We present this work in honor of the 25th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Dulce Maria Loynaz Cuban 1902 – 1997
In my garden, roses: I don’t want to give you roses that tomorrow… that tomorrow you won’t have.
In my garden, birds with crystal song: I do not give them to you; they have wings to fly.
In my garden, bees craft a fine hive: A minute’s sweetness… I don’t want to give you that!
For you, the infinite or nothing: what is immortal or this mute sadness you won’t understand… The unnamable sadness of not having something to give to someone who carries on the forehead a portion of eternity.
Leave, leave the garden… Don’t touch the roses: things that die should not be touched.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 110th birthday.
Edmond Jabès Egyptian 1912 – 1991
I’m looking for a man I don’t know, who’s never been more myself than since I started to look for him. Does he have my eyes, my hands and all those thoughts like flotsam of time? Season of a thousand wrecks, the sea no longer a sea, but an icy watery grave. Yet farther on, who knows how it goes on? A little girl sings backward and nightly reigns over trees a shepherdess among her sheep. Let us wrench thirst from the grain of salt no drink can quench. Along with the stones, a whole world eats its heart out, being from nowhere, like me.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 115th birthday.
Melissanthi Greek 1907 – 1991
Each time I sinned a door half-opened and the angels who hadn’t thought me beautiful in my chastity tipped the vessels of their flowering souls. Each time I sinned a door seemed to open and tears of compassion dripped in the grass. But if the sword of my remorse pushed me from the skies each time I sinned a door half-opened.: the people thought me ugly; only the angels thought me beautiful.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 120th birthday.
Maria Polydouri Greek 1902 – 1930
Today just before the light filled up the sky, far off I heard bells sounding in the city. Bells… why did I notice? As if sowing hate the last shadows slowly and dolefully moved on. Where have I left my sweet, childlike soul, in what season, with what bell’s tune entwined? In what season… and today to say my prayers I stayed on bended knee in sorrow. A prayer to beauty, to a forgotten mother, to ignorance, to a smile, to the voice of a dream, listening to the day’s bell of anguish which sadly tolled an untimely death.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 140th birthday.
Korney Chukovsky Russian 1882 – 1969
The telephone rang. “Hello! Who’s there?” “The Polar Bear.” “What do you want?” “I’m calling for the Elephant.” “What does he want?” “He wants a little Peanut brittle.” “Peanut brittle!.. And for whom?”
“It’s for his little Elephant sons.” “How much does he want?” “Oh, five or six tons. Right now that’s all That they can manage — they’re quite small.”
The telephone rang. The Crocodile Said, with a tear, “My dearest dear, We don’t need umbrellas or mackintoshes; My wife and baby need new galoshes; Send us some, please!” “Wait — wasn’t it you Who just last week ordered two Pairs of beautiful brand-new galoshes?”
“Oh, those that came last week — they Got gobbled up right away; And we just can’t wait — For supper tonight We’d like to sprinkle on our goulashes One or two dozen delicious galoshes!” The telephone rang. The Turtle Doves Said: “Send us, please, some long white gloves!”
It rang again; the Chimpanzees Giggled: “Phone books, please!”
The telephone rang. The Grizzly Bear Said: “Grr — Grr!” “Stop, Bear, don’t growl, don’t bawl! Just tell me what you want!” But on he went — “Grr! Grrrrrrr…” Why; what for? I couldn’t make out; I just banged down the receiver.
The telephone rang. The Flamingos Said: “Rush us over a bottle of those Little pink pills!.. We’ve swallowed every frog in the lake, And are croaking with a stomachache!”
The Pig telephoned. Ivan Pigtail Said: “Send over Nina Nightingale! Together, I bet, We’ll sing a duet That opera lovers will never forget! I’ll begin — ” “No, you won’t. The Divine Nightingale Accompany a Pig! Ivan Petrovich, No! You’d better call on Katya Crow!”
The telephone rang. The Polar Bear Said: “Come to the aid of the Walrus, Sir! He’s about to choke on a fat oyster!”
