We present this work in honor of the poet’s 70th birthday.
Ayten Mutlu Turkish b. 1952
autumn is here the sun and wine are witnesses and the vine leaves yellowing on branches sharpened knives of light are witnesses to the regrets we’ve gathered from the vineyard of time
let’s go to her today, to time to the red Goddess who covers up our memory with her tulle skirt
we’ve somehow already lost more than we have like a jug of wine we poured out without drinking
there are too many things to forget too few to remember the love whose sky we are leaning on, is witness
come on let’s drink the rest of our lives when descending evening like a break-up song let’s the wine spread within our blood slowly by slowly Like a moment of Vuslat
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 140th birthday.
Vicenta Castro Cambón Argentine 1882 – 1928
“Are you feeling cold?” you asked me. I couldn’t deny that I was: you’d detected it in my countenance and possibly even my voice.
You were also feeling cold. I could tell, though not by your face; it’s as if your soul were kept on display to mine in a crystal vase. “Close the door!” you commanded. I thought: what we ought to close instead is that book of yours… That book was the source of the cold.
The moon is dark tonight, a new moon for a new year. It is hollow and hungers to be full. It is the black zero of beginning.
Now you must void yourself of injuries, insults, incursions. Go with empty hands to those you have hurt and make amends.
It is not too late. It is early and about to grow. Now is the time to do what you know you must and have feared to begin. Your face is dark too as you turn inward to face yourself, the hidden twin of all you must grow to be.
Forgive the dead year. Forgive yourself. What will be wants to push through your fingers. The light you seek hides in your belly. The light you crave longs to stream from your eyes. You are the moon that will wax in new goodness.
We present this work in honor of the South African holiday, Heritage Day.
Elisabeth Eybers South African 1915 – 2007
I’ve nothing for hands and feet here, the rest was lost in transit: the dazed heart, the nervous tension – then again, what would be made of them?
To compare what’s been lost to what’s around, to grasp at light and sound though I don’t look or listen, I still have the senses on my face.
And in my breast and belly space I apprehend something else was in that place. Who’d have known that emptiness would be so heavy, that being unimpeded would result in such a bind?
In honor of Constitution Day and Citizenship Day, we present this work by a poet who was denied the benefits of both.
Phillis Wheatley American 1753 – 1784
Celestial choir! enthron’d in realms of light, Columbia’s scenes of glorious toils I write. While freedom’s cause her anxious breast alarms, She flashes dreadful in refulgent arms. See mother earth her offspring’s fate bemoan, And nations gaze at scenes before unknown! See the bright beams of heaven’s revolving light Involved in sorrows and the veil of night! The Goddess comes, she moves divinely fair, Olive and laurel binds Her golden hair: Wherever shines this native of the skies, Unnumber’d charms and recent graces rise. Muse! Bow propitious while my pen relates How pour her armies through a thousand gates, As when Eolus heaven’s fair face deforms, Enwrapp’d in tempest and a night of storms; Astonish’d ocean feels the wild uproar, The refluent surges beat the sounding shore; Or think as leaves in Autumn’s golden reign, Such, and so many, moves the warrior’s train. In bright array they seek the work of war, Where high unfurl’d the ensign waves in air. Shall I to Washington their praise recite? Enough thou know’st them in the fields of fight. Thee, first in peace and honors-we demand The grace and glory of thy martial band. Fam’d for thy valour, for thy virtues more, Hear every tongue thy guardian aid implore! One century scarce perform’d its destined round, When Gallic powers Columbia’s fury found; And so may you, whoever dares disgrace The land of freedom’s heaven-defended race! Fix’d are the eyes of nations on the scales, For in their hopes Columbia’s arm prevails. Anon Britannia droops the pensive head, While round increase the rising hills of dead. Ah! Cruel blindness to Columbia’s state! Lament thy thirst of boundless power too late. Proceed, great chief, with virtue on thy side, Thy ev’ry action let the Goddess guide. A crown, a mansion, and a throne that shine, With gold unfading, Washington! Be thine.
We present this work in honor of the 95th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Patrocinio de Biedma y la Moneda Spanish 1848 – 1927
I would like to be the ray of the dawn that lights up your forehead in the morning; to be a flower that you admired for its gallantry and give you an intoxicating essence. I would like to be the echo that disgraces her distant music reaches you: the fugitive and vain sweet shadow that you caress in your dreamy soul. But alas! that the sun the aurora fades, the flower dies and is lost in the wind the soft echo that vibrated in calm: I don’t want to be an illusion that disappears… It’s better to occupy your thoughts and be, like today, the soul of your soul.
Poets Corner 