Shine. A Poem by Irsa Ruçi Translated by Silva Daci

 

I.
Hear to the cicada’s song, my dear, hear it
Some words they mutter to spring
And feel their whisper to the leafs
To the mornings’ dew
So tell me:
Was this world made to be savage?
 

II.
Oh, what sins did we give to this earth
So that our own tear weighs in powerless
At traces that froze in oblivion
The lost sinner
We…
Guardians of Hope
 

III.
One day we will get away
In a path there’s no coming back
For sure I’ll carry behind only regret,
Why we weren’t enough in this greedy world?
And the forgiveness
We were eager to get it
When one day even our soul we’ll see it
Stripped from our bodies.
 

IV.
O tell me that nothing is true
That the poet’s words are thatch stalks
That would be fired by one single match
And I, my last line I’ll give to the Human;
For he prays in the sin’s mercy
And in his life never lied to himself
 
My last line I’ll save it for the Human…

 
My photo 2

 
Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Writer, Speechwriter and Lecturer. She was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1990. Her books of poetry include Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010.
She has been published in anthologies: Antologji, 2007; I kërkoj agimit vesën, 2008; Antologji poetike “Kushtuar dashurisë”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Udha”, 2014; Antologji poetike, 2014; “Malli dhe brenga nga distancat”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Qyteti”, 2014; Poeteca, 2015; and her works has appeared in a number of print and online national and international magazines, including Sling Magazine, Issue 5; Ann Arbor Review, Issue 15; Poeteca Magazine, Issue 35; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2015; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2016; Metaphor Magazine Issue 5; The Commonline Journal, Issue 4/22; A New Ulster poetry Anthology, April 2016; Best Poems Encyclopedia; Issuu April 2016; In Between Hangovers, May 2016; BLUEPEPPER, May 2016; Duane’s PoeTree, May 2016; CREATIVE TALENTS UNLEASHED, 8 May 2016, Tuck Magazine, 12 May 2016; Whispers… 2016; Dead Snakes Magazine; – RANDOM POEM TREE, 13 May 2016; RANDOM POEM TREE, 16 May 2016; In Between Hangovers, 14 May 2016; In Between Hangovers, 24 May 2016; SCARLET LEAF REVIEW, May Issue; Ashvamegh Magazine (Ashvamegh Indian Journal of English Literature), The Beatnik Cowboy, 19 May; Dissident Voice, 22 May; Joomag, May 2016; Bear Creek Haiku, May Issue; Dissident Voice, 29 May  etc.
Among many awards, she has received the first prize in poetry, in competition “Anthology 2007”, as the best poet in Albania.

 

Silva Daci foto

 
Bio:
Silva Daci was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1996. She is student of English Major, at the Faculty of Foreign Languages, in the University of Tirana. She is an activist in some social cooperatives and she likes to be part of social and cultural activities.
 

 
 
 
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I SEEK A FORM . . . (by Rubén Darío; translated by William Ruleman)

 
I SEEK A FORM . . .
 
(by Rubén Darío; translated by William Ruleman)
 
I seek a form my style cannot quite trace,
A bud of thought that seeks to be a rose;
A kiss upon my lips proclaims the throes
Of the Venus de Milo’s impossible embrace.
 
Green palms adorn the white peristyle like lace;
The stars have shown me a goddess in repose;
And in my soul, a sole light lingers—glows
Like the bird of the moon on a lake’s calm face.
 
And I find nothing but the word as it goes,
The flute’s initial note as it flows,
The bark of dreams that glides through infinity,
 
And under my Sleeping Beauty’s window sill,
The fountain jet that keeps on sobbing still,
The neck of the great white swan that questions me.
 
YO PERSIGO UNA FORMA . . .
 
(Rubén Darío)
 
Yo persigo una forma que no encuentra mi estilo,
botón de pensamiento que busca ser la rosa;
se anuncia con un beso que en mis labios se posa
el abrazo imposible de la Venus de Milo.
 
Adornan verdes palmas el blanco peristilo;
los astros me han predicho la visión de la Diosa;
y en mi alma reposa la luz como reposa
el ave de la luna sobre un lago tranquilo.
 
Y no hallo sino la palabra que huye,
la iniciación melódica que de la flauta fluye
y la barca del sueño que en el espacio boga;
 
y bajo la ventana de mi Bella-Durmiente,
el sollozo continuo del chorro de la fuente
y el cuello del gran cisne blanco que me interroga.

 
 
William Ruleman photo
 
 
BIO: William Ruleman’s poems and translations have appeared in many journals, including AALitra Review, Ezra, The Galway Review, The New English Review, The Pennsylvania Review, The Recusant, Rubies in the Darkness, The Sonnet Scroll, and Trinacria. His books include two collections of his own poems (A Palpable Presence and Sacred and Profane Loves, both from Feather Books), as well as translations of poems from Rilke’s Neue Gedichte (WillHall Books, 2003), of Stefan Zweig’s fiction in Vienna Spring: Early Novellas and Stories (Ariadne Press, 2010), of prose and poems by Zweig in A Girl and the Weather (Cedar Springs Books, 2014), and of poems by the German Romantics in Verse for the Journey: Poems on the Wandering Life (also from Cedar Springs Books). He is Professor of English at Tennessee Wesleyan College.LINK to William Ruleman’s Blog: http://williamruleman.tumblr.com/
 
 
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Sappho Ode. The Moon Has Set The Pleiades. Translations Richard Vallance.

