Female Poets

On the Threshing Floor, I Chase Chickens Away

In honor of Labor Day, we present this scene of the poet at work.

Yu Xiuhua
Chinese
b. 1976

 

And I see sparrows fly over. They look around
as if it’s inappropriate to stop for just any grain of rice.
They have clear eyes, with light from inside.
Starlings also fly over, in flocks, bewildered.
They flutter and make a sound that seems to flash.
When they’re gone, the sky gets lower, in dark blue.
In this village deep in the central plain
the sky is always low, forcing us to look at its blue,
the way our ancestors make us look inside ourselves,
narrow and empty, so we look out again
at the full September –
we’re comforted by its insignificance but hurt by its smallness.
Living our life this way, we feel secure.
So much rice. Where does it come from?
So much gold color. Where does it come from?
Year after year I’ve been blessed, and then deserted.
When happiness and sadness come in the same color code,
I’m happy
to be forgotten. But who am I separated from?
I don’t know. I stay close to my own hours.

Translation by Ming Di

Let This Be Your Praise

Tanya Shirley
Jamaican
b. 1976

 

And what is praise but the offering up of one’s self,
the daily rituals: waking to the stream of light seeping in
under the bedroom door, dressing slowly, humming Marley’s
‘Three Little Birds’ or a made up melody,
cursing the traffic and the heat – the unbearable brazenness
of the morning sun – punctuating your profanities
with pleas for forgiveness. When you were a child
your mother threatened to wash your mouth with soap.
You have not forgotten how a mouth can sully everything,
its desire to be perfect and how often it fails.
At work you smile with the girl who asks stupid questions,
you imagine she has unpaid bills, a wayward child,
you imagine you are more alike than different.
You cut your nails at your desk, laugh when someone falls,
eat lunch too quickly, take Tums for the indigestion.
In the evening you drink peppermint tea, watch TV and
when your eyes grow heavy you say a quick word
of prayer, a thank you for another full day, a request that you
not be killed in your sleep. Perhaps, you squeeze in an orgasm.
And if this is not praise, this simple act of living, if this is not
enough, then let us lie here and do nothing and see
what God has to say about that.

And Moan of Winds and Whispered Thoughts of Gloom…

Mirra Lokhvitskaya
Russian
1869 – 1905

 

And moan of winds and whispered thoughts of gloom,
From life no joy is won…
Yet somewhere, — warmth, and ocean’s muffled boom,
And lustre of the sun.
The blizzard wails, and in the heart it throws
A load of tears unshed.
Yet somewhere myrtle, verdant myrtle grows,
And stainless roses spread.
Life, passing by, in empty brooding delves,
Unmeaning, unbedight…
Yet somewhere, mirth and bliss will yield themselves,
And comeliness and light!

Translation by Paul Selver

For Who Is Enemy to Woman

We present this work in honor of Women’s Equality Day.

Laura Terracina
Italian
1519 – 1577

 

So deep does envy’s arrow pierce your heart,
That woman you treat so vile.
Against woman, male does not war,
In all other creatures of the Earth.

O enemy of heaven, and of nature,
How dare you raise hand,
Against so young and beautiful a vision,
Where comes, this, your so perverse desire?

The divine and goodly maker, of your rib,
Of beautiful design, for you brought forth woman,
So, that of one faith, and one love,
In this realm, you would be united!

Well may you claim glory and pride,
Among lions cruel, and evil beasts,
Yet however by nature violent they be,
To the female, their male forbears.

Perhaps not first, nor second,
To your own ill, you will do what you would,
But hold. In peace with your woman live:
For behind the Lion, the Lioness doth lie.

To Merida

We present this work in honor of the poet’s 135th birthday.

Rosario Sansores
Mexican
1889 – 1972

 

I was born in a white sleeping city
under the pious wing of its eaves,
where in large flowerbeds they look stretched out
its carpet of whiteness the lemon trees.

Staining the horizon they spin restlessly
dominating the landscape from above,
the tireless blades of the weather vanes
defying the clouds in their madness.

City of my grandparents, with your upright
Centennial laurels! Your burning
flamboyants, your lilies of pure white dawn…
Every time I think of you sweetly and distantly,
I compare you in my dreams to a sultana
who, lying on the bed, stretches!

Lady Iseut, If He Showed

Almucs de Castelnau
French
c. 1140 – c. 1184

 

Lady Iseut, if he showed some contrition
he might be able to erase
the effects of his disgrace
and I might grant him some remission;
but I think I’d be unwise,
since by his silence he denies
the wrong he’s done, to in any way relieve
a man who was so eager to deceive.
Still, if you can get him to repent his perfidy
you’ll have no trouble in converting me.

Translation by Meg Bogin

Lady Almucs, With Your Permission

Iseut de Capio
French
b. c. 1140

 

Lady Almucs, with your permission
let me request that in place
of anger and bad grace
you show a kinder disposition
toward him who slowly dying lies
lamenting amidst moans and sighs
and humbly begs reprieve;
but if you want him dead let him receive
the sacraments, to guarantee
that he’ll refrain from doing further injury.

Translation by Meg Bogin

Face Us in Mercy

We present this work in honor of Tisha B’Av.

Freha Bat Avraham
Moroccan
d. 1756

 

Face us in mercy
Because of unblemished Abraham’s merit.
Be merciful to us from the heavenly heights,
O God my redeemer,
Who at morning time hears my voice.

Reward your treasured people with mercy,
For they are Your people and Your inheritance.
Hurry, gather your community
To the mountains of my homeland.

Especial One, exalted and unseen,
Rescue Your son like the silent lamb,
Rebuild your sanctuary structures,
And give support to my cause.

Have compassion and be kind to us
And bring us up to Zion,
And raise up your Temple for us,
My rock and my rescuer.

Attend, my God, to my plea,
Lord who favors my song,
God who is my shield and my apportioned
Lot and guardian of my fate.

Joseph’s daughter pleads,
She asks of you all that is good,
Quickly may she take possession of her land
From the Ishmaelites

My father, in Your great mercy
Hasten along Your people’s savior
And act for the sake of Your own name,
Every sin of mine forgive.

My Creator, have mercy on my unique soul,
My Rock, strengthen my community.
Bring me up to the land I treasure
and I will offer my burnt incense.

Among many I praise Him.
May he raise His banner among our tents.
Make Your kindness toward us be abundant.
And may this, my voice, be received with favor.

Irrelephant

We present this work in honor of World Elephant Day.

Kathleen Radigan
American
b. 1995

 

the intelligence of elephants
irrelevant, but eloquent
their clumsy sort of elegance
is one of many elements.
and when that wisdom elevates
it’s difficult to celebrate
for once we see our cells relate
the thoughts start to accelerate.
well wisdom seems aristocratic
dusted down from someone’s attic
pulled apart and cleared of static
(fluctuations are erratic.)
for how we trace the web life spins
parts swept away like bowling pins
still, consciousness, our human prints
will never match the elephants.