3 Poems by Alisa Velaj, Limit, His Widow & He, Translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj

The woman watching the see is blind. For her, the sea waves are the soul waves.
From now on, the chopped light of the immense water container is what she will see
running deeper and deeper inside herself.
The blind woman and the ship that could never sail are of the same age.
The ship and her last lover have the same farsightedness.
Her last lover was a sailor and a fool. He heard only the melody
coming from the beating stick, turning a deaf to ear to all the island’s playing drums.
The blind woman and her last lover loved the flute sounds at dusk.
He never told her that the sea light had the shape of his destroying love for her.
However, she would willingly pretend that she had understood him.
She feared that he might also go blind if she told him the truth.
His widow will continue to live her earthly years under the shadow of the emperor’s courtyard.
He, the most wonderful tree, left her soul empty with the crowds still conquered by him.
The crowds always look at his widow as a mantel of leaves.
When the blossoms wither, the mantel ceases to exist. At this moment even the crowds stop thinking.
In spring the mantel rejuvenates again. His widow gladdens because of the freshened memory of the citizens who never knew the dictator.
His widow loved the crowd and the leaf.
They both have short memory.
He will not be able walk out of the house where he and the Eagle stay imprisoned.
He is there, and the guitar sounds coming from beyond the window, though tempting,
fail to encourage him.
He and the Eagle love and hate each other infinitely.
She will not pluck his eyes out, for he has given up watching since his childhood.
To both of them, light particles are as strange as colors.
She will not blind him, and he will cry one day, he will cry a lot because of her farewell.
At that moment he will be a child conscious of his loss, while the fir-trees will throw
thick shadows over the sadness of the undiscovered oases.

Alisa Velaj has been shortlisted for the annual international Erbacce-Press Poetry Award in UK in June 2014. Her works have appeared in more than eighty print and online international magazines, including: FourW twentyfive Anthology (Australia), The Journal (UK), The Dallas Review (USA), The Linnet’s Wings (UK) The Seventh Quarry (UK), Envoi Magazine (UK) etc etc. Velaj’s digital chapbook “The Wind Foundations” translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj is published by Zany Zygote Review (USA). Her poems are also translated in Hebrew, Swedish, Romanian, French and Portuguese. Alisa Velaj’s poetry book “With No Sweat At All” (trans by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj) will be published by Cervena Barva Press in 2019.
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) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

On the razor’s edge, Iceland. A Poem by Anna Maria Dall’Olio

Islanda sul filo del rasoio
Sospiro.                                         Spuma sgorga.
Ghiacciaio fulminato
frana fiume fluente.
							Astronomico il debito statale.
                                                        Soverchi tassi d'interesse.
                                                        Basso livello medio salariale.

Vasti strazi nell'infero profondo.
Campi di lava.			O grano.
Fili d'erba sul filo del rasoio.
("Latte & Limoni", 2014)
On the razor’s edge, Iceland
Something sighed					    
a flowing river is falling 
foam flows out.

                                                                       Too high is the national debt
                                                                        too high are interest rates
                                                                        too low are median incomes.

The toxic torture in the deepest depths.
Either lava or corn fields.
On the razor’s edge, blades of grass.

Anna Maria Dall’Olio

She has been teaching English in Italian high schools since 1987. She devoted herself to fiction, poetry and playwriting. In 2005 she was ranked second in “Hanojo – via Rendevuo, a Vietnamese cultural competition for the millennial celebration of Hanoj (1010-2010). Moreover, she was ranked first/second/third in lots of literary competitions for her Italian poems (2006-2018).She published a short novel, “Segreti” (“Secrets”, 2018). Besides, she published 5 collections of poems:”Sì shabby chic” (“So shabby chic”, 2018), “L’acqua opprime” (“Water oppresses”, 2016), “Fruttorto sperimentale” (“Experimental Food Forest”, 2016), “Latte & Limoni” (“Milk & Lemons”, 2014), “L’angoscia del pane” (“Bread is anguish”, 2010). Finally, She wrote “Tabelo” (“Table”, 2006), a play in Esperanto dealing with mobbing as a supreme artistic form.