And so it goes. The whole day long The same silly song: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! A Seal telephones, and then a Gazelle, And just now two very queer Reindeer, Who said: “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Did you hear? Is it true That the Bump-Bump Cars at the Carnival Have all burned up?”
“Are you out of your minds, you silly Deer? The Merry-Go-Round At the Carnival still goes round, And the Bump-Bump Cars are running, too; You ought to go right Out to the Carnival this very night And buzz around in the Bump-Bump Cars And ride the Ferris Wheel up to the stars!”
But they wouldn’t listen, the silly Deer; They just went on: “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Did you hear? Is it true That the Bump-Bump Cars At the Carnival Have all burned up?”
How wrong-headed Reindeer really are!
At five in the morning the telephone rang: The Kangaroo Said: “Hello, Rub-a-dub-dub, How are you?” Which really made me raving mad. “I don’t know any Rub-a-dub-dub, Soapflakes! Pancakes! Bubbledy-bub Why don’t you Try calling Pinhead Zero Two!..” I haven’t slept for three whole nights. I’d really like to go to bed And get some sleep. But every time I lay down my head The telephone rings.
Who’s there — Hello! It’s the Rhino.” “What’s wrong. Rhino?” “Terrible trouble. Come on the double!” “What’s the matter? Why the fuss?” “Quick. Save him .. “Who?” “The hippopotamus. He’s sinking out there in that awful swamp…” “In the swamp?” “Yes, he’s stuck.” “And if you don’t come right away, He’ll drown in that terrible damp And dismal swamp. He’ll die, he’ll croak — oh, oh, oh. Poor Hippo- po- po………..“
“Okay … I’m coming Right away!” Whew: What a job! You need a truck To help a Hippo when he’s stuck!
As it is true that I, like all, must die, I crave that death may take me unawares At the very end of some transcendent day; May creep upon me when I least suspect, And, with slick fingers light as feather tips, Unfasten every little tenuous bolt That held me all my years to this illusion Of flesh and blood and air and land and sea.
I’d have death work meticulously too – Splitting each moment into tenths of tenths, Replacing each infinitesimal fragment Of old dream-stuff with new.
So subtly will the old be shed That I’ll dream on and never know I’m dead.
they bequeath two thirds of their life to the critics to graze and grow fat in visionary grass.
If poets die in old age they live their own lives they write their own poems they are their own might-have-been.
Young dead poets are prized comets. The critics queue with their empty wagons ready for hitching.
Old living poets stay faithfully camouflaged in their own sky. It may even be forgotten they have been shining for so long. The reminder comes upon their falling extinguished into the earth. The sky is empty, the sun and moon have gone away, there are not enough street bulbs, glow-worms, fireflies to give light
and for a time it seems there will be no more stars.
The rain is about to fall, Come through my window, butterfly.
Outside, when they become wet, Those charming colors will melt away, The flower will fall to the ground, It won’t be able to save you, small butterfly, Come through my window, butterfly!
A little one will manage to catch you, He will place you in a small box and take you away, After, he’ll paste you into a book You’ll die, then, butterfly, Hide inside my window, butterfly.
We present this work in honor of Human Rights Day.
Gladys Thomas
South African
b. 1934
Don’t sow a seed Don’t paint a wall Tomorrow it will have to fall
Let the dog howl and bark Tomorrow he will Sleep in the dark Let the cock crow Let the hen lay Tomorrow will be their last day
Let the children chop trees Let them break Let the destructive little devils Ruin and take For tomorrow they know not their fate
Don’t sow a seed Don’t pain a wall Tomorrow the yellow monster will take all
Let our sons dazed in eye Rape and steal For they are not allowed to feel Let the men drink Let them fight Let what is said about them Then be right For they are not allowed to think
So bark, howl, crow, Chop, break, ruin, Steal, drink, fight, Let what’s made of us be right
Tomorrow we gaze at a new view Seas of sand given by you And we say Sow the seed Paint the wall Be at home in our desert for all You that remade us Your mould will break And tomorrow you are going to fall
Poets Corner 