Sappho poetry Elihu Vedder  1836-1923 The Pleiades 1885(1)
 
Press to Enlarge. Editor PLT
 
Richard Vallance, meta-linguist, ancient Greek & Mycenaean Linear B, home page: Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae, http://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/
 
Richard Vallance
 
https://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/2015/03/20/sublime-sappho-the-moon-has-set-the-pleiades-in-aeolic-greek-linear-b-linear-c-english-french/
 
 
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I SHALL FIND YOU TO TELL YOU. A Poem by AMALIA IGLESIAS. Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide.

 
 
This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.
 
From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You), Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) , Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds), Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy), Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas), Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).
 
We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.

 
 
I will find you to tell you
that I am in love with life,
that I love in the agony
its lip that ignores me,
aimlessly I seek its sweet guillotine,
its blade of a thousand edges cutting my surf.
 
I love life
which grieves, keeps me late
in the night with bitter waking liquor
like a thread of morning fog amidst willows,
 
that I love its torn cyst of mandragora,
the glass lagoon which wrecks the years,
I love the uncertainty of moss and autumn,
the tenderness and sourness which flow.
 
In spite of this blinded fear of slopes
where I seek you
because I too evade death
and dawn.
 
All the fowls of the air drink glycine in your eyes,
all the fowls of the air love your body unsheltered,
all the fowls of the air inhabit your organs of alcohol without aqueducts,
all the wings burn in your combustible mind…
 
All the fowls of the air
leave the ruins
to search weeping that lives North of your breast,
to search the scorching fire that inhabits it,
now that they know you as a first person singular,
verb to be, time present , mode indicative.
 
In another violet sky, I show
that pleated girl, her bags
blue and empty.
 
UNTIL the sea you are the condition of the geyser
and the flaming arpeggio.
Here awaits you the subjective couch of memory which oscillates.
It now pronounces the malediction,
reconstructs that psalm
I write in beacons.
 
Decode the fire:
lie down on water,
whisper to the breeze your memorable eyes,
tell it that tenderness is a fleeting blow in each wave,
tell it that the undercurrent
only reaches the waistline.
why the wind remains in its penultimate looks.
 
WHEN this song
is no more a sign in the imagination of an ambiguous wind.
When the streets play with a seditious jungle
with you your legs in mist
in the tortured embrace of an estuary.
Or when on another day you gaze at the Mediterranean
wishing no longer to return and begin
no longer to be a wave,
nor a propitious coast,
nor a sailor’s orphanage without a dawn.
 
The wind, only the wind
sheltering the madness of birds,
those, others,
which die from the light beneath the willows,
those that lived because of you under a Romanesque sky,
those that pass by now
and die in the sea,
in the water fermenting an abundance of names.
When this song is only
spectre and mirage,
searched unremembered,
my heart
as a bridge between times
resting on the twilight will await you.
 
MY steps search lethal passports,
white lethargies for the flame which comes
and without pity burns my pupils out.
 
I write letters and split moons
believing in Hadrian’s serenity to await death.
 
I have seen how the night opens an abyss curtain
and returns me to the blows of space.
I appear at the profound birth
that intoxicates the bonfire’s sensitive latitudes
— grass playing fatuous fire
the glass lip eclipsed towards the Orient.
 
I have seen the tenderness inside Aries
fulfil the equinox,
border madness tracing a periphrasis, crossing the flank
when the moon lies in wait
and the north wind tames bridges’ eyes.
I have left myself, naked, to the rain
to the algid gleam of glass streets.
 
Through the candle you burn in the retina of the night,
in the hidden abodes
where on another day we stole with open hands.
 
Behind the empty volume and the vulnerable hollow
inhabited by frost trembling among nettles
another multiple bird
turns into unlikely alchemy.
 
SINCE never I love you and always,
from everything, perhaps, forever,
from the emphatic lightning which climbs hours’ ditch
towards the rising whip in my setting pupils,
my prompt voice, my wind:
a final vertigo —
and the most ungrateful delta to finish the journey.
 
Until nothingness I wait,
until remoteness of useless memory and crater without a sunset,
until doubt intoxicated by heavenly signs,
in fever and an August magnetized moon.
 
 
AUTOR:
TÍTULO: TE BUSCARÉ PARA DECIRTE
 
Te buscaré para decirte
que estoy enamorada de la vida,
que amo en la angustia
su labio que me ignora,
busco sin cauce su dulce guillotina,
su espada de mil filos tajando mi oleaje.
 
Amo la vida
que me pesa y me trasnocha,
con el licor amargo que despierta
como un hilo de bruma entre los sauces,
 
que amo su quiste roto de mandrágora,
la laguna de vidrio que naufraga los años,
amo la incertidumbre del musgo y del otoño,
la ternura y el ácido que fluyen.
 
Que amo la vida,
a pesar de ese miedo cegado de vertientes
donde te busco,
porque aún esquivo la muerte
y amanece.
 
TODAS las aves beben glicinas en tus ojos,
todas las aves aman tu cuerpo a la intemperie,
todas las aves habitan tus órganos de alcohol sin acueducto,
todas las alas incendian tu mente combustible.
 