Web site: www.annamariadallolio.it

 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) and his latest Collected Poems Volume at Next-Arrivals

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


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
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
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,
25. Konkursa za najlepšu ljubavnu pesmu, koji tradicionalno organizuje Dom kulture iz Ivanjice.Selektor konkursa, pesnik Milijan Despotović
Excerpt from:
Critic/ 講評
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)

Golden Giant Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

Golden Giant
Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan
Translated by Yuanbing zhang

Who is sitting in the heaven and staring at me?
Who is sitting in the golden palace of tomorrow?
Who is smilling?
The golden staff in his hand
Flashing the dazzling light
Ah, the flashes of lightning
Interweaved over my head
I walked into a crystal corridor of the time
I want to open
The doors of gold
Lines of words in the sun
Singing to me in the sky
I want to find
The volumes of gold poems
On the shores of the new century
To build the city of gold
Laozi with rosy cheek and white hair
Smiling at me in the clouds
A phoenix danced trippingly
And carried in a book of gold
Lines of mysterious words
Made my eyes drunken
Countless giant figures
Came towards me from the clouds
The times of seventy million years
Emerged leisurely before my eyes
The cities of gold
Surrounded with the crystals garden
The sky of sapphire
Sent out the colorful miraculous brightness
On the green hills of jasper
Dragons and phoenixes were flying
Exquisite pagoda
Majestical palace of gold
The airy pavilions and pagodas
Standing in the purple-red clouds
The laughing girls
Riding the colorful husbands and wifes
The propitious clouds
Sprinkling the colorful flowers
I opened the door to a golden palace
Saw the rows of scrolls of the gold
A giant with the haloes all over his body
There were a golden sun over his head
With smiles, he picked up the books of gold
Recited the sacred verses
I was intoxicated with miraculous wonderful words
Surrounded with the purple-gold flames all over his body
A golden lotus
Bloomed beneath my feet
Lifted up my body
Wafted up from the golden palace
The red clouds
Drifting by my side
Outside of the sky I saw
Another golden paradise
The leisurely bells
Calling to me
The countless giants
Roaming in a golden garden
The sky of the ruby
The rounds of sun
Like the golden lotus
Blooming in the sky
The intoxicating fragrance of flowers
Like the sweet good wine
The golden trees
Were laden with the dazzling diamonds
The wonderful flowers
Bloomed for the housands of years
The land of gold
Inlaid with the gems
The pavilions of gold
Strewn at random and overlapped
Someone was playing chess
Someone was chatting
Quaint clothes
Colossal statures
Miraculous eyes
Happy and comfortable
The white cranes
Flying in the sky
The husbands and wifes
Crowing leisurely
Beside the old man I came
As if he was waiting for me
On the golden pavilion
He opened an ancient sword casket
A glittering ancient sword
Engraved some abstruse words and expressions
Which were clear and transparent like a lightning
Dimly glowed purplish-red patterns
He told me a metaphysical epic
The sword came from nine billions years ago
Which, was made from hundreds of millions of suns
It was a sacred sword of the sun
It could pierce the rocks of time
Open the layer after layer skies
Let the sacred fire smelt the heaven and the earth
Into the golden paradises
The old man’s eyes were deep, archaic and abstruse
Dimly shone the joyful flames
He let me take this sword
To fly towards a new golden paradise
The huge golden lotus floated leisurely
I flew over the sky thousands of miles away
The huge pyramids
Loomed impressively in front of my eyes
The mountainous figure of giants
Walked about in front of the pyramid
The huge pyramids of gold
Were much taller than the mountains
The giant trees of gold
Like a forest
Stood in the sky
Laden with the stars
The multicoloured propitious clouds
Was a huge bird
In the silvery sky
Crowing joyfully
I came to the front of a pyramid
A door was opening wide to me
A group of blond giants
Sitting with smiles in the grand palace
A holy great old man
Reciting the singular language in his mouth
The temple was painted with the magical symbols
And the giant pictures of Gods
The palace was full of silvery white light
Blooming th huge wonderful flowers
A peal of wonderful mellifluous bells
Made the person suddenly forget all of the time
I heard an immemorial verse
Tt was written hundreds of millions of years ago
Related countless eras of giants
Created the holy kingdoms of heaven
Their wisdom was sacred and great
Knew completely the past and the future of the universe
They flew freely in the sky
Landed on the millions of planets in the universe
They made the time change as your pleasure
Which could reach another spaces
Make a stone turn into a gold
Make the gold bloom flowers
They were like the rounds sun
Which could erupt the sacred flames
Let all things blaze in raging flames
Turn into their imagination works
They landed on the planets
Established the golden paradises
With their magic abstruse wisdom
Builted the platinum cities
I saw the gorgeous words
Flashing in the volume of gold
And the magical wonderful halos
Rotating like the colored lightning in the sky
I came to another wonderful heaven and earth
And saw a huge edifice of platinum
The whole city was like a piece of work
Sending out quietly the brilliant white light
A huge round square
Enchased some unearthly works
The giants of great stature
Came and went leisurely in the street
They wore singular clothes
Shone all over their bodies
With smiles on their face
Both men and women looked beautiful
They spoke the wonderful language
Which was as intriguing and pleasant as the music
Some of them run by spaceship
Flying around silently in the sky
I walked into a huge edifice of platinum
Saw a magnificent hall
Platinum wall was inlaid with gems
And there were also a row of unusual instruments
Their eyes were like bright springs
Wore the multicoloured clothes
Some of them were operating struments there
Some of them were talking with each other softly there
