
 
The absent Developer
sated his thirst for creativity
in only six days,
leaving behind
a beautiful,
ugly,
random,
orderly,
bloody,
dusty,
tender,
holly rocky Mess.
 
His desk is covered by mountains
of meaningless,
timeless paperwork.
 
If Intelligence is just artificial,
what is then Faith?
 
Customer Services are down.
 
Don’t settle for evolution.
 
 

 
www.leeds.ac.uk/arts/people/Spanish Portuguese and_Latin American Studies/Antonio Martinez Arboleda
 
Antonio Martínez Arboleda:
Tony Martin-Woods started to write poetry for the public in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada, an online publication of political poetry. He runs the poetry evening Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell, in Leeds, and collaborates with 100 Thousands Poets for Change. Tony is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his real-life name, Antonio Martínez Arboleda. His project of digitisation of poetry, Ártemis, compiles more than 100 high quality videos of Spanish poets and other Open Educational Resources. http://www.artemispoesia.com/. He is the delegate in the UK of Crátera Revista de Críticay Poesía Contemporánea , where he also publishes his work as translator from English into Spanish. He published his first volume of poetry in Spanish, Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess), in 2015, as a response to the Great Recession, particularly in Spain. His second book, Goddess Summons The Nation, is a critique of the ideas of nation and capitalism, mainly in the British Brexit context. It incorporates voices of culprits, victims and heroes with mordacity and rhythm. It consists of 21 poems, 18 of which are originally written in English. It is available in print and kindle in Amazon and other platforms.
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Good Morning, Mr. Bollocks. A Poem by RW Haynes

 

Blathering aesthetic remf,
Where were you when that meteorite
Fiberglassed half a continent?
Did you cry with us in the choir
Of angel rapture, back when matter
Meshed with concept meshed with love?
Did you point your K-Mart blowgun
And matching plastic hatchet
As the saints came striding down the sky?
 
Wait a minute.
I remember you. You had a nervous face
And complained about pelicans.
I thought at the time that a jury of penguins
Would be unanimous,
Vindicating their crash-diving friends.
I thought you needed some time at sea,
Some time to gather gravity.
After all, don’t the gulls always call?
 
In the place I walked a little while ago,
A rainbow raised its arms before the sun,
And, by the shrine of a murdered child,
A mockingbird flew at an oriole.
 
 
 
On the Savannah River 2013
 
 
 
R. W. Haynes has taught literature at Texas A&M International University since 1992. His recent interests include the early British sonnet, and he is completing a second book on the Texas playwright and screenwriter Horton Foote (1916-2009). In his poetry, Haynes seeks to celebrate life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without sounding any more dissonant notes than he has to. In fiction, he works toward grasping that part of the past which made its mark on his generation. He enjoys teaching drama, especially the Greeks, Ibsen, and Shakespeare, and he devoutly hopes for a stunning literary Renaissance in South Texas.

 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Chapter Yuck. A Poem by Vlad Krakov

“Whenever you are sad be sad for the world that is dying”
  -me just now
 
chapter yuck
 
as the designee
i lie with my pillows
facing the dawn.
ce matin,
it is my sworn duty
to notice every change
in color and hue.
 
chapter yum
 
do not tell me
to go outside
i am turning
the human soul
inside
 
out
on wikipedia
word
and youtube.
 
chapter jesus just go outside man
 
i wish i could be
a plant in your room
to be gazed at
to be stroked
in all your sleepy tenderness
your mind far away
it doesnt matter
the mind and the heart
rarely land on the same leaf.
i wish i could feel you watering me.
 
i know you tried.
 
chapter what the hell fine
 
little sparrow things
peck a burnt baguette
beside a dumpster.
who can tell them
that thats
garbage?
 
chapter dont worry now i’ve had my coffee and promise to not be a meanie
 
in this park
you can hear birds
and
even
 
(shh)
 
salamanders.
 
chapter yellow
 
man on his hands and knees
picks up the butts between the leaves
saving noone
helping everyone
trees bees and mes
 
chapter orange
 
its a delusion
that a change of scenery
is comforting.
but
it’s a comforting delusion.
 
chapter red
 
who left
the roadkill cat
bloody wrapped in a hoodie
at the cemetary gates?
 
sombre offering
to a forgotten urban god.
 
chapter yesterday
 
the laws of the playground
are the most sacred
and the most seldom broken.
children,
knowing the weight of words,
and of the hands of those it,
would never agree
to marriage or mortgage.
 