Todas las aves
salen de las ruinas
para buscar el llanto al norte de tu pecho,
para buscar el fuego caliente que lo habita,
ahora que te saben primera persona singular,
verbo ser y presente indicativo.
 
Aquella niña plegada a otro cielo violeta
me enseña sus bolsillos
azules y vacíos.
HASTA el mar tu condición de géyser
y de arpegio incendiado.
Aquí te espera el lecho subjetivo de memoria que oscila.
Pronuncia ahora la maldición,
reconstruye el salmo aquel
escrito en las antorchas.
Descodifica el fuego:
acuéstate en el agua,
susúrrale a la brisa sus ojos memorables,
dile que la ternura es un golpe fugaz en cada ola,
dile por qué la marejada
sólo sabe trepar a su cintura,
por qué se queda el viento en sus penúltimas miradas.
 
CUANDO esta canción
ya no sea un signo en la imaginación ambigua del viento.
Cuando las calles jueguen a selvas sediciosas
y tú te pierdas en la niebla,
en los tortuosos brazos de la ría.
 
O cuando otro día mires el Mediterráneo
y ya no quieras volver a empezar
y ya no quieras ser ola
ni costa propicia
ni asilo marítimo de niños sin aurora.
 
El viento, sólo el viento
acogiendo la locura de los pájaros,
aquellos, otros,
que morían por la luz bajo los sauces
aquellos que vivían por ti en la frente románica del cielo,
los que ahora pasan
y mueren en el mar,
en el agua donde fermenta la espesura de los nombres.
Cuando esta canción ya sólo sea
espectro y espejismo,
buscado desrecuerdo,
mi corazón,
como un puente entre los tiempos,
te esperará sentado en el crepúsculo.
 
MIS pasos buscan pasaportes letales,
letargos blancos para la llama que viene
y sin piedad me abrasa las pupilas.
 
Escribo cartas y lunas demediadas
mientras creo en la serenidad de Adriano para esperar a la muerte.
 
He visto cómo la noche abre una cortina de abismo
y me regresa de golpe a los espacios.
Me he asomado a la eclosión profunda
que embriaga las latitudes sensibles de la hoguera
y al pairo el césped jugando a fuego fatuo,
el labio de vidrio eclipsado hacia Oriente.
 
He visto entrar la ternura en Aries,
cumplirse el equinoccio,
bordear la locura trazando una perífrasis, cruzando de costado
cuando la luna acecha
y la tramontana domestica los ojos de los puentes.
Me he dejado a la lluvia desnuda y permeable,
al álgido destello de las calles en vidrio.
 
A través de la vela que tú enciendes en la retina de la noche,
en los ocultos ámbitos
en que otro día robamos con las manos abiertas.
 
Detrás del volumen vacío y el hueco vulnerable
donde habita la escarcha tiritando entre ortigas
y otro pájaro múltiple
se hace alquimia improbable.
 
DESDE nunca te quiero y para siempre,
desde todo y quizá y para siempre,
desde el rotundo rayo que sube por la acequia de las horas
al látigo crecido en mis pupilas ponientes
veloz mi voz, mi viento:
vértigo de desembocadura –
y el más ingrato delta para acabar el viaje.
 
Hasta la nada espero,
hasta lo lejos de la memoria inútil y el cráter sin crepúsculo,
hasta la duda embriagada de rótulos celestes,
en la fiebre y la luna imantada de agosto.
 
 

 
amalia2
 
Amalia Iglesias was born in Menaza, in the province of Palencia, in 1962. She won the prestigious Adonais prize in 1985 for Un lugar para el fuego and has published several other books of poetry. She lives in Madrid, where she edits Revista de Libros and La Alegría de los Naufragios. Her work has been widely anthologized amediavoz.com/iglesias.htm
 
 
Poeta española nacida en Menaza, Palencia, en 1962.Desde 1970 se trasladó con su familia a Bilbao donde se licenció en Filología Hispánica por la Universidad de Deusto.Actualmente vive en Madrid donde ha sido coordinadora del suplemento Culturas de «Diario 16». Dirige desde su creación,en 1996, de Revista de Libros, de la Fundación «Caja Madrid» y además colabora en la revista de poesía La alegría de los naufragios y en la sección Contemporáneos del suplemento cultural del periódico «ABC». Su obra poética está compuesta por «Un lugar para el fuego» 1984, «Memorial de Amauta» 1988, «Mar en sombra» 1989,«Dados y dudas» 1996, «Tótem espantapájaros», «La sed del río» y «Lázaro se sacude las ortigas» 2006. Ha sido galardonada con los premios de poesía Adonáis en 1984, Alonso de Ercilla del gobierno Vasco 1995, con el accésit del Jaime Gil de Biedma en 1996 y el Premio Francisco Quevedo de poesía 2006.

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Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
 
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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine from 2008-2012

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Creatures of Joy . A Poem by Amparo Amoros. Translated by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide

 
This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.
 
From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You) ,Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) , Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds), Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy) , Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas), Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).
 
We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.
 
 
To Edith Zipperich & Antoni Marí.
 