I saw a magical picture
Drew the giant planets
Stood the cities on those planets
And there were aslo the crystal gardens
I opened a crystal door
Saw a group of happy men and women
They were singing softly
The blinking books of gold were in their hands
Both the clusters of flower and the glasses of golden wine
Were on the huge round table
The golden walls were sparkling
Carved with all kinds of wonderful pictures
I saw a demure girl
The golden halo was sparkling on her head
She dressed a purple-gold longuette
Which was as peerless as a sculpture
The pages were marked with whimsical words
Like lines of ancient magic symbols
Each book was made of gold
And it was also like a golden crystal
I understood their euphonious songs
They were singing the sacred love
They were singing great ancestors
They were recounting the civilization of the universe
Their city was garden everywhere
Surrounded with the sweet rivers
The whole earth was a piece of jade
And the clay was a layer of transparent sand of the gold
I saw some white-bright huge balls
Suspended high above the city
The giant balls were sending out dazzling light
Shone the heaven and the earth as bright as the crystal
The towering great buildings stood in great numbers
As if they were carved by a whole piece of platinum
Both the doves and some colorful birds
Were flying in the sky
I saw a singular train
Flying swiftly forward in the sky
The streets were white and bright
And any moving vehicle could not been seen
Their bodies were unusually strong
Playing a wonderful game
They piled up the pieces of great stones 
Into some grotesque works
Both like some giant eyes
And some ancient totems
There were also some strange birds
Covered with lightning feathers all over their bodies
I saw a couple of tall lovers
They aviated a spaceship
Their eyes were quiet and bright
Shone colorful halo around their bodies
The wonderful space was gyrating leisurely
Like a huge, resplendent crystal
I said goodbye to the unusual city
Towards a space of golden light
The cities flashed in the sky
I flew over the layers of the sky again
And I saw a newfangled world
The multicoloured city of crystal
The high towers were exquisitely carved
Shone the multicoloured pearls
The layers of eave were painted with dragon and phoenix
Hung the singing golden bells
The earth was a crystal garden
The palaces were limpid and crystal
Huge mountains were like a transparent gem
Lined with the golden trees
I saw the tall giants
Wore the purple clothes
There were a round sun on their heads
The body also shone a layer of halo
They sat up in the main halls
Singing a mellifluous song
Some were roaming leisurely in the garden
Some were summoning the birds in the sky
The crystalline airy pavilions and pagodas
Were beset with jewels and agates
A huge jewel on the spir
Shining the golden lights
I saw a holy giant
Sitting in the middle of a main hall
The purple-gold flame were flashed around his body
And filled with the whole majestic main hall
Full-bodied fragrance filled the hall
Like a cup of refreshing wine
Solemn expression was merciful and joyful
A huge book was on his hand
The hall was full of mens and womens
Listening quietly to the psalms of the saints
The lotuses were floating in the sky
Where the smiling giants sat
The golden light were poured down from the sky
Bathed in the whole crystal kingdom
Those jewels above the giant towers
Were just the golden suns
The golden walls of a golden tower
Were carved with lines of flashing words I saw
Flying around the dragons and phoenixes
As if they were intonating the inspiring poems
The smiling giants in the sky
A huge halo were aslo flashing around their bodies
Each of them was both dignified and tranquil
Floating in the golden transparent sky
I flew over the crystal kingdom
And saw the vast golden mountain in the distance
Sending out the brilliant lights in the sky
Where the propitious clouds were blossoming
That was a golden giant
Sitting in the golden transparent sky
His body was composed of thousands of millions of constellations
The golden sun was rotating on his forehead
He lit up the whole marvellous universe
The kingdoms of heaven shone in the sky
Here there was no the sky and the earth
The up-down four-direction were the lights of pure gold
The smiling giants were sitting
On the gold-engraved pavilions
The pavilions levitated in the transparent sky
Shining the layers of purple-gold light
The multicoloured transparent mountains
As if the propitious clouds were floating in the sky
The large wonderful flowers were blooming in the mountain peaks
And there were also trees of light
A river flowed from the sky
And the river bottom reflected a layer of golden sand
Some strange and beautiful birds and the beasts
Also were like some aerial phantoms
This was a world of light
Everything was made of light
The divine light formed all things
And the golden paradises
The golden giant I saw
Shining the kingdoms of heaven in his body
I saw the cities of gold
Which were brilliant and fascinating in his bones
I saw lines of extremely large words
Arranged into a huge book in the sky
It seemed as if they were the bright stars
Constituted a wonderful drawing
There was a golden pavilion in the sky
Flying around with huge dragons and phoenixes
An old man with the whisk
Waved to me and smiled in the pavilion
I seem to be attracted by magical attraction
Leisurely came to his side
He told me the golden giant
Was namely my great ancestor
This was an eternal palace
There’s noso-called time
Holy light was exactly the God
What I saw was better than the heaven
He pointed to the huge book in the sky
And told me that was the mystery of the universe
The book contained magical wisdom
Created the countless worlds of gold
He pointed to a pagoda in the sky
Told me that was the temple of words
The light turned into the sacred words
And the words created the time of gold
He held up a very large pearl
In which flashed the pictures
He told me that it was the future time
That was all of the wonderful worlds
He told me that it was another universe
I still want to go to the paradises
He gave me the magical pearl
Let it be my future guide
I said goodbye to the holy old man
I set foot on a new road of the heaven again
I sat in a golden pavilion
Lightly flew to the distant outer space