“we’re the winners”
cry three,
jumping on a rock.
you sure are.
 
chapter today
 
a duck
finds peace
under a bridge.
 
chapter tommorow
 
i just wanna
lay in the grass
and listen to birds
but today
this dying world
is dying.
 
yea your buildings
are pretty
but theyre also
ugly.
 
yea your steaks are tasty
but they’re also
mean.
 
maybe after i save the world
i can have grass and birds
and steaks and skyscrapers
and big trucks too.
but right now its
time for adventure.
 
//
 

 
 

Vlad Krakov:
“Vancouver’s famously self-pitying dumpster-juice-for-blood Bad Luck Brian. Favorite pastimes include brooding and drinking at dog-friendly beaches and chatting with the spirit of Lou Reed through an ouija board. Currently working as a research assistant in an archaeology lab.”
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

a sanctuary for your demons. A Poem by Sudeep Adhikari

 
 

the dreams were so near,
and so visceral
i woke up with the phantom taste
of stale doughnuts
still teasing my palates; i felt like
throwing up. i sensed a universe of aches
 
inside me, slowly converging
to a disastrous
crunch. i was losing myself,
for no apparent reason;
my shadows slowly refusing
 
to put up the usual shows. outside,
i saw the uncaring streets,
drowned in the miasma
of wintery molecules of doom;
the pizzeria on the other side
of bridge, that looked as widowed as
 
the strip-club waiting
on the sun to go down.
and a shady-looking drive-through
where a lebanese used to sell
a little time, and a whole lot of oblivions.
 
i passed out on 48-ounces of colt-45,
to wake up in the middle
of the night
to talk to the moon; i felt a little mad.
 
there is no cure for life. there is
no reason to look
for the reasons. face your demons,
 
the only saviors you have in disguise.
 
 


 
 
Sudeep Adhikari is a structural engineer/Lecturer from Kathmandu, Nepal. His recent publications were with Beatnik Cowboys Chiron Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Midnight Lane Boutique, Occulum, Silver Birch Press, Eunoia Review, Utt Poetry and Spilling Cocoa over Martin Amis. Also a Pushcart Prize nominee for the year 2018, Sudeep is currently working on his 4th poetry-book “Hyper-Real Reboots”, which is scheduled for publication in September 2018 through Weasel Press, Texas, US
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