It would be useless for us to wonder
why the summer joined us as a nest
of woven hair between its bright hands
to decipher the emblem of the name
over fields of wheat,
to open in branches
to the wakes of chance,
or the fated date,
which summoned us there
or by whom.
To know? What for?
To feel, know and no more!
Everything still lives
and is sufficient now
because the skin of this truth
makes the word and time translucent.
 
The dovecote. The island. A bonfire of honey
where only we listened to the murmur of the light.
Like that morning
seeping through the earth today was music
its white aroma canvass in the arc
of memory
that recognizes an identical space
yet distinct
in which dwelt the miracle:
here grew an ivy
veins of surprises,
the bay a burst
in a clamor of quartz
and the still pool grew
yellow flowers.
 
Now, we will never die.
In spite of the pain we will never die.
Even though surrender is a flight
of full hands and nimble feet
and even though the world scarcely lasts
the absolute caress
of transparently winged truth.
How sad temporal chords of perfection!
 
But listen to the voice
born discarded
in the cave:
we cross its moss green lips
and descend laughing into its dark spring
of desolation.
 
Destiny left the door half-open
and we learnt from its hinge
the rusted song of complaint:
rags of charity initiated us.
 
But outside, the buzz of burning crickets calling us,
sunflowers unanimously crackled
like a diaphanous chorus of splinters
and an amber bird
suddenly crossed the sky.
 
We were simply creatures of joy
freed of pain for an instant,
not intact, but unharmed
from so many occurrences,
full and surrendered
to the flame which momentarily sates
shortage of excess,
to the branch which wreathes the crown of joy,
and warm dates smiled upon by evening’s
apron splashed with handfuls of water,
in the fresh innocence
of what has spilt its measure
and brimming overflows
by the grace of this truce,
which at times life gifts us:
to be and to be us, merely
and to be everything
to justify the universe.
 
 
 
AUTORA: AMPARO AMORÓS
TíTULO: CRIATURAS DEL GOZO
A Edith Zipperich y Antoni Marí
 
Fuera inútil ahora preguntarnos
por qué el estío nos reunió entre sus manos claras
como cabellos que trenzaran un nido,
descifrar el emblema del nombre sobre campo
de trigos,
abrir en gajos
las estelas del azar
o la cita acordada
y ¿por quién?
que allí nos convocaba.
¿Conocer? ¿Para qué?
Sentir, saber, y basta.
Todo está vivo aún
y es suficiente
porque vuelve palabra
la piel de esta certeza
y traslúcido el tiempo.
 
El palomar. La isla. Una hoguera de miel
donde sólo escuchábamos el rumor de la luz.
Como aquella mañana
hoy trasmina la tierra y era música
su blanco aroma a lienzos en el arca
de la memoria
que reconoce idéntico el espacio
y tan distinto
en que habitó el milagro:
aquí creció una yedra
de venas asombradas,
estalló la ensenadaa
en un clamor de cuarzos
y el remanso crujió
de flores amarillas.
Ya nunca moriremos.
A pesar del dolor ya nunca moriremos.
Aunque es la entrega huida
de manos llenas y de pies ligeros
y apenas dura un mundo
la caricia total con que nos roza
como ala transparente la verdad.
¡Qué triste es el acorde fugaz de lo perfecto!
 
Pero escucha la voz
que nacía empozada
de la cueva:
franqueamos sus labios de verdines musgosos
y bajamos riendo al manantial oscuro
de la desolación.
Entreabría el destino la puerta
y aprendimos en su bisagra
el oxidado canto de la queja.
Pliegues de caridad nos iniciaban.
 
Pero afuera, cigarras calcinadas llamándonos a gritos,
crepitaban unánimes todos los girasoles
como un coro diáfano de astillas
y un pájaro de ámbar
cruzó de pronto el cielo.
 
Éramos puramente criaturas del gozo
a salvo del dolor por un instante,
no intactos, sino indemnes
porque al regreso ya de tantas cosas,
entregados y plenos
a la tea que sacia momentánea
la escasez del exceso,
a la rama estañada que corona de dicha,
a los dátiles tibios que sonríe la tarde
con el mandil cuajado de manojos de agua,
en la fresca inocencia
de lo que ha derramado su medida
y grávido, rebasa y se concede
por gracia de esa tregua
con que a veces la vida nos regala:
ser y sernos tan sólo
y serlo todo
para justificar el universo.
 

 
amparoamoros
 
Amparo Amorós was born in Valencia, Spain, in 1950.She has published articles and poems in literary magazines such as Insula, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, Cuadernos del Norte, Litoral, El País, La Vanguardia and others. She was awarded an accesit to the Adonais Literary Prize in 1982, for her poetry book Ludia (1983). Other published books include Al rumor de la luz (1985), La honda travesía del águila (1986), El cálculo de la derrota, La cicatriz del agua, Quevediana (1988), Visión y destino, poesía 1982-1992 (1993), Árboles en la música (1995) and Las moradas (2000) as well as her essay La palabra del silencio (la función del silencio en la poesía española a partir de 1969) (1991).Her books have been translated into several languages.
 
 
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Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
 
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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine from 2008-2012

robin@artvilla.com
PoetryLifeTimes
Poetry Life & Times

editor@artvilla.com

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TRIUMPH OF ARTEMIS OVER VOLUPTA . A Poem by Ana Rossetti. Translated by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide

 
This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.
 