Bio:Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, The City of Gold , Golden Paradise , Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been more widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.
A Bit AboutYuanbing Zhang,
Yuanbing Zhang,born in China in 1974, is a poet and translator, works in a middle school, interested particularly in researching and translating the works of Mr.Hongri Yuan. His poetry translations has been widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.

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) .

Sur Mama and other Poems by Luz Pichel Translated from Castellano and Gallego

Editor’s Note: although we include the originals in this text, to introduce the poems of Luz Pichel, she is a Galician poet, a region in Spain with its own language (Gallego) which although bears similarities to Spanish (Castellano) is strikingly different. Luz Pichel mixes both languages in her work, but we as translators, have translated both into English, (apart from the little French ditty On The Bridge of Avignon in the first poem) hence the footnotes will often indicate the original Gallego scripts in the texts.


the south mama maría

i did not take you to the south     nor to the southern station      so you could see     floor 0
floor 1    floor 2      the general view 1       prices maps tickets tours
southern pages      news      the such a pretty cross

I have to go one summer with you to the heavens to see the southern
cross mama
the south in all the languages of the world      your name
mother in all the stars      in all
the ways of milk
in our lovely rude tongue mother 2
south in french listen well        sur la table 3

a girl opened on the sacrificial table 4

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse         l’on y danse

what do they make?
who makes the south?
who builds the south?
who profits from the south?
who profits?

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

(bang bang bang
a piggy gesture)
sur le sable     the cobra of fear crawled
on the sand he left engraved his     SS

the general view mama        these will be the plots of memory
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
a homicide     a child)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

the building of the south mama patricia mare mâe 7
our south their south les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

the south mama eva mamá álvaro rafa         guadalupe        francisca
rosalía     alfonsina     federico   emily  luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
where your migrant shins       grew
skinny on the sacrificial table

one day we will go all together there to the south mamai
they still have to see us dance on the cobra’s SS
e puis encore 9    dance
we’re all going to be prima ballerinas mama

the musicians will do like this like this like this
and still again if it is the case like this another time / comme ça

vista xeral 1
na nosa lingua ruin bonita nai 2
on the table 3
sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela 4
que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita? 5
on the sand 6
mother mama 7
onde medraron as túas canelas migratorias
fracas na tabla do sacrificio 8
and then again 9
e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça 10


el sur     mamá maría

al sur no te he llevado     ni a la estación del sur      para que vieras     planta 0
planta 1         planta 2     vista xeral      los precios los mapas los tickets los recorridos las
páginas      del sur         las noticias         la cruz  tan guapa

he de ir un verano contigo al cielo a ver la cruz del sur mam
el sur en todas las linguas do mundo         tu nombre
de madre     en todas las estrellas     en todas
las vias de la leche     para que veas
na nosa lingua ruín bonita nai
sur en francés escucha bien         sur la table

sobre da mesa do sacrificio abríase a rapaza aquela

sur le pont d’avignon
l’on y danse         l’on y danse

que fan?
quen fai o sur?
quen constrúe o sur? quen aproveita o sur?
quen se aproveita?

les beaux messieurs font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

(bang bang bang
un gesto guarro)
sur le sable se arrastraba la cobra del miedo
sobre la arena dejaba grabadas     sus eses

vista general mama           estas serán las eras de la memoria
l’on y dance tous en rond

les militaires font comme ça
(bang, bang bang
un homicidio     un niño)
et puis comme ça
les beaux messieurs e les militaires

construcción del sur mamá patricia mare mâe
el nuestro el de ellas les belles dames

les belles dames dansent
elles font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

o sur mamá eva mamá álvaro rafa         guadalupe        francisca
rosalía     alfonsina     federico   emily  luis
chámase mamá manuel
mamá manuela/
onde medraron as túas canelas          migratorias
fracas na  tabla do sacrificio

un día vamos a ir todas juntas allá hasta el sur   mamai   para que sepas
aún nos han de ver danzar sobre la ese de la cobra e puis encore danzar
vamos a ser todas unas bailarinas de primera mamá noelina

e os músicos farán así e así e así
e despois aínda si es caso outra vez así/ comme ça