THE RAINBOW IN YOUR ANUS. A Poem by Paul Oluwafemi David

You’re a fat bag on the shoulder of defeat with more flesh to be chewed, shared around in the mouths of your lovers whose oral room is filled with fart carrying carts of art to wriggle smell, hell, and shell with a bell waking your lovers up with snores.
Mouths that have loved should be filled with smiles, grins, respect and flowers, it should be filled with meat like an art work rushing to meet the South Pole blowing with beautiful winds from faces of freedom.
Lovers drink you like tea bags to forget you inside hot water, inside fire, inside furnace to maintain their sex license.
You’re the forgotten lake left behind to suffer alone because you’re a piece of frame that no man will ever post on the wall of his heart or building without holding fire extinguisher to quench the fire you carry in your face.
Defeat snores everyday trying to speak because dreams have become prison,
Defeat snores every night dying to speak because beauty has become colourless,
Defeat snores every night drowning to speak because faces have become flames to lovers who dared to cuddle or stare.
You leave fire in your lovers mouth when you kiss them,
You leave smokes in your lovers breathe when you leave them.
You carry troubles with bubbles, you carry darkness with madness.
Mouths that’ve loved should be filled with music, filled with rainbows, filled with sunrise, filled with stars and healthy faces.
Your lovers breathe smoke with the rope you left in their bodies while tying their breathe away; you left a plugged bulb in their mouth to burn what they know as smiles.
Nobody will love you with so much an old, abandoned, burnt, dilapidated building like yours,
Nobody can pretend with you, you’re a fast moving slow tea bag floating with garbages in your garage of boredom; you carry heartbreaks, betrayals, darkness, hate and burdens like your mother who died hawking her body for buyers who will name and call her rotten, decay and cancer.
Lovers died breathing your fart, some even wrote their eulogies after you while you’re still alive, it’s that horrible, bad to know because you’re a walking dead zombie.
Nobody can pretend with you, your body leads to the gutter where pathogens breed.
You’re been kidnapped in yourself to age fast, to go through with fasting and prayer to get your first bell jingle in your body which is a lonely church.
Who will sing in your church?
Who will worship in your church?
Your body is a church leading into the gate of hell.
Your smell rings a bell screaming, shouting, chanting and panting for suicide, gay and lesbian, it speaks by snoring to make a film on your weak retina about sinners burning in hell and shouting hallelujah.
Your smell is a bell awakening ghost and phantoms to begin a kingdom, empire that will fall.
Ask for help, you’re dying.
Seek for light, you’re lost.
Nobody will love you with the face you’re hawking for lovers, hawking for families, hawking for friends, hawking for cures from the disease wrapping all your bodies.
Nobody can pretend with you, your bells are cries for help, tears for assistance, wailing for rehabilitation, it’s a jingle into the jungle sojourning for miracle.
You leave fire in the thigh of your lovers, you leave bombs in the thumbs of your lovers, things like you sting more than bees, beings like you burn dying, falling, frying like fireflies.
You need help, you’re falling apart, drifting aghast, wasting alone like a forgotten Jew roaming about in a jewel of marvels.
You snore like a whore without shame with a name.
Everyone you love ends up dying counting your demons, chasing your phantoms, saving your wretched body from exploding from the nuclear reactor in your smiles.
Your smiles are miles apart from your heart, you smile to smell, you smile to hell, you kiss to hiss, you walk lifting dust everywhere to bury the wind.
Ask for help, you’re shattered.
Run for help, you’re bitter.
Nobody can pretend with you, your smell is ringing a bell for apocalypse; nobody can call you beautiful and believe it until they die to lie down worshiping the real you wrapped with the rainbow.

 
 

 
 
Paul Oluwafemi David is a Nigerian who fell in love with poetry watching the beauty of nature, he is a student of professor Wole Soyinka and Ben Okiri. Currently he is a student doctor at the college of human medicine university of Nigeria with a strong mandible for the wonders of the universe. He has been published in AFRICANA, AFRICAN WRITER and PRAXIS MAGAZINE. His work is about to be published in TUCK, BANGALORE and KALAHARI.
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

Close to Me. BLIKSOM. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački. Translated from Serbian by Danijela Milosavljević

 

 
SAVRŠENSTVO PERFECTION 完璧さ
New book Tatjana Debeljački タチアナ デベリャスキー
Serbian English and Japanese

Translation by Mariko Sumikura
Artwork: Janoš Mesaroš
 
 
CLOSE TO ME
 
 
Togetherness disappears.
We are lost while leaving ourselves.
It’s too late for finding symbols.
The expression is a form of research
at the entrance of voice ventricles.
We sacrifice slow reasons to the quick words.
Parting is a chronicler with no chronicles.
Interpretations are hinted in the meanings of values ​​.
Let’s not torture the lions with the inner space of the sky.
We have lost the gemstone.
The search is wasted effort.
We nurture the faith of case circumstances.
Cheek shows the traces of palms.
For too long we dream the threats of responsibility.
Ironic solution of doubting we have left for the end.
We demise traces for the orphans.
God was praised, unfortunately.
From the scriptures we take out when needed.
We did not realize that all is prone to cease.
And a deep gap between the kisses,
We did not admit.
 