From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You) , Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) , Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds), Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy) , Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas), Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).
 
We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.
 
 
I question in your mirror, inimitable age,
in which of my innumerable
larders is the mask of the goddess,
which once shadow covered marbles.
 
Your ardor, such obsessive ecstasy,
made her lovely and distant and proclaimed her alone.
Not with standing the times she abused you all!
Her tongue so cruel was as a whip lash.
Behind the balconies she spied eagerly
denying supplicant eyes
if any of your desires were presumptive.
 
She granted none of you a single thread of her tunic,
not even as much as to stir its beads.
None of you were able to peep through a keyhole
to see how parsimoniously she disrobed herself
letting her nakedness grow from the bath.
A vapor of dark vine climbing, a hand reaching
its sponge, fragrant foam crawling
over and into her body,
establishing her invisible supremacy.
 
None of you drank from the fountains of ambrosia
that flooded the turbulent labyrinths
sealed by a malign virginity, nor knew
her shaded armpits, the luxuriant pelvis tortoise shell,
her plaited hair, nor the kind touch of those fingers
that I know so well, but how you love her!
 
None of you heard her shout when the din of pleasure
happened and tumultuously overflowed the cleft cupola,
but the memory of her hurtling downwards assaults
all of you and in me you seek her. How terrible and
inimitable age. I am forever questioning your mirror.
 
I want to be reborn in that ancient persona
that fascinated all of you, that body so unknown,
if such a metamorphosis were at all possible.
 
So now you know in which exact
pores of my skin Eros is concealed,
and the secrets surprised by your skilful
mouths spread out on the bed sheet.
 
Yielding, my legs will bind yours,
fastening for that total assault on my
thrust womb to burn there.
 
Now I am a habit,
an invaded homeland of routine pleasures.
By possessing me you lost my inner beauty
and your desires themselves have vanished.
 
But if you all help me
to search for the forgotten tunics
in the larders and restore the propitious mask,
if I return arrogant will I be able to convince you?
 
Experience is so sagacious,
so indestructible its mandate
that I far surpassed you.
I could even destroy you and you reproach me for it.
 
Inimitable age,
where the gods dwelt
and admiration was the sole tribute
you would lay at my feet. Do not ask me
to return, since innocence is irrecoverable.
 
 

TRIUNFO DE ARTEMIS SOBRE VOLUPTA
 
Edad inimitable, a tu espejo interrogo
en cuál de mis innumerables
alacenas está la máscara de diosa
que de oscuro los mármoles cubría.
 
Vuestro fervor, tan obsesivo éxtasis,
la hizo hermosa y distante y la proclamó única.
Sin embargo, ¡tantas veces os maltrató!
Su lengua tan cruel como un látigo era.
Tras de los balcones atisbaba ansiosa
y a los suplicantes ojos se negaba
si de vuestros deseos tenía certidumbre.
 
No os consintió ni una sola hebra de su túnica,
ni tan siquiera que hurgárais entre sus collares.
No pudisteis, a través de una cerradura,
mirar cómo parsimoniosa se desvestía
haciendo crecer su desnudo desde la bañera.
Vaho de enredadera gris. La mano recurriendo
a la esponja. Y la fragante espuma, reptando
por su cuerpo, en él se introduce
instalando su invisible dominio.
 
No bebisteis tampoco en las sabrosas fuentes
que anegaban los turbios laberintos
que una maligna virginidad clausuró.
Ni las sombrías axilas, ni la frondosa concha
de la pelvis, ni la entrelazada cabellera
supieron del amable tacto de esos dedos
que conozco tan bien. ¡Pero cuánto la amáis!
 
No la oísteis gritar cuando el estrépito
del placer os sobrevino y tumultuosamente
desbordó la hendida cúpula.
Mas el recuerdo de ella, precipitándose,
os asalta y en mí la buscáis. Qué terrible
inimitable edad. Siempre a tu espejo interrogando.
 
Intento renacer, antigua identidad
que os fascinaba, aquel cuerpo tan desconocido,
si es que es posible tal metamorfosis.
 
Sabéis ya en qué precisos
lugares de mi piel Eros se asienta;
los secretos, derramados por la colcha,
por vuestras hábiles bocas sorprendidos.
 
Rendida, mis piernas fuertemente a vuestras piernas
enlazarán para que la total arremetida
a mi vientre penetre y arda en él.
 
Ahora soy costumbre,
invadida patria de rutinarias delicias.
Al poseerme perdisteis mi belleza interior
y se os han desvanecido los deseos.
 
Mas si me ayudáis a buscar
en los armarios las túnicas olvidadas
y a rescatar la máscara propicia,
si me vuelvo arrogante, ¿os podré convencer?
 
Tan sagaz es la experiencia
y tan indestructible su mandato
que os sobrepasé largamente.
Incluso os destruiría. Y me lo reprocháis.
 