I give you a herb
you said
inside a letter

take this leaf grandma I found it
it has dust
her name is luz  1

a tiny green thread an oval drawing
and the moon rolling down a rock
smell of orange blossom

this is called orange he said it is something to eat
I bought it at the cattle fair for you

a chick being hatched is not easy either
if there is no ear of wheat
if there is no waiting
if there is no space

some when they are hatched their roost is spoiled
they go

luz      but the leaf       has nerves covered
in dust but
do not then get confused      but blow

the woman picked up an ear of wheat from the ground
an ear of wheat has little flour but
it will make sense

orange falls the moment you passed by
it rolls       smells

I wanted to make a simple thing to give you
to give them
to give you
to make an old age
a death even
a thing like the spiral peel of an orange
(unlike the pedros´ baby girl
who came badly)
sometimes the peel is torn

take      luz       an orange look I found it in the air
and luz is not luz either
neither is a leaf that falls
– hayu hayuná hayunaí there! (someone celebrates something)

a woman on the door step gazes out
to far far away
her name was orange         she peeled well        she came out unspoiled
she had been learning simply to fall
in a spiral       on herself

1. Light.


te regalo una hierba
dentro de una carta

toma esta hoja abuela la encontré
tiene polvo
se llama luz

un hilito verde un dibujo ovalado
y la luna rodando por una roca
olor a azahar

esto se llama naranja dijo es cosa de comer
en la feria la compré para ti

un pollito naciendo tampoco es fácil
si no hay espiga
si no hay espera
si no hay espacio

algunos cuando nacen se les rompe la casa
se van

luz pero      la hoja tiene los nervios       cubiertos
de polvo entonces
pero no confundirse           pero soplar

la mujer recogía del suelo una espiga de trigo
una espiga de trigo poquita harina tiene pero
tendrá sentido

naranja cae en el momento en que tú pasabas por allí
rueda          huele

yo quería hacer una cosa sencilla para darte
para darles
paro daros
hacer una vejez
una muerte incluso
una cosa así como la piel en espiral de una naranja
cuando se logra entera
(la niña de los de pedro no se logró tampoco
venía mal)
a veces se desgarra la piel

toma luz una naranja mira la encontré en el aire
y luz tampoco es luz
tampoco es una hoja que cae
— ¡hayú hayuná hayunaí allá! (alguien celebra algo)

una mujer en el umbral se asoma al otro lado
mira desde muy muy lejos
se llamaba naranja         pelaba bien          salía entera
había ido aprendiendo a caer sencillamente
en espiral           sobre sí misma


Babe       take flowers to Chekhov´s grave
take        a little branch
if you go to russia one day       do that
you go and take flowers        but there
when you grow up
a seagull         at a beach       give her flight
so when you go to russia you ask
do you know where´s          Chekhov´s grave
it must have a painted         sea bird

he went cold

she was the apple of his        eye
she closed his eyes
wide open           like
portals of a house                 without people
like a hot cross bun she crossed his eyelids
and she said to herself        said      told herself
I´ll go dad      I´ll go             leave
in peace
I ´ll go
even if it rains

then        the little one put four
of bread inside a bag
a small bottle of water        only four of bread only
´cos it would get hard         inside a bag
she started walking            into the hill
without anyone seeing her
´cos it was not proper         to wait to grow up
to go and put some flowers                over a
grave in russia


nena       llévale flores a la tumba de chejov
llévale      un ramito
si vas a rusia un día tú        lo haces
vas y le llevas flores            pero allá
cuando seas grande
una gaviota         en una playa         échala a volar
después vas a rusia            preguntas
usted sabrá dónde             la tumba de chejov
debe de tener pintado un                pájaro marino

se quedó

ella era la niña de los ojos               de él
le cerró los ojos
que los tenía                      así
portales de una casa                      sin gente
le hizo la cruz del pan                    sobre los párpados
y se dijo a sí misma          dijo       dijo para sí
he de ir papá                    he de ir                 marcha tranquilo
he de ir
aunque llueva

entonces                        la pequeña              cuatro rebanadas
de pan en una bolsa
botellita de agua           sólo cuatro de pan sólo
que se iba a poner duro                                 en una bolsa
echó a andar                 monte adentro
sin que la viera nadie
pues no era del caso                                      esperar a ser grande
para ir a poner unas flores                             encima de una
tumba en rusia


harriet tubman was born araminta ross
maria was born agnieszka
norma was born conchita
fernán was born cecilia
pocahontas was born matoaka
álvaro was born álvar
raphaël was born rafita
hypatia of alexandria was born a martyr
annika was born anita
rachael was born raquel
andrzej naceu 1 andrés
christine was born george
carla was born carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley was born mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / she never left
the roslin institute

