In honor of the Emperor’s Birthday, we present this work by one of modern Japan’s finest poets.
Takeko Kujō Japanese 1887 – 1928
Splendor of an evening sky,
Who can ever fathom its timeless mystery?
Million eyes, when sparkling bright
In the sable sky,
Touch my heart, my lonely heart with serenity.
More than all the countless sands
Ganges river holds
Are the infinite Buddhas who fill this universe,
Ever watchful over us, Throughout day and night.
Hearing this, my lonely heart,
Fills with lasting peace.
Leave me, my love, it’s time to part
this paradise is not my portion.
I had to cross a bridge of flame whenever
I visited this land of bliss.
Yet I’ve been your life-long companion
since earliest youth and your tender years.
But now I come like a transient guest,
and go away like a bird of passage.
Has anyone drunken with love like us,
seen love like we have seen it?
We built a thousand castles on our way,
Walked together on a moon-drenched road,
Where joy danced and leapt before us,
we gazed at the stars that fell, and we possessed them.
And we laughed like two children together,
ran and raced with our own shadows.
After this nectar’s sweetness we awoke –
how I wished it had never been so!
Night’s dreams had vanished, the night was ended
the night that used to be our friend.
The light of morning was an ominous herald;
dawn loomed up like a wall of fire.
We present this work in honor of the 55th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Emilia Bernal Cuban 1884 – 1964
A man of iron!
Iron the flesh of his invincible chest.
Iron his biceps and triceps, his arm raised in triumphant sign.
His hands of iron and his belly.
And his thighs potent columns of iron, and his calves,
brave pedestals sustaining that formidible Titan,
with his foot nailed to the earth, with clawed fingers he seizes
the roots of the tree from the Biblical Adam.
Iron his eyes.
Iron his teeth.
Iron his brain, his lungs and heart,
his kidneys, spleen, and sex.
Inside and out a man completely made of iron.
Strength!
The greatest strength that time has launched
is his incarnation.
Does a great nation think it is a blessing
To be captive of a person by your order o God?
Does a sword of oppression to burn and destroy the world
Attack like this by your command o God?
Your fury let oppressors do what they want
Even conscience will say with despair there is no divine justice.
Thousands of sparkling sighs raise to heavens
Heavens only repeat the raising sighs
On one side houses of thousands of poors are burning
On the other side the light of millions of youngsters is faded
A stricken mother whose hand is on her chest
Moans because she buried her son into black soil.
Many unfortunate people cry losing their honor
In order to eat a handful of bread.
Thousands of orphans bowed their heads down
Families who lost their homes look for a shelter.
Oppressed people complains, oppressors are in regret
Bloody murderer is drowned in the blood of his victims.
Don´t you think the world scene famous with showing
—Sick, stricken, naked, miserable, paralyzed, incapable
Poor, unworthy, cruel, troubled, captived people,
Unfortunately all this endless crowd—
Presents a bloody watch o God?
The opposite seeks the opposite
and the drop of black
grows within white
until turning white into black
and conversely the drop becomes white
We all want the opposite
Which incarnates in front of you
Once in a while
And brings its exotic religion its idea of the subject
Its distractions its apparent cruelty
The little care with which it handles the most precious gifts
The offers and presents we devoted
Before
To our own fetich
Such was our donation
Barbarians have the candor of what we were
That which has never grown in them
Or has never been attempted
They are what was possible for us to be today and did not prosper
Therefore the tenderness the zeal the interest we feel
For its apparent clumsiness
A constant lack of consideration
Our consolation when their actions kill us
is contemplating them kindly
And caressing or at least trying to do so
The destroying brutality
that when rebuked
they sincerely do not understand
As they would not understand if in front of them we wept
The why of all those tears they feel innocent
They are indeed, ours is the tragedy of understanding
That we can do nothing
Either for love or for hatred to redeem the creature
From its rude condition
This is of all gifts perhaps the rarest
Our gods have given us
Our non-existing gods
There are also those barbarians who resemble us
But they are not us beware of them above all
They are the most dangerous they are those who really
Reach your heart
With their deceits of which they are of course
Utterly innocent
But nothing changes barbarians
And when their fierceness appears expressing their “meanness”
Their “violence” their “impiety” their fastidious extreme negligence
They are already within us and it is late
Very late for everything
And they will never leave that
Which their unskilfulness their unconscious malice conquered
And also their dexterity
Widely acquired
In combat against other barbarians
We will be their success the drop of childish joy
Which lasts for a day
The lonely boasting which soon disperses
Ours will be the ruins the venerated broken statues
We sold at market price for their sake
Nothing or almost nothing is worth anything from us among barbarians
And ours will be the night where something will burn
Eternally in flames forever
For the love of barbarians
In honor of the Day of Reconciliation, we present this work by one of the most legendary voices of the South African conflict.
Modikwe Dikobe South African b. 1913
I shall never forget that winter morning
A rainy November morning
They dismantled our shantytown
Mindless of sleeping souls
Fast asleep as of anaesthesia.
Unforeseen convey headlights
Heading to our shantytown
Motionless as of a ghost
Returning to its grave in early morning.
Morena! I thought I was dreaming
At the bank of the Klip River
Sprawled on the bank; demobbed soldiers
To demob our peaceful camp
In the name of human rights
In the year of the allied nations.
O! Merciful Lord
Am I sleeping in the open
As in Lombardy estate
In that year of the King’s visit,
Or is it a repetition of demobbed soldiers
On the banks of Canada stream,
Or just a deranged mind?
A stinking lavatory hole there,
A heap of rubbish here,
A stray dog there
It’s all that is left.
In twice a big town
Housing a thousand souls
With its own administration.
I, alone, with a wife and child,
Am left in this ruin
Once, the pride of my administration,
Whipped away are those
Who vowed: ‘We stand by our leader’
Left in the mercy of the documents.
Powerless, hopeless, I lead nobody
I am unfeathered
Left wingless
Dumfounded.
South, West, we are being driven in circles
Spanning in confusion
A mine dump, head-gear, mine column, a lake,
A river bend; seamlessly flowing
Not as I saw it on demobbed day.
Who said that a body
carved from kisses shines
resplendently, an orb
of happiness? Oh star of mine,
descend! May your light finally
be flesh, be body, here upon
the grass. May I at last
possess you, throbbing in the reeds,
star fallen to the earth,
who for my love would sacrifice
your blood or gleam. No, never,
heavenly one! Here, humble
and tangible, the earth awaits you.
Here, a man loves you.
Poets Corner 