Edad inimitable,
donde los dioses habitaban y era
la admiración el único tributo
que a mis pies esparcíais.
No me pidáis que vuelva,
pues la inocencia es irrecuperable.

 
rossetti 4
 
Rossetti5
 
Rossetti6
 
ANA ROSSETTI is a Spanish poet from Cádiz, who has been prominent on the Spanish literary scene for over 32 years. Since her remarkable voice burst on the Spanish cultural scene during the 1980s as a stage performer, she has become known in some circles as the “Madonna of Spanish Letters.” Besides poetry, Rossetti has dabbled in most genres including fiction, essay, drama, children’s literature and opera; and has collaborated with visual artists, popular singers and fashion designers. Her most well-known poetry collections include Los devaneos de Erato (Premio Gules, 1980), Indicios vehementes (1985), Yesterdays (1988), and Punto Umbrío (1996). For her book Devocionario, Rossetti received The III International Poetry Prize, Rey Juan Carlos I.

 
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Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
robin@artvilla.com
PoetryLifeTimes
Poetry Life & Times

editor@artvilla.com
www.artvilla.com
Artvilla.com

 

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For Olga. A Poem by Blanca Andreu. Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide.

This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.

From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You) , Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) , Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds), Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy) , Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas), Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).

We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.

For Olga

Girl of delicately golden tresses,
girl obsession of the virgin stork
with tufts of damask feathers
that splashed death,
of the crazy stork with wings
of golden strychnine
which flew off leaving you with a corporeal perfume,
a neat smell of lilacs, already golden and rude dreams.
Girl who obeyed the apostle scops owl
and the murky look of real eyes,
with puerile drawings of Selene and the rest.
Girl of non-existent concert,
girl of cruel sonatines and malevolent books by Tom Wolfe,
or witch lace to bandage wounded deer ulcers,
of fallow deer gazing from mystical knolls,
or places like that.
Pluperfect girl, girl we never were,
tell it now,
tell it now, you, now that it’s so late,
spell out the sombre tempo,
spell me the tear
the purple silhouette of the mare,
the foal that lay at your feet waking up foam.

Abandoned recite the words of yesteryear,
shadow of Juan Ramón: Solitude, I am true to you.
Scornful recite the words of yesteryear,
but not that courtly verse,
don’t talk of queens white as a lily,
snow and Joan burning
and interwoven melancholy
of dear Villon,
speak clear verbs where you can drink the saddest liquid,
jars of sea and relief, now that it is already so late,
raise your tiny voice and summon up the song:
tell life that I remember her,
I remember her.

This small death is definitely lost in a nascent forest,
the shoot of an arrested comet,
that nobody saves
young volcano of novice gust and bones
made of bird, eyelid and thinking wave
that no stella book
no book painted with Italien solar gold,
no book of lava
will seal for me.

And so death so many times written
becomes radiant,
and i can talk
of desire and the unseeing beam of the lighthouse,
of the chimerical corpse of the crew.
And so death
becomes the story
of that mute girl who hanged herself
with boreal harp’s strings
because of nuptial poison on her tongue.
I definitely get lost cradling litters of rare epitaphs,
girl of golden tresses,
I will tell life that you remember her,
I will tell death that you remember her
that you remember their lines conjuring your shadow,
that you remember their habits and tempo solo,
bitter laurel, deep bramble, brazen error and sorrowful hordes,
while Ephesian cats are crying at my feet,
while lost silver cats
go curdling their ancestry in genealogical cypress and poplar,
I will tell life to remember you,
to remember me
now,
when I rise with loops and hair strings
up to the disaster of my head
up to the disaster of my twenty years,
up to the disaster, lammergeier light.

De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall, 1980

Para Olga

Niña de greyes delicadamente doradas,
niña obsesión de la cigüeña virgen
con mechones de plumas de damasco
que salpicaban muerte,
de la cigüeña loca con alones
de estricnina dorada
que viajaba dejándote un corpóreo perfume,
un pulcro olor a lilas, ya dorados y rudos sueños.
Niña que obedeció al autillo apóstol
y a la mirada turbia de los ojos reales,
con pueriles dibujos de Selene y demás.
Niña de inexistente concierto,
niña de crueles sonatinas y malévolos libros de Tom Wolfe,
o de encajes de brujas para vendar las llagas de los corzos heridos,
de ciervos vulnerados asomados en los oteros místicos,
en los sitios así.
Niña pluscuamperfecta, niña que nunca fuimos,
dilo ahora,
dilo ahora tú, ahora que es tan tarde,
pronuncia el torvo adagio,
pronúnciame la lágrima,
la silueta morada de la yegua,
la del potro que se tendió a tus pies despertando la espuma.

Declama abandonada las palabras de antaño,
sombra de Juan Ramón: Soledad, te soy fiel.
Declama desdeñosa las palabras de antaño,
pero no aquella estrofa cortesana,
no hables de reinas blancas como un lirio,
nieves y Juana ardiendo,
y la melancolía entretejida
del querido Villon,
sino los verbos claros donde poder beber el líquido más triste,
jarros de mar y alivio, ahora que ya es tarde,
alza párvula voz y eco albacea y canta:
Dile a la vida que la recuerdo,
que la recuerdo.

Definitivamente se extravía en un bosque naciente esta muerte pequeña,
el brote del cometa detenido,
esto que nadie salva,
joven volcán de huesos y ráfaga novicia
hecha de pájaro y de párpado y de ola pensante
que ningún libro estela,
ningún libro estofado de oro solar de Italia,
ningún libro de lava
viene a sellar por mí.