1. was born


harriet tubman nació araminta ross
maría nació agnieszka
norma nació conchita
fernán nació cecilia
pocahontas nació matoaka
álvaro nació álvar
raphaël nació rafita
hypatia de alejandría nació mártir
annika nació anita
rachael nació raquel
andrzej naceu andrés
christine was born george
carla nació carlos
lucas naceu lilia
mary shelley nació mary godwin
dolly naceu dolly non saíu / no salió nunca
del roslin institute


harriet tubman       rests her head        lays it

on the train track       and sleeps      she leads ahead      because she knows languages ​​understands the signs     bears the beatings      knows the underground rail ways and sees what cannot be seen      and dreams what cannot be dreamt     next to harriet       all the others sleep      over the track     non return trips are long    forests are very scary bugs and smugglers are very scary    some countries are far too far they are so far away      some mornings never reach a train    station    never never arrive     they pass by    in the darkness things look like bundles      the ones who move carrying linen bags or with a little old lady on their  shoulders      they look like wolves     mist     on her palm a woman has written a verse in orange ink       the train track is not a cosy pillow       the cold doesn´t let you keep your ideas safe      sleep and dream      the message read      the deeper the dream     the farther it takes you     little foreigner


descansa a cabeza harriet tubman póusaa

na vía do tren     e dorme     ela vai por diante     porque sabe linguas     entende os letreiros     aguanta os paus / los palos     coñece os camiños de ferro sub da terra     e ve o que non se ve   e soña o que non se soña     a caronciño / a la vera de harriet     as outras dormen todas     sobre da vía     as viaxes sen retorno fanse largas     as fragas / bosques meten moito medo meten medo os bichos e os estraperlistas     algúns países están lonxe de máis /  quedan tan tan lejos       algunhas mañás / mañanas non chegan nunca á estación dun tren /  no llegan nunca nunca   pasan na escuridade as cousas semellan vultos     os que se moven cargando con sacos de liño / lino ou cunha velliña ao lombo / una viejecita sobre los hombros       semellan lobos      néboa /  niebla        na man aberta ten escrito a muller un verso con tinta de cor laranxa      a vía do tren non é unha almofada xeitosa / una almohada agradable no es la vía de un tren      o frío non permite acomodar as ideas sen perigo / peligro      durme e soña  dicía a mensaxe      o soño canto máis fondo máis lonxe te leva / más lejos te transporta         extranxeiriña
Translations Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
Bio Photo. Luz Pichel & Amparo Arróspide. November 2017. Madrid.

Luz Pichel was born in 1947 in Alén (Lalín, Pontevedra), a tiny village in Galicia. Alén means “beyond” and also means “the beyond”. There she learned to speak in a language that could die but does not want to. Those who speak that language think that it is always others those who speak well.

She is the author of the poetry books El pájaro mudo (1990, City of Santa Cruz de la Palma Award), La marca de los potros (2004, XXIV Latin American poetry prize Juan Ramón Jiménez), Casa pechada (2006, Esquío Poetry Award ), El pájaro mudo y otros poemas (2004), Cativa en su lughar / Casa pechada (2013), Tra (n) shumancias (2015) and Co Co Co Ú (2017).
Part of her work Casa pechada was translated into English and Irish in the anthological book To the winds our sails: Irish writers translate Galician poetry, Salmonpoetry, 2010, ed. Mary O’Donnell & Manuela Palacios.

Neil Anderson translated into English Casa pechada. Several poems appeared in his blog (re) voltas; July, 2014.

Several poems from Casa pechada appeared in the American magazines SALAMANDER, No. 41, year 2015, and PLEIADES, vol. 36, Issue 2, p. 117, year 2016, in English translation by Neil Anderson.
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines, she has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. The latter is part of a trilogy together with Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora, which are in the course of being published. In 2010 she acted as a co-editor of webzine Poetry Life Times, where many of her translations of Spanish poems have appeared, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, Francisca Aguirre, Carmen Crespo, Javier Díaz Gil into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
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) .


Robin Hislop Reads at University of Leeds His Poetry and Translations. Video Performance.

This video recording was made at University of Leeds on October 10th. 2017, it was introduced and presented by  Antonio_Martínez_Arboleda Principal Teaching Fellow in Spanish and poet.

