We present this work in honor of the poet’s 125th birthday.
Jorge Luis Borges Argentine 1899 – 1986
Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream? Amid the fleeting light, I have slowed myself and queried, Almost for consolation, if the bygone period Over which this Adam, wretched now, once reigned supreme,
Might not have been just a magical illusion Of that God I dreamed. Already it’s imprecise In my memory, the clear Paradise, But I know it exists, in flower and profusion,
Although not for me. My punishment for life Is the stubborn earth with the incestuous strife Of Cains and Abels and their brood; I await no pardon.
Yet, it’s much to have loved, to have known true joy, To have had — if only for just one day — The experience of touching the living Garden.
We present this work in honor of the South African holiday, National Women’s Day.
Amelia Blossom Pegram South African 1955 – 2022
It is my celebration I will drum my drum I will sing my song I will dance my dance I do not need your anaemic hands brought together in pale applause I do not need your ‘You are such musical people’ toothy smile It is my celebration You wonder what I have to celebrate What does the drum tell me If you must speculate Watch out One day as you throw your head back As you gather your hearty laughter I will change my dance I will still sing The drum will scream Celebration.
We present this work in honor of the Jamaican holiday, Emancipation Day.
Una Marson Jamaican 1905 – 1965
Each race that breathes the air of God’s fair world Is so bound up within its little self, So jealous for material wealth and power That it forgets to look outside itself Save when there is some prospect of rich gain; Forgetful yet that each and every race Is brother unto his, and in the heart Of every human being excepting none, There lies the selfsame love, the selfsame fear, The selfsame craving for the best that is, False pride and petty prejudice prevail Where love and brotherhood should have full sway.
When shall this cease? ‘Tis God alone who knows; But we who see through this hypocrisy And feel the blood of black and white alike Course through our veins as our strong heritage Must range ourselves to build the younger race. What matter that we be as cagéd birds Who beat their breasts against the iron bars Till blood-drops fall, and in heartbreaking songs Our souls pass out to God? These very words, In anguish sung, will mightily prevail. We will not be among the happy heirs Of this grand heritage – but unto us Will come their gratitude and praise, And children yet unborn will reap in joy What we have sown in tears.
For there will come A time when all the races of the earth, Grown weary of the inner urge for gain, Grown sick of all the fatness of themselves And all their boasted prejudice and pride, Will see this vision that now comes to me. Aye, there will come a time when every man Will feel that other men are brethren unto him— When men will look into each other’s hearts And souls, and not upon their skin and brain, And difference in the customs of the race. Though I should live a hundred years, I should not see this time, but while I live, ‘Tis mine to share in this gigantic task Of oneness for the world’s humanity.
Everything is in order My loves folded inside my heart my heart as steady as the horizon I held the hands of friends, warmth of seasonal homes. This is how I burn with pride
Everything is in order The blue gold of your veins in my gaze on brooding mountaintops in this tough air as patient as a lizard I follow the straight path of nebulae into the forest that self-devours
You walk inside my eyes so that I can rest and exhaustion laid bare is harmed by your silence You make the land buried in my memory sing when I carve from my chest a thousand years of space As I go I sow your presence the anchor of your goodness in the depths of hatred In your heart is a right of asylum and I make use of you like I would cut my veins
Everything is in order No longer can the sun intoxicate me with snow from another side My luggage suits me exactly like skin. And while I keep vigil night open at the pure flank of Ramadan in the city heavy with steel my mother puts away my books that she cannot read and ages. Everything is in order
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 120th birthday.
Salvador Novo Mexican 1904 – 1974
Sudden, first grey hair, like an icy hello from the one I love most…
you gave me the slip, and among this riot of hair I haven’t found you again; now I look for you, as one indifferently seeks a forgotten face.
I needn’t hide you; the whole world could pass by, it would be absurd for anyone to suspect your presence. Only I will know about this buried treasure.
I’ll scribble some humorous lines, and you’ll forget me while I greet people; if the barber uncovers you, he will scientifically expound on your presence, then prescribe a hair tonic.
He’ll be the only one to know about you but I’ll hush him in disbelief, ask him to be discrete, and you’ll remain one fleeting thought amid a myriad.
In twenty years, you will long have gone off into the world; by then it will be normal for no one to spot you among others of the same age.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 100th birthday.
Joaquin O. Giannuzzi Argentine 1924 – 2004
Coffee and apples on an afternoon in June. In a lukewarm civiliesed corner my senses take in a faintly abstract situation. The world has become hospitable, like a truce in the middle of history. The apples give off a yellow radiance, the coffee offers up its intimate steam. In terms of my failure as a contemporary individual all this seems sufficient, the inner chill of apples, the unstable heat of coffee, two details from nature that escape my dominion. So here am I with my sprawling backside in some chamber adequate to my social class. Gentle things put in a safe place, Shut away from the general tumult. But at times a bomb explodes on the ground floor and the police show up to find out who is who in this world.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 150’th birthday.
Alice Duer Miller American 1874 – 1942
1. Because man’s place is the armory.
2. Because no really manly man wants to settle any question otherwise than by fighting about it.
3. Because if men should adopt peaceable methods women will no longer look up to them.
4. Because men will lose their charm if they step out of their natural sphere and interest themselves in other matters than feats of arms, uniforms and drums.
5. Because men are too emotional to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions shows this, while their innate tendency to appeal to force renders them particularly unfit for the task of government.
We present this work in honor of the Tunisian holiday, Republic Day.
Salah Garmadi Tunisian 1933 – 1982
Should I one day die among you
but will I ever die
do not recite over my corpse verses from the Koran but leave that to those whose business it is do not promise me two acres of Paradise
for I was happy on one acre of land
do not partake of the traditional couscous on the third day of my death it was in fact my favorite dish do not scatter bits of fig on my grave
for little birds of the sky to peck at human beings are more in need of them don’t stop cats urinating on my grave it was their habit to piss on my doorstep every Thursday and it never made the earth shake do not come to visit me twice a year at the cemetery I have absolutely nothing with which to welcome you do not swear by the pace of my soul that you are telling the truth even when lying your truths and your lies are of no interest to me and the peace of my soul is none of your business do not pronounce on the day of my funeral the ritual phrase: “in death he preceded us but one day we shall meet again” this type of race is not my favorite sport should I one day die among you but will I ever die
put me on the highest point of your land and envy me for my untouchability
Poets Corner 