Y así la muerte tantas veces escrita
se me vuelve radiante,
y puedo hablar
del deseo y del lacre rubio y ciego en los faros,
del cadáver quimera de la tripulación.

Y así la muerte
se convierte en historia
de aquella niña muda que se ahorcó
con las cuerdas boreales del arpa
porque tenía en la lengua un veneno nupcial.
Definitivamente me extravío acunando camadas de raros epitafios,
niña de grey dorada,
diré a la vida que la recuerdas,
diré a la muerte que la recuerdas,
que recuerdas sus líneas conjurando tu sombra,
que recuerdas sus hábitos y su carácter solo,
su laurel ácido, su profunda zarza, su descarado error y sus hordas dolidas,
mientras gatos efesios van llorando a mis pies,
mientras gatas perdidas plateadas
van cuajando su alcurnia en ciprés genealógico y en álamo,
diré a la vida que te recuerde,
que me recuerde,
ahora,
cuando me alzo con cuerdas capilares y bucles
hasta el desastre de mi cabeza,
hasta el desastre de mis veinte años,
hasta el desastre, luz quebrantahuesos.

“De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall”1980

AUTHOR: BLANCA ANDREU (1959)
Bibliography:
– De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall (awarded the 1980 Adonais International Poetry Prize) (Ediciones Rialp, Madrid, 1981).
– Báculo de Babel (awarded the Fernando Rielo International Poetry Prize) (Hiperión, Madrid, 1983).
– Elphistone (Visor Libros, Madrid, 1988)
– El sueño oscuro: (poesía reunida, 1980-1989) (Hiperión, Madrid, 1994).



Blanca Andreu (born 1959 A Coruña) is a Spanish poet. She grew up in Orihuela, where her family still resides, and attended El Colegio de Jesus-Maria de San Agustin, followed by studies in philology in Murcia. At age 20, she moved to Madrid without formally completing her education. Here, she met Francisco Umbral, who introduced her to the literati of the city.

In 1980, she was awarded the Premio Adonáis de Poesía for her work entitled, De una niña de provincias que se vino a vivir en un Chagall. Her use of surrealism is considered the beginning of the Post-Modern Generation. Her later work has tried to shy away from the surrealist tendencies of her early pieces.[2]

In 1985, she married novelist Juan Benet. After he died in 1993, she returned to La Coruña where she now lives a semi-reclusive life.

Awards

1980: Premio Adonáis de Poesía
1981: Premio de Cuentos Gabriel Miró
1982: Premio Mundial de Poesía Mística, Fernando Rielo
1982: Premio Ícaro de Literatura
2001: Premio Internacional de Poesía Laureà Mela

Translators:

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a poet and translator. She has published seven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, Hormigas en Diáspora , Jaccuzzi, and Valle Tiétar, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards.

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include

All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as  Key of Mist  and the recently published Tesserae  , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

 

Editor’s Note: see also Poetry, National Literature Prize 2018, Francisca Aguirre, Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop

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Small Birds.(Los Pajaros). A Poem by Isla Correyero. Translated by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arrospide

This work comprises in an excerpt from the anthology on contemporary Spanish female poets entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Madrid, 1985. Copyright Ed. Ramon Buenaventura. Hiperion. This is an original and unpublished English version of the original poem written in Spanish. Translators Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide would like to thank Casa del Traductor, in Tarazona and the British Literary Translation Association, East Anglia University Campus.

From this Spanish anthology –compiled by the well-known scholar and translator Mr. Ramón Buenaventura, whom we contacted earlier– a few selected authors were chosen for our joint translation work: Amalia Iglesias: Te buscare para decirte (I Will Find You To Tell You) , Ana Rossetti: Triunfo de Artemis sobre Volupta (Triumph Of Artemis Over Volupta) and Isolda (Isolda) , Blanca Andreu: Para Olga (For Olga) ,Isla Correyero: Los Pajaros (Small Birds) , Amparo Amoros: Midas (Midas) and Criaturas del gozo (Creatures Of Joy) , Rosalia Vallejo: Horno en llamarada (A Furnace In Flames) , Maria del Carmen Pallares: Sisargas (Sisargas) , Margarita Arroyo: Era el mar lejos del mar ( It Was Sea Away From Sea).

We would like to thank Mr. Ramón Buenaventura and the above name poets, in advance, and let them rest assured that their work is protected by a legal Creative Commons Licence, by virtue of which the above named translators are willing to provide excerpts from their original translation work, provided that readers agree to use it under the terms of such licence. We strongly recommend reading the entire work and the poets’, who have continued evolving during these decades.

 

My consciousness rests upon the fifth stair of your agony.
Asleep in my eyes are two small proud birds.
 
I have just painted my whole face red and afterwards burnt it.
My hair hangs in salt crystals and tufts of cotton wool.
 
You are naked before me. I am lying to you.
 
I am naked before you, an untouched white blossoming virgin.
 
A shaded grove and snowy whiteness envelope us.
 
A hollow gorge is piled with pearls and medusas and cast out eyes of fish.
 
There are mutilated children afloat in the bathing pools of Ariadne’s
estate, yellow sandals and birch branches.
 
Sanskrit scrolls are floating across the Ross Sea
together with the remains of cetaceans and sea elephants.
 
Those goats that penetrated the galleon’s cabin
I know will die.
 
Five pirates wearing brass studs in their cheekbones, ready-made
amulets, dried blood of dogs and bison.
 
I thirst. It seems as though I am dead.
 
From the mortuary emerges a giant flask of whisky laden in grapefruit. A
small girl walks behind the catafalque, naked and
she lies. Into an urn her hands contain falls a drop of amber.
 
Pages of paper ferment in rainfalls. There are scars of ice
over each word.
 
Asleep in my eyes are two small proud birds.
 
Waters flow from my hands to make streaks in the dust; loaves
of mica lay a vault to my solitary ancientness.
 
Sunlight bursts a bubble and gathers herbs from the landscape.
 
Out of the desert came a caravan of the demented who handed
over its prisoners to the vultures, left now to grow
beards and at dawn depart for the Pole.
 
Outside my door are the goats they left behind. They lie on
the floor quartered and covered in honey.
 
Close to the beach a fisherman has furtively caught a bear cub,
and whilst it yet lives, devours its flesh, raw.
Other birds have come to my eyes.
 
On lavatory walls are seen images of the passion according to Mathew.
 
In chestnut boughs, at peace now, the spirit of the Melchite
roams, a gypsy without teeth.
 
In a silver milk jug the right hand of the Margot
is submerged in milk.
 
The oldest house in the village has burnt down. Fire is
arrogant and consoling.
 
The following day ashes were mixed with geraniums and hairs
of the ancient crone.
 
You are still naked before me. You are weeping.
 
I am still naked before you, I don’t lie, now.
 
Ashes fall from my face to yours and I repeat in-
comprehensibly: The small proud birds are dead
in my eyes. The small proud birds.
 
My consciousness is on the fifth stair of your agony.
In my eyes are all the watchful small proud birds of the earth.

 
 
AUTHOR: ISLA CORREYERO (1957)
Bibliography:
– Cráter (Provincia, Colección de Poesía, León, 1984)
– Lianas (Hiperión, Madrid, 1988).
– Crímenes (Ediciones Libertarias, Madrid, 1993)
– Diario de una enfermera (Huerga y Fierro Editores, Madrid, 1996)
– La pasión (ExLibris Ediciones, 1998)
– Feroces (DVD, Barcelona, 1998)

isla correyero
 
 
Isla Correyero was born in Extremadura and lived in various Spanish towns and cities, since the age of 16 she has lived in Madrid. She studied Dance, Information Sciences and Child Care and currently works as coordinator of screenplays and TV. Her Poetry publications are: Cráter, 1984, Colección provincia , León. Lianas , 1988, Hiperion, Madrid. Crímenes, 1993, Libertarias, Madrid. Diario de una enfermera,(Premio Ciudad de Córdoba 1997), Huerga y Fierro, Madrid. La Pasión, Finalista Premio Poesía Mística Fernano Rielo 1998. Ex – Libris Amor tirano, Premio Hermanos Argensola 2002 DVD , Barcelona. – She edited the well known anthology Feroces. 1998 DVD, Barcelona, and was herself included in anthologies such as Las diosas blancas, Hiperion. She has given recitals and taught poetry workshops in Spain, Venezuela, Ecuador, Argentina, Canada and the Netherlands. She has 4 unpublished books. One is an opera, Divorcio, which was performed at the University of Salamanca in 2013. Recently she created her own publishing company, Inspirar Expirar.
 
Isla Correyero nació en Extremadura. Ha vivido en pueblos y distintas ciudades españolas. Desde los 16 años vive en Madrid. Cursó estudios de Danza, Ciencias de la información y Puericultura. Actualmente trabaja como coordinadora de guiones de cine y TV , aunque su gran trabajo y pasión es la Poesía. En el año 2000 le fue concedida la Medalla de Honor de su Colegio Mayor Universitario Isabel de España, Madrid. Publicaciones poéticas : Cráter, 1984, Colección provincia , León. Lianas , 1988, Hiperion, Madrid. Crímenes, 1993, Libertarias, Madrid Diario de una enfermera, premio ciudad de Córdoba 1997 , Huerga y Fierro, Madrid. La Pasión, Finalista premio poesía mística Fernano Rielo 1998. Ex – Libris Amor tirano, Premio Hermanos Argensola 2002 DVD , Barcelona. – Es la autora de la antología Feroces. 1998 DVD, Barcelona. Ha publicado diversas plaquettes. Ha sido antologada, entre otras, en Las diosas blancas, Hiperion y Ellas tienen la palabra, Hiperion. Ha dado recitales e impartido talleres de poesía en España, Venezuela, Ecuador, Argentina, Canadá y Holanda. Por variadas causas editoriales no ha publicado en estos once últimos años. Tiene 4 libros inéditos. Uno de ellos es una ópera, Divorcio (Hoz en la espalda), que se representó coralmente en el teatro Juan Del Enzina, de la Universidad de Salamanca 2013 Una de las razones fundamentales por las que ha decidido crear su propio sello editorial, Inspirar Expirar ediciones, autopublicándose exten-samente. Así como para poder publicar a otros poetas de su gusto y ética.

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Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
 
 
robin@artvilla.com
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Poetry Life & Times

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