The initial image can be enlarged to full screen size. The texts and accompanying images can be easily toggled to place according to requirements.

Below the video also is a link that gives a report and interpretation of the performance by students who attended.

The report is live at http://www.leeds.ac.uk/arts/news/article/5108/2nd_cts_professionalisation_talk_2017-18_international_writers_at_leeds

Press Release Tesserae Collected Poems by Carmen Crespo

Translators Bios of Tesserae
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologiesand international magazines, she has published five poetry collections:Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos yalgunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. Another two – Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora- are in the course of being published. A coeditor of webzine Poetry Life Times, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, José Antonio Pamies, Francisca Aguirre, Javier Díaz Gil and Luis Fores into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Transforming with Poetry (Leeds) and Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times, appearances of his works include
Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Poetic Bond Volumes, Phoenix Rising from the Ashes (an international anthology of sonnets) The Honest Ulsterman and translations into Spanish for CRÁTERA (Autumn 2017). His recent publications are two volumes of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk (2015) Cartoon Molecules (2017) & Key of Mist (2016) a translation from Spanish of poetess Guadalupe Grande all published by
Aquillrelle.com available at main online tributaries. Further information about these publications with reviews and comments see Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop
& Amazon.com Author Robin Ouzman Hislop

Poems from Angel Minaya’s Collected Poems TEOREMA DE LOS LUGARES RAROS (Theorem of rare places)

lugar es una casa para poner un codo    no deja de dañar la mesa    también sobre los huesos un 
palo    sus balances

lugar es una puerta para esconder la carga   perdura en la cabeza aislada el rastrillo de la 
deuda    tatúa las membranas

lugar es una ventana para poner un caballo un libro alguna cosa

place is a house to place an elbow   the table never leaves off hurting    it´s also a stick on
the bones   balance sheets

place is a door to hide the burden   on an isolated head the rake of debt lingers    tattooing 

place is a window to place a horse a book some thing


un niño pasea por las orillas del légamo    se parece a mi sombra    tiene miedo pero no corre
tal vez sus pies han oído el acre perfume de la ova    animales suaves se agitan en el cañizal
un ciervo tendido va confundiéndose con las hojas caídas su cuello muestra linfas secretas  el 
sol cruje con la intensidad de la corteza   columpios oxidados anticipan la ruina de los juegos 
juegos solitarios donde el niño me imagina soñando con orillas  recordando carroñas sin volumen
el agua verdinegra que el verano va cociendo    ambos somos un sueño compartido por el otro 
observados bajo las cañas por los ojos feroces de nuestra madre

a child passes silted shores   seeming like my shadow   he's afraid but doesn't run perhaps his
feet have heard the acrid perfume of the ulva   soft animals tremble in reed banks    a deer 
lying down mingles with fallen leaves his neck revealing a secret lymph    sun crackles through
intensity of bark   rusty swings herald a ruination of games solitary games where I'm imagined
by the child to be dreaming of these shores    a massless memory of carrion   the summer's 
blackgreenish water is baking   we are both a dream shared by the other   watched under the 
reeds by the fierce eyes of our mother


                          Conferencia austro-húngara [apuntes]

antes de comenzar imaginemos
pensar en húngaro o escribir en alemán

alguien recoge lo que ama y lo corrige
alguien hubiera preferido someter a reconstrucción una pared escarpada
y ahora yo llevo bajo el brazo
el vínculo entre la fuerza y la risa

el caso es
        de dónde procede este placer
        después de qué aniquilación maduran los conceptos
        por qué admiramos los átomos o la madrugada

queridos colegas
       por) un agresor ha sido devorado
       como) la frialdad de las madres es comparable a las máquinas zapadoras
       en) lo que permanece dentro siempre resulta victorioso

en fin por) como) y en) prueban que una idea es lo más parecido a una cicatriz
o a un sueño que dura ya 51 años

en alemán los ahogados
beben hasta que les llega la muerte
en húngaro los mensajes indirectos acaban alojándose
en órganos e inervaciones habituales

buenas tardes y gracias a todos
por su aflicción

                             Austro-Hungarian Conference [Notes]

before we begin let us imagine
thinking in Hungarian or writing in German

someone picks up what they love and corrects it
someone would have preferred to rebuild a steep wall
and now I'm carrying under my arm
the link between strength and laughter

the case is
         where does this pleasure come from
         after what annihilation do concepts mature
         why do we admire atoms or the dawn

dear colleagues
     by)       a foe has been devoured
     as)       the coldness of mothers is comparable to trenching machines
     in)       what remains inside is always victorious

hence by) as) and in) prove that an idea is the closest thing to a scar
or a dream that has already lasted for 51 years

in German the drowned
drink themselves to death
in Hungarian indirect messages end up occupying
the usual organs and innervations

good evening thank you all for listening
and thank you all for your suffering


                                    Apuntes catastróficos

contraimagen         en el observador nace un estado de malestar o acantilado 

contradicción        la luz sobre el terraplén se degrada en movimiento

estímulos            la vida es una erosión subterránea equivalente al plano inclinado de la 

contragolpe          un árbol despliega la tierra rota en dirección al sol blanco de la 

contrapunto          los dominios zoológicos se ramifican y expanden como nudos que se 

impresiones          la caza y los territorios acumulan conglomerados de mapas y 

contrasentido        un cono o pirámide de escombros pasa de la regularidad a la máxima 

contraataque         el observador es una trampa para frecuencias de lenta degradación

reducto              un germen de catástrofe en favor de la excitación y el desorden

                                      Catastrophic Notes

counter image        a cliff state or discomfort is born in the observer

contradiction        the light on the embankment degrades in movement

stimuli              life is an underground erosion equivalent to the inclined plane of anguish

countercoup          a tree displays broken earth towards the white sun of analogy

counterpoint         zoological domains ramify their expansions pursued as knots 

impressions          hunting and territories accumulate clusters of maps and landslides

countermeaning       the debris of a cone or pyramid goes from regularity to maximum turbulence

counterassault       the observer is a trap for frequencies of slow degradation

stronghold           a germ of catastrophe in favor of excitement and disorder


                                         Equivalencia en hueco

[nada] evento de la palabra que lo pronuncia [nunca] agujero o gusano de tiempo oscuro [nadie]
impensada extensión de una antinomia que se fue [nulo] valor absoluto del abandono [pérdida] 
extravío en la dirección apropiada [mudez] propósito semántico del niño en silencio [se] 
impersonal atavismo del aullido [cero] punto lógico del número a su saco [no] jaque a la 
tercera persona oblicua [yo] identidad imaginaria de la cópula y la disyunción [negro] color 
automático de las orillas en materia de movimiento [vacío] mensaje contracto del negativo de 
los objetos [incógnita] conjunto dispar de soluciones y raíces antes del árbol [significado] 
liquidar el poema de materia oscura
                   del doble tan raro
                                   decirse no expresarse
                                                    aunque [yo] estuviera allí

                                           GAP-IN EQUIVALENCE

[nothing] an event from the word that articulates it [never] a dark time or worm hole [nobody]
an unthought extension of a vanished antinomy [null] the absolute value of abandonment [loss]
a misplacement in the proper direction [muteness] the semantic intention of a child's silence
[self] an impersonal atavistic howl [zero] the number's logical point in its sac [not] the 
oblique third person placed in check [i] imaginary identity of conjunction and disjunction 
[black] the automatic color of edges in the materialisation of motion [vacuum] a message shrunk from the 
negatives of photographic objects [unknown] a disparate set of solutions and roots preceding 
their tree [meaning] to wipe dark matter out of the poem

                   by such a rare double
                                  to tell oneself not to express oneself
                                                         even though as if [i] was there

                                          WCW 1963 

amo las cosas esas cizañas que no dejan ver el mar el sabor oculto de las fresas perceptible 
solo en su consumación el zorzal una danza leve en la luz amarilla

hoy una mano escribe y la otra me hace viva la muerte

en otro tiempo el día era el ascenso mis manos ayudaban a nacer palpaban el dolor y la noche 
el descenso la medida variable de los huesos quebrados por la música

ahora el perro y la fiebre la oscuridad extensa donde nada tiene cura

van cayendo los ciegos los aros giran la espalda del desierto es la tortuga que sostiene el 

                                         WCW 1963

i love things those ryegrasses not letting you see the sea hidden taste of strawberries 
perceptible only in their consummation a thrush a light dance in the yellow light

today one hand is writing and the other is making death alive for me

in another time a day was the ascent my hands helped to give birth they touched pain and  night
the descent the variable measure of bones broken by music

Now the dog and the fever a vast darkness where nothing can be cured

the blind are falling rings are turning round the spine of the desert is the turtle supporting
the world

Translations from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop


ANGEL MINAYA (Madrid, 1964), a Bachelor in Hispanic Philology by the Complutense University of
Madrid, was also awarded in PhD in Linguistics by the Autonomous University of Madrid. 
A teacher of Literature and Language at a high school in that same Community, some of his poems
and critical reviews have been published by Nayagua literary e-zine. A few have also been 
included in the anthology Voces del extremo: Poesía y desobediencia (Madrid, 2014). 
Teorema de los lugares raros (Theorem of rare places) is his first published poetry collection
(El sastre de Apollinaire, Madrid, 2017).

Cartoon-Molecules/paperback/Robin Ouzman Hislop