 
The 25th contest for the best love song, traditionally held by the
Cultural centre in Ivanjica. The contest director is poet Miljan Despotovic
 
 
BLISKOM
 
 
Nestaje zajedništvo.
Gubimo se napuštajući sebe.
Kasno je za otkrivanje simbola.
Izraz je oblik istraživanja.
na ulazu govornih komora.
Razloge spore žrtvujemo brzim rečima.
Rastanak je hroničar bez hronike.
Tumačenja naslućujemo po značenjima vrednosti.
Ne mučimo tigrove unutrašnošću neba.
Dragi kamen smo izgubili.
Potraga je uzaludan trud.
Gajimo veru okolnosti slučaja.
Obraz pokazuje tragove dlanova.
Predugo sanjamo pretnje odgovornosti.
Ironično razrešenje sumnje ostavljamo za kraj.
Tragove zaveštavamo siročićima.
Bog je bio slavljen..
Iz zapisa izvlačimo po potrebi.
Nismo uvideli da sve je prolaznosti sklono.
I duboki jaz između poljubaca,
Nepriznavasmo.
 
 
25. Konkursa za najlepšu ljubavnu pesmu, koji tradicionalno organizuje Dom kulture iz Ivanjice.Selektor konkursa, pesnik Milijan Despotović
 
 
Excerpt from:
Critic/ 講評
LIFE IN CREATION
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’

 
Tatjana Debeljacki: ‘Perfection’, Cultural Centre, Ivanjicа, 2018.With her poem ‘Closeness’, Tatjana won the first prize at the love poem literary contest ‘Ripples of the Moravica’ in Ivanjica, 2017. In the explanation (as a member of the competition jury) I wrote: From the poetic letter “The Close One” in which everything speaks of love without ever mentioning this word directly, we open up thoughts, a series of special lessons and wisdom, with a message that loving others means loving oneself and “losing oneself from leaving oneself”. The poem consists of twenty thoughts, classic aphorisms, each of which could be a motto of a new poem. Love is here in a dilemma over what “is prone to transience”, it is what is needed to overcome the “gap between kisses”. Tatjana Debeljacki (Titovo Uzice, 19..) writes contemporary and haiku poetry and prose. She has published nine books. She lives in Uzice. Pozega, 6th February, 2018
 


 
 
Tatjana Debeljački, born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. Member of Association of Writers of Serbia – UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, member of Croatian Writers’ Association- HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society ‘Antun Ivanošić’ Osijek since 2011, and a member of “World Haiku Association“ – 2011, Japan. Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin Belgrade. Member of Writers’ Club “Miroslav – Mika Antić” – Inđija 2013, Writers’ Association “Branko Miljković“ – Niš 2014, and a member of Japan Universal Poets Association (JUNPA). 2013. “Poetic Bridge: AMA-HASHI (天橋) Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008. ”HIŠA IZ STEKLA” was translated into Slovenian and published by Banatski kulturni centar – Malo Miloševo, in 2013 and also into English, “A House Made of Glass” published by »Hammer & Anvil Books» – American, in2013. Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)

Breathing Turquoise. A Poem by Reuben Ellis

 
 

 
During the fat years of Cripple Creek, the
veins of turquoise lay at angles to the seams
of sylvanite and gold, and they say that
when the ore was crushed and cyanidated,
turquoise and the other worthless rocks
were ground into tailings in the stamp
mills, later used as gravel to pave the muddy
streets. Today, small and jagged pieces of
blue after hard rains still surface in the
alleys, washed and alloyed, stonefruit.
 
That wet morning behind the Elks, by the
pallets and the bone weeds, I found it
and rolled it between my thumb and finger
as I would hold a nipple, a small ball, a
caterpillar, and I placed it in my mouth, to
taste it for breath, for solidity, to conjure
the undisturbed earth, and it worked–my
senses stream like neutrinos through the
core, the clear puddle where I stood, a
philter, a caldera.
 
 

 
 
Reuben Ellis is professor and chair of the Writing Department at Woodbury University in Los Angeles. His publications include Vertical Margins: Mountaineering and the Landscapes of Neo-Imperialism; Stories and Stone: Writing the Ancestral Pueblo Homeland; and Beyond Borders: The Selected Essays of Mary Austin, as well as many published essays, short stories, and poems. He is currently working on a book-length project describing literary representations of ancestral Puebloan peoples and sites.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .